To Ralph Waldo Emerson
Poet, whose words are like the tight-packed seed
Sealed in the capsule of a silver flower,
Still at your art we wonder as we read,
The art dynamic charging each word with power.
Seeds of the silver flower of Emerson:
One, on the winds to Scotland brought, did sink
In Carlyle’s heart; and one was lately blown
To Belgium, and flowered in-Maeterlinck.
