Emerson and Other Essays

ye fountains

e, not yours, tha

tural fulness

I take back

e choking atm

fog of sighs-

glory of th

dim eyes.-O,

the footstep

grow where I w

re I waked the

those eyes-tho

ht I lent them.

ve. Thou hadst

er has stopped. His next thought is: "But it is I who had lent the landscape this beauty. That landscape was myself, my dower, my glory, my birthright," and so he breaks out with "Give me back the light I threw upon you," and so on till the bitter word flung to the woman in the last line. The same clearness of thought and obscurity of expression and the same passion is to be found in the famous so

re is dispute about some of them as to whether they were addressed to men or women. There is question as to others whether they are prayers

e felt for her a love so deep, so reverent, so passionate, and

t I might receive them the less unworthily, to make something for you from my own hand. But then, remembering and knowing that the grace of God may not be bought, and that to accept it reluctantly is the gre

ithin him at a time when it caused his hale old frame suffering to undergo it, and reillumined his undimmed intellect to cope with it. A mystery play was enacted in him,-each sonnet is a scene. There is the w