by: Ralph Waldo Emerson
- F the red
slayer think he slays,
- Or if the slain think he is slain,
- They know not well the subtle ways
- I keep, and pass, and turn again.
- Far or forgot to me is near;
- Shadow and sunlight are the same;
- The vanish'd gods to me appear;
- And one to me are shame and fame.
- They reckon ill who leave me out;
- When me they fly, I am the wings;
- I am the doubter and the doubt,
- And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
- The strong gods pine for my abode,
- And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
- But thou, meek lover of the good!
- Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.
MORE POEMS BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON
"Brahma" is reprinted
from Yale Book of American Verse. Ed. Thomas R. Lounsbury.
New Haven: Yale University Press, 1912.