Ralph Waldo Emerson Poetry, Heroism, The Test, Rhodora

Ralph Waldo Emerson
The Test I hung my verses in the wind, Time and tide their faults may find. All were winnowed through and through, Five lines lasted sound and true; Five were smelted in a pot Than the South more fierce and hot; These the siroc could not melt, Fire their fiercer flamming felt, And the meaning was more white Than July's meridian light. Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, Nor time unmake what poets know. Have you eyes to find the five Which five hundred did survive?	The Rhodora Lines On Being Asked, Whence Is The Flower In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, I found the fresh rhodora in the woods, Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, To please the desert and the sluggish brook: The purple petals fallen in the pool Made the black waters with their beauty gay,- Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, And court the flower that cheapens his array. Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky, Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then beauty is its own excuse for being. Why thou were there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask; I never knew But in my simple ignorance suppose The selfsame Power that brought me there brought you.
Heroism So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When Duty whipers low, Thou must, The youth replies, I can.

Ralph Waldo Emerson