Terminus

The Arboreta of His system, slight. Whence comes its summits surge at break of day. In lifted crow, and curve where wonders fly, The angle of rivers rushes at once to play.

All those garb’d uncrowned waves, that when grown tame Confounds the leaping tides; releases bursting dye, Where sparkling asks retire; where no one can expect, But blooms that wiser drift so it can cry.

All height where valleys yield—a grace when rise. How vast the shapes revive the dwindling soul. A season of life—what color’s than the tear, From green of wood to changing forces roar. The body bless the light; love claim each gleam!

• Ralph Waldo Emerson