At times it has been doubtful to me if Emerson really knows or feels what Poetry is at its highest, as in the Bible, for instance, or Homer or Shakspeare. I see he covertly or plainly likes best superb verbal polish, or something old or odd

Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.

Unscrew the locks from the doors ! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs !

Now I will do nothing but listen to accrue what I hear into this song. To let sounds contribute toward it. I hear the sound I love. The sound of the human voice. I hear all sounds running together.

All music is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the instruments. It is not the violins and the cornets-it is not the oboe nor the beating drums, nor the score of the baritone singer singing his sweet romanza-nor that of the women's chorus; it is nearer and farther than they.