America is a poem in our eyes; its ample geography dazzles the imagination, and it will not wait long for metres.
Interpretation
Emerson perceives America as a living poem filled with natural beauty and vastness that inspires creativity.
Ralph Waldo Emerson suggests that America embodies the essence of poetry through its vast landscapes and diverse geography. He highlights how the country's beauty captivates the imagination, urging that such a wonder cannot be confined to traditional forms of artistic expression. Instead, it calls for spontaneous admiration and creative interpretation as America continually unfolds its grandeur, inviting all to witness its lyrical nature.
In practice
A writer may quote Emerson during a literary festival to emphasize the relationship between nature and creativity.
It is plain that there is no separate essence called courage, no cup or cell in the brain, no vessel in the heart containing drops or atoms that make or give this virtue; but it is the right or healthy state of every man, when he is free to do that which is constitutional to him to do.
Few people have any next, they live from hand to mouth without a plan, and are always at the end of their line.
Men cease to interest us when we find their limitations
Tis the good reader that makes the good book; a good head cannot read amiss: in every book he finds passages which seem confidences or asides hidden from all else and unmistakeably meant for his ear.
The world belongs to the energetic.
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?
With a changing key, you unlock the house where the snow of whatβs silenced drifts. Just like the blood that bursts from Your eye or mouth or ear, so your key changes. Changing your key changes the word That may drift with flakes. Just like the wind that rebuffs you, Clenched round your word is the snow.
Sitting over words _x000D_ Very late I have heard a kind of whispered sighing _x000D_ Not far _x000D_ Like a night wind in pines or like the sea in the dark _x000D_ The echo of everything that has ever _x000D_ Been spoken _x000D_ Still spinning its one syllable _x000D_ Between the earth and silence.
The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.
Especially when the October wind With frosty fingers punishes my hair, Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire And cast a shadow crab upon the land, By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds, Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks, My busy heart who shudders as she talks Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.
Tonight I feel the stars are out_x000D_ to use me for target practice.
Under your skin the moon is alive.
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