Long I followed happy guides,— <br />I could never reach their sides. <br />Their step is forth, and, ere the day, <br />Breaks up their leaguer, and away. <br />Keen my sense, my heart was young, <br />Right goodwill my sinews strung, <br />But no speed of mine avails <br />To hunt upon their shining trails. <br />On and away, their hasting feet <br />Make the morning proud and sweet. <br />Flowers they strew, I catch the scent, <br />Or tone of silver instrument <br />Leaves on the wind melodious trace, <br />Yet I could never see their face. <br />On eastern hills I see their smokes <br />Mixed with mist by distant lochs. <br />I meet many travellers <br />Who the road had surely kept,— <br />They saw not my fine revellers,— <br />These had crossed them while they slept. <br />Some had heard their fair report <br />In the country or the court. <br />Fleetest couriers alive <br />Never yet could once arrive, <br />As they went or they returned, <br />At the house where these sojourned. <br />Sometimes their strong speed they slacken, <br />Though they are not overtaken: <br />In sleep, their jubilant troop is near, <br />I tuneful voices overhear, <br />It may be in wood or waste,— <br />At unawares 'tis come and passed. <br />Their near camp my spirit knows <br />By signs gracious as rainbows. <br />I thenceforward and long after <br />Listen for their harplike laughter, <br />And carry in my heart for days <br />Peace that hallows rudest ways.—<br /><br />Ralph Waldo Emerson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-forerunners/
