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 good-will 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 met 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 ’t is come and past. <br />Their near camp my spirit knows <br />By signs gracious as rainbows. <br />I thenceforward and long after, <br />Listen for their harp-like 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/forerunners/
