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?
Tonight I feel the stars are out_x000D_ to use me for target practice.
I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel For words, like nature, half reveal And half conceal the soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and brain A use measured language lie's The sad mechanic exercise Like dull narcotic's, numbing pain In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er Like coarsest clothes against the cold But large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more.
Under your skin the moon is alive.
Cold glass, how you insert yourself Between myself and myself. I scratch like a cat. The blood that runs is dark fruit- An effect, a cosmetic. You smile. No, it is not fatal.
Or from Browning some "Pomegranate," which if cut deep down the middle Shows a heart within blood-tinctured, of a veined humanity.
And I will find some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,/ Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.
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