Ральф Эмерсон – The Poems of Ralph Waldo Emerson / Стихотворения (страница 17)
The vapor the hill.
“The babe by its mother
Lies bathèd in joy;
Glide its hours uncounted, —
The sun is its toy;
Shines the peace of all being,
Without cloud, in its eyes;
And the sum of the world
In soft miniature lies.
“But man crouches and blushes,
Absconds and conceals;
He creepeth and peepeth,
He palters and steals;
Infirm, melancholy,
Jealous glancing around,
An oaf, an accomplice,
He poisons the ground.
“Out spoke the great mother,
Beholding his fear; —
At the sound of her accents
Cold shuddered the sphere: —
‘Who has drugged my boy’s cup?
Who has mixed my boy’s bread?
Who, with sadness and madness,
Has turned my child’s head?’”
I heard a poet answer
Aloud and cheerfully,
“Say on, sweet Sphinx! thy dirges
Are pleasant songs to me.
Deep love lieth under
These pictures of time;
They fade in the light of
Their meaning sublime.
“The fiend that man harries
Is love of the Best;
Yawns the pit of the Dragon,
Lit by rays from the Blest.
The Lethe of Nature
Can’t trance him again,
Whose soul sees the perfect,
Which his eyes seek in vain.
“To vision profounder,
Man’s spirit must dive;
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Друг дружку знай хвалят,
Всяк в общество зван;
Ночь утро скрывает,
А гору туман.
Мамаша ребёнку
Всю радость дала,
Часы бесконечны,
А солнце – юла;
Тишь всех сущих сияет —
Нет ни тучки – в глазах,
Мира целого суть
В милых сих мелочах.
Но смертный стыдится,
Таит и ползёт,
Взирает украдкой,
Хитрит и крадёт;
Уныние, слабость,
На зависть легли,
Дурак и сообщник —
Отрава земли51.
Рекла его матерь, 
