The Apology

Think me not unkind and rude
That I walk alone in grove and glen
I go to the God of the wood
To fetch his word to man.



Tax not my slough that I
Fold my arms beside the brook
Each cloud that floated in the sky
Writes a letter in my book



Chide me not laborious band
For the idle flowers I brought
Every aster in my hand
Goes home loaded with a thought.



There was never mystery
But 'tis figured in the flowers
Was never a secret history
But birds tell it in the bowers.



One harvest from the field
Homeward brought the oxen strong
A second crop thine acres yield
Which I gather in a song.

~~~Ralph Waldo Emerson~~~
~~~1803-1882~~~