BRAHMA

by: Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

F the red slayer think he slays,

Or if the slain think he is slain,

They know not well the subtle ways

I keep, and pass, and turn again.

 

Far or forgot to me is near;

Shadow and sunlight are the same;

The vanish'd gods to me appear;

And one to me are shame and fame.

 

They reckon ill who leave me out;

When me they fly, I am the wings;

I am the doubter and the doubt,

And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.

 

The strong gods pine for my abode,

And pine in vain the sacred Seven;

But thou, meek lover of the good!

Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.

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