Ralph Waldo Emerson: The Apology

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 men.  Tax not my sloth 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 secret history   But birds tell it in the bowers.  One harvest from thy field   Homeward brought the oxen strong; A second crop thine acres yield,   Which I gather in a song.