Ralph Waldo Emerson
—With that Sir Gawain departed, joyful and sorrowful: joyful because of what Merlin had assured him should happen to him; and sorrowful, that Merlin had thus been lost.
Morte d’Arthur.
Thou Merlin, shut in the still wood of Death,
Yet living! who through forest-calm dost roll
A voice of guidance to the venturous soul
As when thou hadst the common blood and breath:
Far for thy praise my Fancy wandereth
Through all wide lands, and fain would spoil the whole
To heap crown-jewels at thine oak-tree’s bole.
“Seek no bright words!” a wiser spirit saith.
“Not such the sage can please: no seeker he!
The world came to him in his tower, and told
Secrets of might, unforced and loving-free;
Nor held he Fancy’s choice true gems and gold.
Kneel but and say:
One grateful here behold!
Of mine own treasure thou didst give the key!”