In Review: American Literature Series - Emerson's Song of Nature

Today, I had intended to talk about the big project that I am doing for my American Literature class. Since my paper is still in rough draft form, and the topic is one I am really passionate about, I decided to wait until I can post something of better quality. Instead, I will share with you another of the poems that we analyzed last week - Ralph Waldo Emerson's "Song of Nature." We were asked to think about how nature is depicted in American literature and how American identity is constructed and developed in similar and different ways through the representations of nature.

Song of Nature

Mine are the night and morning,

The pits of air, the gulf of space,

The sportive sun, the gibbous moon,

The innumerable days.

I hid in the solar glory,

I am dumb in the pealing song,

I rest on the pitch of the torrent,

In slumber I am strong.

No numbers have counted my tallies,

No tribes my house can fill,

I sit by the shining Fount of Life,

And pour the deluge still;

And ever by delicate powers

Gathering along the centuries

From race on race the rarest flowers,

My wreath shall nothing miss.

And many a thousand summers

My apples ripened well,

And light from meliorating stars

With firmer glory fell.

I wrote the past in characters

Of rock and fire the scroll,

The building in the coral sea,

The planting of the coal.

And thefts from satellites and rings

And broken stars I drew,

And out of spent and aged things

I formed the world anew;

What time the gods kept carnival,

Tricked out in star and flower,

And in cramp elf and saurian forms

They swathed their too much power.

Time and Thought were my surveyors,

They laid their courses well,

They boiled the sea, and baked the layers

Or granite, marl, and shell.

But he, the man-child glorious,--

Where tarries he the while?

The rainbow shines his harbinger,

The sunset gleams his smile.

My boreal lights leap upward,

Forthright my planets roll,

And still the man-child is not born,

The summit of the whole.

Must time and tide forever run?

Will never my winds go sleep in the west?

Will never my wheels which whirl the sun

And satellites have rest?

Too much of donning and doffing,

Too slow the rainbow fades,

I weary of my robe of snow,

My leaves and my cascades;

I tire of globes and races,

Too long the game is played;

What without him is summer’s pomp,

Or winter’s frozen shade?

I travail in pain for him,

My creatures travail and wait;

His couriers come by squadrons,

He comes not to the gate.

Twice I have moulded an image,

And thrice outstretched my hand,

Made one of day, and one of night,

And one of the salt sea-sand.

One in a Judaean manger,

And one by Avon stream,

One over against the mouths of Nile,

And one in the Academe.

I moulded kings and saviours,

And bards o’er kings to rule;--

But fell the starry influence short,

The cup was never full.

Yet whirl the glowing wheels once more,

And mix the bowl again;

Seethe, fate! the ancient elements,

Heat, cold, wet, dry, and peace, and pain.

Let war and trade and creeds and song

Blend, ripen race on race,

The sunburnt world a man shall breed

Of all the zones, and countless days.

No ray is dimmed, no atom worn,

My oldest force is good as new,

And the fresh rose on yonder thorn

Gives back the bending heavens in dew.

I believe that the narrative voice of the poem is that of God, since In stanza one Emerson speaks of these elements of nature that are “his.” There are a lot of religious/Biblical references in the poem;“And pour the deluge still” and “The rainbow shines his harbinger,” I believe he is talking about the flood and the rainbow that symbolized hope after the disaster (Emerson). Interestingly, he goes on to say that “too slow the rainbow fades.” He seems to be saying that, like the Biblical history of starting anew, he gave America to “man” in order to give them a fresh start at something wonderful, and now they, in the typical fashion of imperfect man, have disappointed him with their use of power. In the following stanza, he shows his disappointment; “I tire of globes and races,/Too long the game is played;/What without him is summer’s pomp,/Or winter’s frozen shade?” (Emerson). He seems to be saying the land was given to man to better the entire Earth, to connect all of humanity, yet, they have only served to do the opposite in their national superior manner. Finally, the second to last stanza shows his firm guiding hand, hoping that people will get the point, that he wants unity; "Let war and trade and creeds and song/Blend, ripen race on race,/The sunburnt world a man shall breed/Of all the zones, and countless days/” (Emerson).

It has become increasingly interesting to me that so many people throughout history have seen America through many different lenses. I don't know enough about Emerson - yet - to say whether or not his heart was hopeful for his nation. It feels that way to me after reading this poem though.

~ Peace and Love, Tracey

© Tracey Love, 2015. All rights reserved.

Works Cited

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. "Song of Nature." Academy of Poets. np. nd. Web. 24, Nov. 2015.