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The lords of life, the lords of life,—I saw them pass, In their own guise, Like and unlike, Portly and grim, Use and Surprise, Surface and Dream, Succession swift, and spectral Wrong, Temperament without a tongue, And the inventor of the game Omnipresent without name; —Some to see, some to be guessed, They marched from east to west: Little man, least of all, Among the legs of his guardians tall, Walked about with puzzled look: —Him by the hand dear nature took; Dearest nature, strong and kind, Whispered, 'Darling, never mind! In a series of which we do not know the extremes, and believe that it has none.Tomorrow they will wear another face, The founder thou! We wake and find ourselves on a stair; there are stairs below us, which we seem to have ascended; there are stairs above us, many a one, which go upward and out of sight.
So is it with this calamity: it does not touch me: some thing which I fancied was a part of me, which could not be torn away without tearing me, nor enlarged without enriching me, falls off from me, and leaves no scar. I grieve that grief can teach me nothing, nor carry me one step into real nature.
The Indian who was laid under a curse, that the wind should not blow on him, nor water flow to him, nor fire burn him, is a type of us all.
That, like all the rest, plays about the surface, and never introduces me into the reality, for contact with which, we would even pay the costly price of sons and lovers.
Was it Boscovich who found out that bodies never come in contact? An innavigable sea washes with silent waves between us and the things we aim at and converse with. In the death of my son, now more than two years ago, I seem to have lost a beautiful estate, — no more. If tomorrow I should be informed of the bankruptcy of my principal debtors, the loss of my property would be a great inconvenience to me, perhaps, for many years; but it would leave me as it found me, — neither better nor worse.
“Lords of life’ are the forces act on our lives and determine the way we live and sustain our lives.
Emerson believes that man is comforted by nature who tells him that the lords will wear another face tomorrow and that his power is more than that of lords.
The dearest events are summer-rain, and we the Para coats that shed every drop. We look to that with a grim satisfaction, saying, there at least is reality that will not dodge us.
I take this evanescence and lubricity of all objects, which lets them slip through our fingers then when we clutch hardest, to be the most unhandsome part of our condition.
It is said, all martyrdoms looked mean when they were suffered.
Every ship is a romantic object, except that we sail in.