| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 165. Terminus |
| | | By Ralph Waldo Emerson |
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| IT is time to be old, | |
| To take in sail: | |
| The god of bounds, | |
| Who sets to seas a shore, | |
| Came to me in his fatal rounds, | 5 |
| And said: “No more! | |
| No farther shoot | |
| Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root. | |
| Fancy departs: no more invent; | |
| Contract thy firmament | 10 |
| To compass of a tent. | |
| There ’s not enough for this and that, | |
| Make thy option which of two; | |
| Economize the failing river, | |
| Not the less revere the Giver, | 15 |
| Leave the many and hold the few. | |
| Timely wise accept the terms, | |
| Soften the fall with wary foot; | |
| A little while | |
| Still plan and smile, | 20 |
| And—fault of novel germs— | |
| Mature the unfallen fruit. | |
| Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires, | |
| Bad husbands of their fires, | |
| Who, when they gave thee breath, | 25 |
| Failed to bequeath | |
| The needful sinew stark as once, | |
| The Baresark marrow to thy bones, | |
| But left a legacy of ebbing veins, | |
| Inconstant heat and nerveless reins,— | 30 |
| Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb, | |
| Amid the gladiators, halt and numb.” | |
| As the bird trims her to the gale, | |
| I trim myself to the storm of time, | |
| I man the rudder, reef the sail, | 35 |
| Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime: | |
| “Lowly faithful, banish fear, | |
| Right onward drive unharmed; | |
| The port, well worth the cruise, is near, | |
| And every wave is charmed.” | 40 |
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