End Emerson

He was the kind of man who could wait hours for a shooting star, days for a whip-poor-will's call, and months for the kingfisher's return. He never gave up on religion or science but like William Blake, he divined his God through the world around him; the rocks, the mosses, the shadowy nooks in the woods, and the birdcalls that to him sang as beautifully as any well conducted church choir.

He cringed at the thought of Nature as a giant laboratory. He looked to Goethe for help in reconciling his love of poetry and his curiousity in the natural sciences. The result of this was a joyful proliferation of poetry, letters, and quips on the part of Emerson.

He may never quite live up to the mastery of Blake or be thought of as having the fluid versatility of Goethe. He will never be as 'cool' as Whitman or as tragic as Poe. What he will live on as for many is a welcome companion and an eloquent dreamer of lives worth living. He was one of the last to appreciate the nature of America before she was ruined by industry and the memory of her passed on to us from him is one worth more than what any archaeologist could unearth.