Hither rolls the storm of heat;
	I feel its finer billows beat
	Like a sea which me infolds;
	Heat with viewless fingers moulds,
	Swells, and mellows, and matures,
	Paints, and flavors, and allures,
	Bird and brier inly warms,
	Still enriches and transforms,
	Gives the reed and lily length,
	Adds to oak and oxen strength,
	Transforming what it doth infold,
	Life out of death, new out of old.

Emerson.