Give All to Love (a poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson)

So I told you guys that when you have Transcendentalism on the brain, you'll see how everything connects to it. The universe is in collusion, sending messages about slowing down, smelling the proverbial roses, and appreciating the life you have. Indeed the universe must know what is happening in our little classroom, because in my inbox this morning, I found a link to my favorite poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson. In the first stanza, he writes about joyously seizing every opportunity that life presents. He exhorts each one of us to follow our heart "utterly" since it "knows its own path." I love how he talks about how it takes courage to love and that you sometimes need to make sacrifices and take risks for love.

So what kind of love does he mean? Is it love in the romantic sense? Yes! Is it love in terms of the passion of one's life work?  Yes. Is it love in terms of depth of spirituality? Yes.

It's all of those things. Follow whatever makes your heart swell with elation.

What do you think of the ideas in the last stanza? ("When the half-gods go, the gods arrive") What are the half-gods and gods? I'm eager to hear your thoughts in the comments.

This poem is just the right amount of schmaltz. ;-)

Give All to Love
By Ralph Waldo Emerson 1803–1882 Ralph Waldo Emerson

Give all to love;

Obey thy heart;

Friends, kindred, days,

Estate, good-fame,

Plans, credit and the Muse,—

Nothing refuse.

’T is a brave master;

Let it have scope:

Follow it utterly,

Hope beyond hope:

High and more high

It dives into noon,

With wing unspent,

Untold intent:

But it is a god,

Knows its own path

And the outlets of the sky.

It was never for the mean;

It requireth courage stout.

Souls above doubt,

Valor unbending,

It will reward,—

They shall return

More than they were,

And ever ascending.

Leave all for love;

Yet, hear me, yet,

One word more thy heart behoved,

One pulse more of firm endeavor,—

Keep thee to-day,

To-morrow, forever,

Free as an Arab

Of thy beloved.

Cling with life to the maid;

But when the surprise,

First vague shadow of surmise

Flits across her bosom young,

Of a joy apart from thee,

Free be she, fancy-free;

Nor thou detain her vesture’s hem,

Nor the palest rose she flung

From her summer diadem.

Though thou loved her as thyself,

As a self of purer clay,

Though her parting dims the day,

Stealing grace from all alive;

Heartily know,

When half-gods go,   

The gods arrive.