Transcendentalism.

What is transcendentalism?
    Merely sentimentalism
With a dash of egotism
    Somewhat mixed with mysticism.
Not at all like Socialism,
    Nor a bit like Atheism,
Hinges not on pessimism,
    Treats of man's asceticism,
Quite opposes anarchism.
    Can't you name another "Ism?"
Yes, it's transcendentalism.

Edwin C. Ranck

Edwin C. Ranck was an American lyricist noted for his work in the early 20th century. He was a prolific writer and his lyrics were often characterized by their humor and wit. One of his standout works is the poem 'The Optimist', which reflects his positive outlook on life. Beyond that, little is known about his personal life or career. He remains a somewhat obscure figure in literary history.

Edwin C. Ranck

Brutal Mary.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

The Medicine Man.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

Halloween.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

When The Lid Was On.

Edwin C. Ranck, Simple Poetry

English

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Transcendentalism

It is told, in Buddhi-theosophic schools,
        There are rules.
By observing which, when mundane labor irks
One can simulate quiescence
By a timely evanescence
From his Active Mortal Essence,
        (Or his Works.)

The particular procedure leaves research
        In the lurch,
But, apparently, this matter-moulded form
    Is a kind of outer plaster,
    Which a well-instructed Master
    Can remove without disaster
        When he's warm.

And to such as mourn an Indian Solar Clime
        At its prime
'Twere a thesis most immeasurably fit,
    So expansively elastic,
    And so plausibly fantastic,
    That one gets enthusiastic
        For a bit.

Unknown

The Bohemian Hymn

In many forms we try
To utter God's infinity,
But the boundless hath no form,
And the Universal Friend
Doth as far transcend
An angel as a worm.

The great Idea baffles wit,
Language falters under it,
It leaves the learned in the lurch;
Nor art, nor power, nor toil can find
The measure of the eternal Mind,
Nor hymn, nor prayer, nor church.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Thomas Rhodes

    Very well, you liberals,
    And navigators into realms intellectual,
    You sailors through heights imaginative,
    Blown about by erratic currents, tumbling into air pockets,
    You Margaret Fuller Slacks, Petits,
    And Tennessee Claflin Shopes -
    You found with all your boasted wisdom
    How hard at the last it is
    To keep the soul from splitting into cellular atoms.
    While we, seekers of earth's treasures
    Getters and hoarders of gold,
    Are self-contained, compact, harmonized,
    Even to the end.

Edgar Lee Masters

Xenophanes

By fate, not option, frugal Nature gave
One scent to hyson and to wall-flower,
One sound to pine-groves and to waterfalls,
One aspect to the desert and the lake.
It was her stern necessity: all things
Are of one pattern made; bird, beast and flower,
Song, picture, form, space, thought and character
Deceive us, seeming to be many things,
And are but one. Beheld far off, they part
As God and devil; bring them to the mind,
They dull its edge with their monotony.
To know one element, explore another,
And in the second reappears the first.
The specious panorama of a year
But multiplies the image of a day,--
A belt of mirrors round a taper's flame;
And universal Nature, through her vast
And crowded whole, an infinite paroquet,
Repeats one note.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Self-Reliance

Henceforth, please God, forever I forego
The yoke of men's opinions. I will be
Light-hearted as a bird, and live with God.
I find him in the bottom of my heart,
I hear continually his voice therein.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Nature

I

A subtle chain of countless rings
The next unto the farthest brings;
The eye reads omens where it goes,
And speaks all languages the rose;
And, striving to be man, the worm
Mounts through all the spires of form.

II

The rounded world is fair to see,
Nine times folded in mystery:
Though baffled seers cannot impart
The secret of its laboring heart,
Throb thine with Nature's throbbing breast,
And all is clear from east to west.
Spirit that lurks each form within
Beckons to spirit of its kin;
Self-kindled every atom glows
And hints the future which it owes.

Ralph Waldo Emerson