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11/25/2009 12:30:39 AM

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POEM

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Packed in my mind lie all the clothes 
Which outward nature wears, 
And in its fashion's hourly change 
It all things else repairs. 
In vain I look for change abroad, 
And can no difference find, 
Till some new ray of peace uncalled 
Illumes my inmost mind.

What is it gilds the trees and clouds, 
And paints the heavens so gay, 
But yonder fast-abiding light 
With its unchanging ray?

Lo, when the sun streams through the wood, 
Upon a winter's morn, 
Where'er his silent beams intrude, 
The murky night is gone.

How could the patient pine have known 
The morning breeze would come, 
Or humble flowers anticipate 
The insect's noonday hum--

Till the new light with morning cheer 
From far streamed through the aisles, 
And nimbly told the forest trees 
For many stretching miles?

I've heard within my inmost soul 
Such cheerful morning news, 
In the horizon of my mind 
Have seen such orient hues,

As in the twilight of the dawn, 
When the first birds awake, 
Are heard within some silent wood, 
Where they the small twigs break,

Or in the eastern skies are seen, 
Before the sun appears, 
The harbingers of summer heats 
Which from afar he bears.

Henry David Thoreau

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