Henry David Thoreau (12 July 1817 – 6 May 1862 / Concord, Massachusetts)
Poems by Henry David Thoreau : 36 / 41
They Who Prepare My Evening Meal Below
They who prepare my evening meal below
Carelessly hit the kettle as they go
With tongs or shovel,
And ringing round and round,
Out of this hovel
It makes an eastern temple by the sound.
At first I thought a cow bell right at hand
Mid birches sounded o'er the open land,
Where I plucked flowers
Many years ago,
Spending midsummer hours
With such secure delight they hardly seemed to flow.
Henry David Thoreau
Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003
Read poems about / on: flower
Poems by Henry David Thoreau : 36 / 41
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