Poem by Henry Thoreau

The Inward Morning

Packed in my mind lie all the clothes
    Which outward nature wears, 
And in its fasion's hourly change
    It all things else repairs

In vain I look for change abroad,
    And can no difference find, 
Till som 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 news, 
In the horizon of my mind
    Have seen such orient hues,

As in the twilight of the dawn,
    When the first 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.

1. Let Such Pure Hate Still Underprop
2. On Fields Oer Which the Reaper's Hand Has Passd
3. What's the Railroad to Me?
4. Indeed Indeed, I Cannot Tell
5. Pray to What Earth Does This Sweet Cold Belong

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