Henry David Thoreau

Henry David Thoreau

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Henry David Thoreau (see name pronunciation; July 12, 1817 – May 6, 1862) was an American naturalist, essayist, poet, and philosopher.[3] A leading transcendentalist,[4] he is best known for his book Walden, a reflection upon simple living in natural surroundings, and his essay "Civil Disobedience" (originally published as "Resistance to Civil Government"), an argument for disobedience to an unjust state.
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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...
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Light-winged Smoke,
Icarian bird,
Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight,
Lark without song, and messenger of dawn Circling above the hamlets as they nest;
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Time wears her not; she doth his chariot guide; Mortality below her orb is placed
-Raleigh The full-orbed moon with unchanged ray Mounts up the eastern sky,
Not doomed to these short nights for aye, But shining steadily
She does not...
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On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life A richer harvest reap...
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I think awhile of Love, and while I think, Love is to me a world, Sole meat and sweetest drink, And close connecting link Tween heaven and earth
I only know it is, not how or why, My greatest happiness; However hard I try, Not if I were to di...
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I am a parcel of vain strivings
By a chance bond together,
Dangling this way and that, their
Were made so loose and wide,
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There is a vale which none hath seen,
Where foot of man has never been,
Such as here lives with toil and strife,
An anxious and a sinful life
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IN vain I see the morning rise, In vain observe the western blaze, Who idly look to other skies, Expecting life by other ways
Amidst such boundless wealth without, I only still am poor within, The birds have sung their summer out, But still m...
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Conscience is instinct bred in the house,
Feeling and Thinking propagate the sin By an unnatural breeding in and in
I say,
Turn it out doors,
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O Nature
I do not
To be the highest in thy choir, -To be a meteor in thy sky,
Or comet that may range on high;
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Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountain-head and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,
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I am a parcel of vain strivings tied By a chance bond together, Dangling this way and that, their links Were made so loose and wide, Methinks, For milder weather
A bunch of violets without their roots, And sorrel intermixed, Encircled by a wi...
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My books I'd fain cast off,
I cannot read, 'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large Down in the meadow, where is richer feed, And will not mind to hit their proper target
Plutarch was good, and so was Homer too, Our Shakespeare's ...
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In
To
The amber of
At a high soul
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Men say they know many things;
But lo
they have taken wings, —The arts and sciences,
And a thousand appliances;
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Pray to what earth does this sweet cold belong,
Which asks no duties and no conscience
The moon goes up by leaps, her cheerful path In some far summer stratum of the sky,
While stars with their cold shine bedot her way
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