 | Collected poems of Henry Thoreau |  |
203
UPON THE BANK AT EARLY DAWN
Upon the bank at early dawn
I hear the cocks proclaim the day,
Though the moon shines securely on,
As if her course they could not stay.
I hear the cocks proclaim the day,
Though the moon shines securely on,
As if her course they could not stay.
The stars withhold their shining not
Or singly or in scattered crowds,
But seem like Parthian arrows shot
By yielding Night mid the advancing clouds.
Or singly or in scattered crowds,
But seem like Parthian arrows shot
By yielding Night mid the advancing clouds.
Far in the east their larum rings,
As if a wakeful host were there,
And now its early clarion sings
To warn us sluggard knights beware.
As if a wakeful host were there,
And now its early clarion sings
To warn us sluggard knights beware.
One on more distant perch, more clear,
But fainter, brags him still,
But ah, he promises, I fear,
More than her master's household will fulfil.
But fainter, brags him still,
But ah, he promises, I fear,
More than her master's household will fulfil.
The sound invades each silent wood,
Awakes each slumbering bird,
Till every fowl leads forth her brood,
Which on her nest the tuneful summons heard.
Awakes each slumbering bird,
Till every fowl leads forth her brood,
Which on her nest the tuneful summons heard.
Methinks that Time has reached his prime,
Eternity is in the flower,
And this the faint, confused chime
That ushers in the sacred hour.
Eternity is in the flower,
And this the faint, confused chime
That ushers in the sacred hour.
204
And has Time got so forward then?
From what perennial fount of joy,
Dost thou inspire the hearts of men,
And teach them how the daylight to employ?
From what perennial fount of joy,
Dost thou inspire the hearts of men,
And teach them how the daylight to employ?
From thy abundance pray impart,
Who dost so freely spill,
Some bravery unto my heart,
And let me taste of thy perennial rill.
Who dost so freely spill,
Some bravery unto my heart,
And let me taste of thy perennial rill.
There is such health and length of years
In the elixir of thy note,
That God himself more young appears,
From the rare bragging of thy throat.
In the elixir of thy note,
That God himself more young appears,
From the rare bragging of thy throat.
| Collected poems of Henry Thoreau | |