 | Collected poems of Henry Thoreau |  |
384
I'VE HEARD MY NEIGHBOR'S PUMP AT NIGHT
I've heard my neighbor's pump at night,
Long after Lyra sunk her light,
As if it were a natural sound,
And proper utterance of the ground—
Perchance some bittern in a fen—
Or else the squeak of a meadow hen.
Long after Lyra sunk her light,
As if it were a natural sound,
And proper utterance of the ground—
Perchance some bittern in a fen—
Or else the squeak of a meadow hen.
Who sleeps by day and walks by night,
Will meet no spirit but some sprite.
Will meet no spirit but some sprite.
| Collected poems of Henry Thoreau | |