Mist
Low-anchored cloud Newfoundlan air, Fountain-head and source of rivers, Dew-cloth, dream drapery, And napkin spread by fays; Drifting meadow of the air, Where bloom the daisied banks and violets, And in whose fenny labyrinth The bittern booms and heron wades; Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers, Bear only perfumes and the scent Of healing herbs to just men's fields!
Henry Thoreau’s other poems:
- Let Such Pure Hate Still Underprop
- Smoke
- What’s the Railroad to Me?
- On Fields Oer Which the Reaper’s Hand Has Passd
- Pray to What Earth Does This Sweet Cold Belong
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