Smoke
Light-winged smoke, Icarian bird, Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight, Lark without song, and messenger of dawn, Circling above the hamlets as thy nest; Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts; By night star-veiling, and by day Darkening the light blotting out the sun; Go thou my incense upward from this hearth, And ask the Gods to pardon this clear flame.
Henry Thoreau’s other poems:
- Let Such Pure Hate Still Underprop
- What’s the Railroad to Me?
- On Fields Oer Which the Reaper’s Hand Has Passd
- The Moon
- Indeed Indeed, I Cannot Tell
Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):
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