Pray to What Earth in  General   

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.
The fields gleam mildly back upon the sky,
And far and near upon the leafless shrubs
The snow dust still emits a silver light.
Under the hedge, where drift banks are their screen,
The titmice now pursue their downy dreams,
As often in the sweltering summer nights
The bee doth drop asleep in the flower cup,
When evening overtakes him with his load.
By the brooksides, in the still, genial night,
The more adventurous wanderer may hear
The crystals shoot and form, and winter slow
Increase his rule by gentlest summer means.

By Henry David Thoreau

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Other poems by Henry David Thoreau:

• Conscience
• Epitaph On The World
• Friendship
• I am the autumnal sun
• I Knew A Man By Sight
• Indeed, indeed, I cannot tell
• Inspiration
• Let such pure hate still underprop
• Low-Anchored Cloud
• My life has been the poem
• Pray to What Earth
• Prayer
• Rumors from an Aeolian Harp
• Sic Vita
• Smoke
• The Inward Morning
• The Summer Rain
• They Who Prepare my Evening Meal Below
• Within the Circuit of This Plodding Life