Page:Poems of nature, Thoreau, 1895.djvu/112

88 And pond-sprites merry gambols play

Amid the deafening rack.

Eager I hasten to the vale,

As if I heard brave news,

How Nature held high festival,

Which it were hard to lose.

I gambol with my neighbor ice,

And sympathising quake,

As each new crack darts in a trice

Across the gladsome lake.

One with the cricket in the ground,

And fagot on the hearth,

Resounds the rare domestic sound

Along the forest path.