Page:Poems of nature, Thoreau, 1895.djvu/141

Rh To all true wants Time's ear is deaf,

Penurious States lend no relief

Out of their pelf:

But a free soul—thank God—

Can help itself.

Be sure your fate

Doth keep apart its state,—

Not linked with any band,

Even the noblest in the land,—

In tented fields with cloth of gold

No place doth hold,

But is more chivalrous than they are,

And sigheth for a nobler war;

A finer strain its trumpet rings,

A brighter gleam its armor flings.