Page:Poems of nature, Thoreau, 1895.djvu/54

30 It waits, as waits the sky

Until the clouds go by,

Yet shines serenely on

With an eternal day,

Alike when they are gone,

And when they stay.

Implacable is Love,—

Foes may be bought or teased

From their hostile intent,

But he goes unappeased

Who is on kindness bent.