Page:Poems of nature, Thoreau, 1895.djvu/80

 STANZAS

doth have her dawn each day,

But mine are far between;

Content, I cry, for, sooth to say,

Mine brightest are, I ween.

For when my sun doth deign to rise,

Though it be her noontide,

Her fairest field in shadow lies,

Nor can my light abide.

Sometimes I bask me in her day,

Conversing with my mate,

But if we interchange one ray,

Forthwith her heats abate.