Page:Writings of Henry David Thoreau (1906) v5.djvu/443

Rh The trees a welcome waved,

And lakes their margins laved,

When thy free mind

To my retreat did wind.

It was a summer eve,

The air did gently heave

While yet a low-hung cloud

Thy eastern skies did shroud;

The lightning's silent gleam,

Startling my drowsy dream,

Seemed like the flash

Under thy dark eyelash.

From yonder comes the sun,

But soon his course is run,

Rising to trivial day

Along his dusty way;

But thy noontide completes

Only auroral heats,

Nor ever sets,

To hasten vain regrets.

Direct thy pensive eye

Into the western sky;

And when the evening star

Does glimmer from afar

Upon the mountain line,

Accept it for a sign

That I am near,

And thinking of thee here.