On fields o’er which the reaper’s hand has pass’d
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.
(Henry David Thoreau)
More Poetry from Henry David Thoreau:
- Inspiration (Henry David Thoreau Poems)
- Friendship (Henry David Thoreau Poems)
- Sic Vita (Henry David Thoreau Poems)
- The Summer Rain (Henry David Thoreau Poems)
- Let Such Pure Hate Still Underprop (Henry David Thoreau Poems)
- Though All The Fates (Henry David Thoreau Poems)