An Ongoing, Erratic Diary
|25 September 2012, 8:17 AM|
|The moon now rises to her absolute rule,
And the husbandman and the hunter
Acknowledge her for their mistress.
Asters and goldenrod reign in the fields
And the life everlasting withers not.
The fields are reaped and shorn of their pride
But an inward verdure still crowns them;
The thistle scatters its down on the pool
And yellow leaves clothe the river --
And nought disturbs the serious life of men.
But behind the sheaves and under the sod
There lurks a ripe fruit which the reapers have not gathered,
The true harvest of the year—the boreal fruit
Which it bears forever,
With fondness annually watering and maturing it.
But man never severs the stalk
Which bears this palatable fruit.
-- Henry David Thoreau
I suspect this is meant to be religious, but I mostly love it for the first half, which is a lovely celebration of autumn. :-)
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