NATUREBy Henry David ThoreauO Nature!

I do not aspireTo be the highest in thy choir, —To be a meteor in thy sky,Or comet that may range on high;Only a zephyr that may blowAmong the reeds by the river low;Give me thy most privy placeWhere to run my airy race.

In some withdrawn, unpublic meadLet me sigh upon a reed,Or in the woods, with leafy din,Whisper the still evening in:Some still work give me to do, —Only—be it near to you!

For I’d rather be thy childAnd pupil, in the forest wild,Than be the king of men elsewhere,And most sovereign slave of care;To have one moment of thy dawn,Than share the city’s year forlorn.

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