Henry David Thoreau



                   They Who Prepare my Evening Meal Below


                   They who prepare my evening meal below
                   Carelessly hit the kettle as they go
                   With tongs or shovel,
                   And ringing round and round,
                   Out of this hovel
                   It makes an eastern temple by the sound.
                   At first I thought a cow bell right at hand
                   Mid birches sounded o'er the open land,
                   Where I plucked flowers
                   Many years ago,
                   Spending midsummer hours
                   With such secure delight they hardly seemed to flow.


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