There is a vale which none hath seen,
Where foot of man has never been,
Such as here lives with toil and strife,
An anxious and a sinful life.
There every virtue has its birth,
Ere it descends upon the earth,
And thither every deed returns,
Which in the generous bosom burns.
There love is warm, and youth is young,
And poetry is yet unsung.
For Virtue still adventures there,
And freely breathes her native air.
And ever, if you hearken well,
You still may hear its vesper bell,
And tread of high-souled men go by,
Their thoughts conversing with the sky.
Rumors From An Aeolian Harp
Henry David Thoreau
(1)
Poem topics: I love you, birth, life, never, poetry, sky, earth, young, hear, generous, warm, high, native, youth, strife, anxious, love, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about Rumors From An Aeolian Harp poem by Henry David Thoreau
Best Poems of Henry David Thoreau