SOMETIMES A MORTAL FEELS IN HIMSELF NATURE
--NOT HIS FATHER BUT HIS MOTHER STIRS
WITHIN HIM, AND HE BECOMES INMORTAL WITH HER
INMORTALITY. FROM TIME TO TIME SHE CLAIMS
KINDREDSHIP WWITH US, AND SOME GLOBULE
FROM HER VEINS STEALS UP INTO OUR OWN.

I AM THE AUTUMNAL SUN,
WITH AUTUMN GALES MY RACE IS RUN
WHEN WILL THE HAZEL PUT FORTH ITS FLOERS,
OR THE GRAPE RIPEN UNDER MY BOWERS¿
WHEN WILL THE HARVEST OR THE HUNTER'S MOON
TURN MI MIDNIGTH INTO MID-NOON
I AM ALL SEERE AND YELLOW,
AND TO MY CORE MELLOW.
THE MAST IS DROPPING WITHIN M WOODS,
THE WINTER IS LURKING WITHIN MY MOODS,
AND THE RUSTLING OFN THE WITHERED LEAF
IS THE CONSTANT MUSIC OF MI GRIEF....



HENRY DAVID THOUREAU AN AMERICAN TITAN VERY UNKNOWN AND MY FAVORITE YANKEE POET. SO GOOD, AS SHELLEY. THIS SHOULD BE HERE. HENRY DAVID THOUREAU THE GREAT AMERICAN ORIGINAL, CIVYL DESOBEDIANCE IS SO ******* GOOD WALDEN TOO, BUT HIS POEMS ARE BEAUTIFUL AND MELLOW.