On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd <br />Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun, <br />My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind <br />And of such fineness as October airs, <br />There after harvest could I glean my life <br />A richer harvest reaping without toil, <br />And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will <br />In subtler webs than finest summer haze.<br /><br />Henry David Thoreau<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-fields-o-er-which-the-reaper-s-hand-has-pass/
