Pray to what earth does this sweet cold belong, <br />Which asks no duties and no conscience? <br />The moon goes up by leaps, her cheerful path <br />In some far summer stratum of the sky, <br />While stars with their cold shine bedot her way. <br />The fields gleam mildly back upon the sky, <br />And far and near upon the leafless shrubs <br />The snow dust still emits a silver light. <br />Under the hedge, where drift banks are their screen, <br />The titmice now pursue their downy dreams, <br />As often in the sweltering summer nights <br />The bee doth drop asleep in the flower cup, <br />When evening overtakes him with his load. <br />By the brooksides, in the still, genial night, <br />The more adventurous wanderer may hear <br />The crystals shoot and form, and winter slow <br />Increase his rule by gentlest summer means.<br /><br />Henry David Thoreau<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pray-to-what-earth-does-this-sweet-cold-belong/
