My Boots

boots
Anon with gaping fearlessness they quaff
The dewy nectar with a natural thirst,
Or wet their leathern lungs where cranberries lurk,
With sweeter wine than Chian, Lesbian, or
    Falernian far.
Theirs was the inward lustre that bespeaks
An open sole--unknowing to exclude
The cheerful day--a worthier glory far
Than that which gilds the outmost rind with
    darkness visible--
Virtues that fast abide through lapse of years,
Rather rubbed in than off.
Henry D. Thoreau, Journal, 16 October 1838 (Princeton, 1981, p.88.)
Summer so far: helping a friend build his log house in the foothills of the Cascades; rafting on the Salmon River; gathering of family and friends in McCall, Idaho. August seems to last forever.

August 9, 2004 | Comments (0)