The Loon
Whence this appeal that is not of the earth, The song of the Loon, that from dusk to dawn, Wails its plaint on a lonely river,
And haunts the shore like a ghostly star.
O wondrous, plaintive cry, so far away! Body of a feathered fish, ghostly as light,
Born of the water and dead to the air.
Love of nature as spiritual companionship,
The woods, the streams,
In the summer’s late, quiet light.
Subtle and sweet is the mood of the night.
- Henry David Thoreau