The Wildflower

What innocent glee, Lies open in whiteness, The wildflowers raise aloft, As they dance upon the breeze, Will be lost in deep skies— Yet there is a joy within, That begs no watch or tell.

RAISE ME! RAISE ME UP! Beneath thronging prayers, the light, Words of feasting thought, Draws us all to share the thought’s worth Of nature.

—Henry David Thoreau

• Henry David Thoreau