To our music Time will linger, And earth open wide her ear, Nor shall any need to tarry To immortal verse to marry Such sweet music as he'll hear. _July 24._ Nature doth have her dawn each day, But mine are far between; Content, I cry, for, sooth to say, Mine brightest are, I ween. For when my sun doth deign to rise, Though it be her noontide, Her fairest field in shadow lies, Nor can my light abide. Sometimes I bask me in her day, Conversing with my mate; But if we interchange one ray, Forthwith her heats abate. Through his discourse I climb and see, As from some eastern hill, A brighter morrow rise to me Than lieth in her skill. As't were two summer days in one, Two Sundays come together, Our rays united make one sun, With fairest summer weather.[60] _July 25._ There is no remedy for love but to love more. _Aug. 31._ Made seven miles, and moored our boat on the west side of a little rising ground which in the spring forms an island in the river, the sun going down on one hand, and our eminence contributing its shadow to the night on the other.[61] In the twilight so elastic is the air that the sky seems to tinkle [_sic_] over farmhouse and wood. Scrambling up the bank of our _terra incognita_ we fall on huckleberries, which have slowly ripened here, husbanding the juices which the months have distilled, for our peculiar use this night.[62] If they had been rank poison, the entire simplicity and confidence with which we plucked them would have insured their wholesomeness. The devout attitude of the hour asked a blessing on that repast. It was fit for the setting sun to rest on. * * * * * From our tent here on the hillside, through that isosceles door, I see our lonely mast on the shore, it may be as an eternity fixture, to be seen in landscapes henceforth, or as the most temporary standstill of time, the boat just come to anchor, and the mast still rocking to find its balance.[63] * * * * * No human life is in night,—the woods, the boat, the shore,—yet is it lifelike.[64] The warm pulse of a young life beats steadily underneath all. This slight wind is where one artery approaches the surface and is skin deep. * * * * * While I write here, I hear the foxes trotting about me over the dead leaves, and now gently over the grass, as if not to disturb the dew which is falling. Why should we not cultivate neighborly relations with the foxes? As if to improve upon our seeming advances, comes one to greet us nosewise under our tent-curtain. Nor do we rudely repulse him. Is man powder and the fox flint and steel? Has not the time come when men and foxes shall lie down together? * * * * *