And next in value, which thy kindness lends, That I may greatly disappoint my friends, Howe’er they think or hope that it may be, They may not dream how thou’st distinguished me. That my weak hand may equal my firm faith, And my life practise more than my tongue saith; That my low conduct may not show, Nor my relenting lines, That I thy purpose did not know, Or overrated thy designs. Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press FOOTNOTES: [1] In the present selection a return has been made, wherever possible, from the emendations introduced by Thoreau’s editors to the original text. [2] Article on ‘The Poetry of Thoreau,’ by Joel Benton. _Lippincott’s Magazine_, 1886. [3] John Weiss, in the _Christian Examiner_, 1865. [4] This poem was written on a sheet of paper wrapped round a bunch of violets, tied loosely with a straw, and thrown into the window of a friend. It was read at Thoreau’s funeral by his friend Bronson Alcott. [5] The above title, prefixed to these stanzas in Emerson’s selection, is scarcely suited to so personal and characteristic a poem. [6] Suggested by the print of Guido’s ‘Aurora,’ sent by Mrs. Carlyle as a wedding gift to Mrs. Emerson. [7] The explanation of this poem, given on Emerson’s authority, but necessarily somewhat conjectural, is that a reference is made, under the character of the ‘gentle boy,’ to the girl with whom both Henry and John Thoreau were in love. [8] This and the following poem appeared under the title of ‘Orphics’ in the _Dial_. [9] Wrongly printed ‘fen’ in Emerson’s selection. [10] The first four of these stanzas (unnamed by Thoreau) were published in the _Boston Commonwealth_ in 1863, under the title of ‘The Soul’s Season,’ the remainder as ‘The Fall of the Leaf.’ There can be little doubt that they are parts of one complete poem. [11] These stanzas formed part of the original manuscript of the essay on ‘A Winter Walk,’ but were excluded by Emerson. [12] First printed in full in the _Boston Commonwealth_, October 30, 1863. The last fourteen lines had appeared in the _Dial_ under the title of ‘The Black Knight,’ and are so reprinted in the Riverside Edition. [13] In the _Dial_ this line runs, ‘Only the promise of my heart.’ [14] A copy of this hitherto unpublished poem has been kindly furnished by Miss A. J. Ward. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of Nature, by Henry David Thoreau