| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 300. Inspiration |
| | | By Henry David Thoreau |
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| IF with light head erect I sing, | |
| Though all the Muses lend their force, | |
| From my poor love of anything, | |
| The verse is weak and shallow as its source. | |
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| But if with bended neck I grope | 5 |
| Listening behind me for my wit, | |
| With faith superior to hope, | |
| More anxious to keep back than forward it,— | |
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| Making my soul accomplice there | |
| Unto the flame my heart hath lit, | 10 |
| Then will the verse forever wear,— | |
| Time cannot bend the line which God has writ. | |
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| I hearing get, who had but ears, | |
| And sight, who had but eyes before; | |
| I moments live, who lived but years, | 15 |
| And truth discern, who knew but learning’s lore. | |
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| Now chiefly is my natal hour, | |
| And only now my prime of life; | |
| Of manhood’s strength it is the flower, | |
| ’T is peace’s end, and war’s beginning strife. | 20 |
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| It comes in summer’s broadest noon, | |
| By a gray wall, or some chance place, | |
| Unseasoning time, insulting June, | |
| And vexing day with its presuming face. | |
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| I will not doubt the love untold | 25 |
| Which not my worth nor want hath bought, | |
| Which wooed me young, and wooes me old, | |
| And to this evening hath me brought. | |
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