Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)

ALL things are current found

On earthly ground,

Spirits and elements

Have their descents.

Night and day, year on year,

High and low, far and near,

These are our own aspects,

These are our own regrets.

Ye gods of the shore,

Who abide evermore,

I see your far headland,

Stretching on either hand;

I hear the sweet evening sounds

From your undecaying grounds;

Cheat me no more with time,

Take me to your clime.