“They who prepare my evening meal...”
by Henry D. Thoreau

They who prepare my evening meal below
Carelessly hit the kettle as they go
With tongs or shovel,
And ringing round and round,
Out of this hovel
It makes an eastern temple by the sound.

At first I thought a cow-bell right at hand
Mid birches sounded o'er the open land,
Where I plucked flowers
Many years ago,
Spending midsummer hours
With such secure delight they hardly seemed to flow.

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A Note on the Text:

• Source: Collected Poems of Henry Thoreau edited by Carl Bode (Chicago Packard and Co., 1943) p. 127.

• Title from first line

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