the Thoreau Log.
11 May 1852. Concord, Mass.

Thoreau writes in his journal:

  Sunrise,—merely a segment of a circle of rich amber in the east, growing brighter and brighter at one point. There is no rosy color at this moment and not a speck in the sky, and now comes the sun without pomp, a bright liquid gold . . .

  P.M.—Kossuth here.

  The hand-organ, when I am far enough off not to hear the friction of the machinery, not to see or be reminded of the performer, serves the grandest use for me, deepens my existence . . .

(Journal, 4:45-46)

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