By Henry D. Thoreau
My love must be as free
As is the eagle’s wing,
Hovering o’er land and sea
And everything.
I must not dim my eye
In thy saloon,
I must not leave my sky
And nightly moon.
Be not the fowler’s net
Which stays my flight,
And craftily is set
T’allure the sight.
But be the favoring gale
That bears me on,
And still doth fill my sail
When thou art gone.
I cannot leave my sky
For thy caprice,
True love would soar as high
As heaven is.
The eagle would not brook
Her mate thus won,
Who trained his eye to look
Beneath the sun.
Source: The Dial (October 1842) pp. 199
