NATURE 215 



your feet, the little red newt fills its infantile pipe, 

 or hides under a leaf, the ruffed grouse bursts up 

 before you, the gray squirrel leaps from tree to tree, 

 the wood pewee utters its plaintive cry, the little 

 warblers lisp and dart amid the branches, and 

 sooner or later the mosquito demands his fee. 

 Our woods suggest new arts, new pleasures, a 

 new mode of life. English parks and groves, when 

 the sun shines, suggest a perpetual picnic, or 

 Maying party; but no one, I imagine, thinks of 

 camping out in English woods. The constant 

 rains, the darkened skies, the low temperature, 

 make the interior of a forest as uninviting as 

 an underground passage. I wondered what 

 became of the dry leaves that are such a feature 

 and give out such a pleasing odor in our woods. 

 They are probably raked up and carried away; 

 or, if left upon the ground, are quickly resolved 

 into mold by the damp climate. 



NATURE* 



BY HENRY DAVID THOREAU 



O NATURE! I do not aspire 

 To be the highest in thy quire 

 To be a meteor in the sky, 

 Or comet that may range on high; 



*By permission of the publishers, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 



