Surveying for Parks in Lincoln.
April 12, 2019
A white frost this morning, after the clear moonlight.
I observe that it is when I have been intently, and it may be laboriously, at work, and am somewhat listless or abandoned after it, reposing, that the muse visits me, and I see or hear beauty. It is from out the shadow of my toil that I look into the light.
I observe that it is when I have been intently, and it may be laboriously, at work, and am somewhat listless or abandoned after it, reposing, that the muse visits me, and I see or hear beauty. It is from out the shadow of my toil that I look into the light.
The music of the spheres is but another name for the Vulcanic force. May not such a record as this be kept on one page of the Book of Life : "A man was melted to-day "
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 12, 1854
H. D. Thoreau, Journal, April 12, 1854
It is from out the shadow of my toil that I look into the light. See April 8, 1854 ("A day or two surveying is equal to a journey"); April 12, 1858 ("The woods are all alive with pine warblers now. Their note is the music to which I survey."); September 2, 1851 ("It is always essential that we love to do what we are doing, do it with a heart."); November 18 1851 ("The man who is bent upon his work is frequently in the best attitude to observe what is irrelevant to his work."); April 30, 1856 (" Again, it is with the side of the ear that you hear . . . You would fain devote yourself to the melody, but you will hear more of it if you devote yourself to your work.”); May 12, 1857 ("Methinks I hear these sounds, have these reminiscences, only when well employed."); November 18, 1857 ("You cannot perceive beauty but with a serene mind. ") October 4, 1859 ("You have got to be in a different state from common.") ; Walden ([W]e are enabled to apprehend at all what is sublime and noble only by the perpetual instilling and drenching of the reality that surrounds us.”) and A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, To effect the quality of the day.
It is from out the
shadow of my toil that I
look into the light.
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, From out of the Shadow
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality."
~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2024
tinyurl.com/hdt-540412
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