(no subject)

[bookishfellow]

I am a parcel of vain strivings tied
              By a chance bond together;
        Dangling this way and that, their links
              Were made so loose and wide
                            Methinks,
                  For milder weather.

A bunch of violets without their roots,
              And sorrel intermixed,
        Encircled by a wisp of straw
              Once coiled about theri shoots,
                            The law
                  By which I'm fixed.

A nosegay which Time clutched from out
              Those fair Elysian fields,
        With weeds and broken stems, in haste,
              Doth make the rabble rout
                            That waste
                  The day he yields.

And here I bloom for a short hour unseen,
              Drinking my juices up,
        With no root in the land
              To keep my branches green,
                            But stand
                  In a bare cup.

-Henry David Thoreau