And next in value, which thy kindness lends,
That I may greatly disappoint my friends,
Howe’er they think or hope that it may be,
They may not dream how thou’st distinguished me.
That my weak hand may equal my firm faith,
And my life practise more than my tongue saith;
That my low conduct may not show,
Nor my relenting lines,
That I thy purpose did not know,
Or overrated thy designs.
Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press
FOOTNOTES:
[1] In the present selection a return has been made, wherever possible, from the emendations introduced by Thoreau’s editors to the original text.
[2] Article on ‘The Poetry of Thoreau,’ by Joel Benton. Lippincott’s Magazine, 1886.
[3] John Weiss, in the Christian Examiner, 1865.
[4] This poem was written on a sheet of paper wrapped round a bunch of violets, tied loosely with a straw, and thrown into the window of a friend. It was read at Thoreau’s funeral by his friend Bronson Alcott.
[5] The above title, prefixed to these stanzas in Emerson’s selection, is scarcely suited to so personal and characteristic a poem.