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Henry David Thoreau - The Poet`s Delay
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IN vain I see the morning rise,
            In vain observe the western blaze,
            Who idly look to other skies,
            Expecting life by other ways.
             
            Amidst such boundless wealth without,
            I only still am poor within,
            The birds have sung their summer out,
            But still my spring does not begin.
             
            Shall I then wait the autumn wind,
            Compelled to seek a milder day,
            And leave no curious nest behind,
            No woods still echoing to my lay?
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