I Eat Poetry

Travelings

How little curious is man
He has not searched his mystery a-span
but dreams of mines of treasure which he neglects to measure
For three score years and ten walks to and forth amid his fellow men
O'er this small tract of continental land
And never uses a divining wand
Our uninquiring corpses lie more low than life's curiosity doth go
Our ambitious steps ne'er climb so high as in their daily sport the sparrows fly
And yonder clouds born farther in a day than our most vagrant steps may ever stray
Surely, o Lord, he has not greatly err'ed
Who has so little from his threshold stirred
He wanders through his low and shallow world
Scarcely his loathier hopes and thoughts unfurled
Through his low-walled world where his huge sin has hardly room to rest and harbor in
He wanders 'round till his end draws nigh
And then lays down his aged hand to die
And this is Life, this that famous strife

-Henry David Thoreau
Lining and punctuation is mostly likely off. This was written from an audio recording.