25 February 1839 – 3 March 1839

Hark! hark! from out the thickest fog Warbles with might and main The fearless shrike, as all agog To find in fog his gain. His steady sails he never furls At any time o' year, And, perched now on Winter's curls, He whistles in his ear.

He must be something more than natural,—even supernatural. Nature will not speak through but along with him. His voice will not proceed from her midst, but, breathing on her, will make her the expression of his thought. He then poetizes when he takes a fact out of nature into spirit. He speaks without reference to time or place. His thought is one world, hers another. He is another Nature,—Nature's brother. Kindly offices do they perform for one another. Each publishes the other's truth.