John Burroughs was an American naturalist and essayist important in the evolution of the U.S. conservation movement. According to biographers at the American Memory project at the Library of Congress, John Burroughs was the most important practitioner after Henry David Thoreau of that especially American literary genre, the nature essay. By the turn of the 20th century he had become a virtual cultural institution in his own right: the Grand Old Man of Nature at a time when the American romance with the idea of nature, and the American conservation movement, had come fully into their own. His extraordinary popularity and popular visibility were sustained by a prolific stream of essay ... more »
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John Burroughs Poems
Serene, I fold my hands and wait, Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea; I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, For lo! my own shall come to me.
My friend and neighbor through the year, Self-appointed overseer Of my crops of fruit and grain, Of my woods and furrowed plain,
A wistful note from out the sky, 'Pure, pure, pure,' in plaintive tone, As if the wand'rer were alone, And hardly knew to sing or cry.
The Downy Woodpecker
Downy came and dwelt with me, Taught me hermit lore; Drilled his cell in oaken tree Near my cabin door.
List the booming from afar, Soft as hum of roving bee, Vague as when on distant bar Fall the cataracts of the sea.
The Coming Of Phoebe
When buckets shine 'gainst maple trees And dropp by dropp the sap doth flow, When days are warm, but still nights freeze, And deep in woods lie drifts of snow,
Daisies, clover, buttercup, Redtop, trefoil, meadowsweet, Ecstatic pinions, soaring up, Then gliding down to grassy seat.
Comments about John Burroughs
Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.
I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face.
Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny.
What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it hath sown,