such a golden flood, without a ripple or a murmur to it. The west
side of every wood and rising ground gleamed like the boundary of
Elysium, and the sun on our backs seemed like a gentle herdsman
driving us home at evening.
So we saunter toward the Holy Land, till one day the sun shall
shine more brightly than ever he has done, shall perchance shine
into our minds and hearts, and light up our whole lives with a
great awakening light, as warm and serene and golden as on a
bankside in autumn.
End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Walking by Henry David Thoreau