TherealattractionsoftheHollowellfarm，tome，were:itscompleteretirement，being，abouttwomilesfromthevillage，halfamilefromthenearestneighbor，andseparatedfromthehighwaybyabroadfield；itsboundingontheriver，whichtheownersaidprotecteditbyitsfogsfromfrostsinthespring，thoughthatwasnothingtome；thegraycolorandruinousstateofthehouseandbarn，andthedilapidatedfences，whichputsuchanintervalbetweenmeandthelastoccupant；thehollowandlichen-coveredappletrees，nawedbyrabbits，showingwhatkindofneighborsIshouldhave；butaboveall，therecollectionIhadofitfrommyearliestvoyagesuptheriver，whenthehousewasconcealedbehindadensegroveofredmaples，throughwhichIheardthehouse-dogbark。Iwasinhastetobuyit，beforetheproprietorfinishedgettingoutsomerocks，cuttingdownthehollowappletrees，andgrubbingupsomeyoungbircheswhichhadsprungupinthepasture，or，inshort，hadmadeanymoreofhisimprovements。ToenjoytheseadvantagesIwasreadytocarryiton；likeAtlas，totaketheworldonmyshoulders——I
neverheardwhatcompensationhereceivedforthat——anddoallthosethingswhichhadnoothermotiveorexcusebutthatImightpayforitandbeunmolestedinmypossessionofit；forIknewallthewhilethatitwouldyieldthemostabundantcropofthekindI
wanted，ifIcouldonlyaffordtoletitalone。ButitturnedoutasIhavesaid。
AllthatIcouldsay，then，withrespecttofarmingonalargescale——Ihavealwayscultivatedagarden——was，thatIhadhadmyseedsready。Manythinkthatseedsimprovewithage。Ihavenodoubtthattimediscriminatesbetweenthegoodandthebad；andwhenatlastIshallplant，Ishallbelesslikelytobedisappointed。
ButIwouldsaytomyfellows，onceforall，Aslongaspossiblelivefreeanduncommitted。Itmakesbutlittledifferencewhetheryouarecommittedtoafarmorthecountyjail。
OldCato，whose“DeReRustica“ismy“Cultivator，“says——andtheonlytranslationIhaveseenmakessheernonsenseofthepassage——“Whenyouthinkofgettingafarmturnitthusinyourmind，nottobuygreedily；norspareyourpainstolookatit，anddonotthinkitenoughtogorounditonce。Theofteneryougotherethemoreitwillpleaseyou，ifitisgood。“IthinkIshallnotbuygreedily，butgoroundandrounditaslongasIlive，andbeburiedinitfirst，thatitmaypleasemethemoreatlast。
Thepresentwasmynextexperimentofthiskind，whichIpurposetodescribemoreatlength，forconvenienceputtingtheexperienceoftwoyearsintoone。AsIhavesaid，Idonotproposetowriteanodetodejection，buttobragaslustilyaschanticleerinthemorning，standingonhisroost，ifonlytowakemyneighborsup。
WhenfirstItookupmyabodeinthewoods，thatis，begantospendmynightsaswellasdaysthere，which，byaccident，wasonIndependenceDay，ortheFourthofJuly，1845，myhousewasnotfinishedforwinter，butwasmerelyadefenceagainsttherain，withoutplasteringorchimney，thewallsbeingofrough，weather-stainedboards，withwidechinks，whichmadeitcoolatnight。Theuprightwhitehewnstudsandfreshlyplaneddoorandwindowcasingsgaveitacleanandairylook，especiallyinthemorning，whenitstimbersweresaturatedwithdew，sothatIfanciedthatbynoonsomesweetgumwouldexudefromthem。Tomyimaginationitretainedthroughoutthedaymoreorlessofthisauroralcharacter，remindingmeofacertainhouseonamountainwhichIhadvisitedayearbefore。Thiswasanairyandunplasteredcabin，fittoentertainatravellinggod，andwhereagoddessmighttrailhergarments。Thewindswhichpassedovermydwellingweresuchassweepovertheridgesofmountains，bearingthebrokenstrains，orcelestialpartsonly，ofterrestrialmusic。Themorningwindforeverblows，thepoemofcreationisuninterrupted；butfewaretheearsthathearit。Olympusisbuttheoutsideoftheeartheverywhere。
TheonlyhouseIhadbeentheownerofbefore，ifIexceptaboat，wasatent，whichIusedoccasionallywhenmakingexcursionsinthesummer，andthisisstillrolledupinmygarret；buttheboat，afterpassingfromhandtohand，hasgonedownthestreamoftime。Withthismoresubstantialshelteraboutme，Ihadmadesomeprogresstowardsettlingintheworld。Thisframe，soslightlyclad，wasasortofcrystallizationaroundme，andreactedonthebuilder。Itwassuggestivesomewhatasapictureinoutlines。I
didnotneedtogooutdoorstotaketheair，fortheatmospherewithinhadlostnoneofitsfreshness。ItwasnotsomuchwithindoorsasbehindadoorwhereIsat，evenintherainiestweather。
TheHarivansasays，“Anabodewithoutbirdsislikeameatwithoutseasoning。“Suchwasnotmyabode，forIfoundmyselfsuddenlyneighbortothebirds；notbyhavingimprisonedone，buthavingcagedmyselfnearthem。Iwasnotonlynearertosomeofthosewhichcommonlyfrequentthegardenandtheorchard，buttothosesmallerandmorethrillingsongstersoftheforestwhichnever，orrarely，serenadeavillager——thewoodthrush，theveery，thescarlettanager，thefieldsparrow，thewhip-poor-will，andmanyothers。
Iwasseatedbytheshoreofasmallpond，aboutamileandahalfsouthofthevillageofConcordandsomewhathigherthanit，inthemidstofanextensivewoodbetweenthattownandLincoln，andabouttwomilessouthofthatouronlyfieldknowntofame，ConcordBattleGround；butIwassolowinthewoodsthattheoppositeshore，halfamileoff，liketherest，coveredwithwood，wasmymostdistanthorizon。Forthefirstweek，wheneverIlookedoutontheponditimpressedmelikeatarnhighuponthesideofamountain，itsbottomfarabovethesurfaceofotherlakes，and，asthesunarose，Isawitthrowingoffitsnightlyclothingofmist，andhereandthere，bydegrees，itssoftripplesoritssmoothreflectingsurfacewasrevealed，whilethemists，likeghosts，werestealthilywithdrawingineverydirectionintothewoods，asatthebreakingupofsomenocturnalconventicle。Theverydewseemedtohanguponthetreeslaterintothedaythanusual，asonthesidesofmountains。
Thissmalllakewasofmostvalueasaneighborintheintervalsofagentlerain-storminAugust，when，bothairandwaterbeingperfectlystill，buttheskyovercast，mid-afternoonhadalltheserenityofevening，andthewoodthrushsangaround，andwasheardfromshoretoshore。Alakelikethisisneversmootherthanatsuchatime；andtheclearportionoftheairaboveitbeing，shallowanddarkenedbyclouds，thewater，fulloflightandreflections，becomesalowerheavenitselfsomuchthemoreimportant。Fromahill-topnearby，wherethewoodhadbeenrecentlycutoff，therewasapleasingvistasouthwardacrossthepond，throughawideindentationinthehillswhichformtheshorethere，wheretheiroppositesidesslopingtowardeachothersuggestedastreamflowingoutinthatdirectionthroughawoodedvalley，butstreamtherewasnone。ThatwayIlookedbetweenandovertheneargreenhillstosomedistantandhigheronesinthehorizon，tingedwithblue。Indeed，bystandingontiptoeIcouldcatchaglimpseofsomeofthepeaksofthestillbluerandmoredistantmountainrangesinthenorthwest，thosetrue-bluecoinsfromheaven’sownmint，andalsoofsomeportionofthevillage。Butinotherdirections，evenfromthispoint，Icouldnotseeoverorbeyondthewoodswhichsurroundedme。Itiswelltohavesomewaterinyourneighborhood，togivebuoyancytoandfloattheearth。Onevalueevenofthesmallestwellis，thatwhenyoulookintoityouseethatearthisnotcontinentbutinsular。Thisisasimportantasthatitkeepsbuttercool。WhenIlookedacrossthepondfromthispeaktowardtheSudburymeadows，whichintimeoffloodI
distinguishedelevatedperhapsbyamirageintheirseethingvalley，likeacoininabasin，alltheearthbeyondthepondappearedlikeathincrustinsulatedandfloatedevenbythissmallsheetofintervertingwater，andIwasremindedthatthisonwhichIdweltwasbutdryland。
Thoughtheviewfrommydoorwasstillmorecontracted，Ididnotfeelcrowdedorconfinedintheleast。Therewaspastureenoughformyimagination。ThelowshruboakplateautowhichtheoppositeshorearosestretchedawaytowardtheprairiesoftheWestandthesteppesofTartary，affordingampleroomforalltherovingfamiliesofmen。“Therearenonehappyintheworldbutbeingswhoenjoyfreelyavasthorizon“——saidDamodara，whenhisherdsrequirednewandlargerpastures。
Bothplaceandtimewerechanged，andIdweltnearertothosepartsoftheuniverseandtothoseerasinhistorywhichhadmostattractedme。WhereIlivedwasasfaroffasmanyaregionviewednightlybyastronomers。Wearewonttoimaginerareanddelectableplacesinsomeremoteandmorecelestialcornerofthesystem，behindtheconstellationofCassiopeia’sChair，farfromnoiseanddisturbance。Idiscoveredthatmyhouseactuallyhaditssiteinsuchawithdrawn，butforevernewandunprofaned，partoftheuniverse。IfitwereworththewhiletosettleinthosepartsneartothePleiadesortheHyades，toAldebaranorAltair，thenIwasreallythere，oratanequalremotenessfromthelifewhichIhadleftbehind，dwindledandtwinklingwithasfinearaytomynearestneighbor，andtobeseenonlyinmoonlessnightsbyhim。SuchwasthatpartofcreationwhereIhadsquatted；
“Therewasashepherdthatdidlive，AndheldhisthoughtsashighAswerethemountswhereonhisflocksDidhourlyfeedhimby。“
Whatshouldwethinkoftheshepherd’slifeifhisflocksalwayswanderedtohigherpasturesthanhisthoughts？
Everymorningwasacheerfulinvitationtomakemylifeofequalsimplicity，andImaysayinnocence，withNatureherself。IhavebeenassincereaworshipperofAuroraastheGreeks。Igotupearlyandbathedinthepond；thatwasareligiousexercise，andoneofthebestthingswhichIdid。TheysaythatcharacterswereengravenonthebathingtubofKingTchingthangtothiseffect:
“Renewthyselfcompletelyeachday；doitagain，andagain，andforeveragain。“Icanunderstandthat。Morningbringsbacktheheroicages。Iwasasmuchaffectedbythefainthumofamosquitomakingitsinvisibleandunimaginabletourthroughmyapartmentatearliestdawn，whenIwassittingwithdoorandwindowsopen，asI
couldbebyanytrumpetthateversangoffame。ItwasHomer’srequiem；itselfanIliadandOdysseyintheair，singingitsownwrathandwanderings。Therewassomethingcosmicalaboutit；astandingadvertisement，tillforbidden，oftheeverlastingvigorandfertilityoftheworld。Themorning，whichisthemostmemorableseasonoftheday，istheawakeninghour。Thenthereisleastsomnolenceinus；andforanhour，atleast，somepartofusawakeswhichslumbersalltherestofthedayandnight。Littleistobeexpectedofthatday，ifitcanbecalledaday，towhichwearenotawakenedbyourGenius，butbythemechanicalnudgingsofsomeservitor，arenotawakenedbyourownnewlyacquiredforceandaspirationsfromwithin，accompaniedbytheundulationsofcelestialmusic，insteadoffactorybells，andafragrancefillingtheair——
toahigherlifethanwefellasleepfrom；andthusthedarknessbearitsfruit，andproveitselftobegood，nolessthanthelight。
Thatmanwhodoesnotbelievethateachdaycontainsanearlier，moresacred，andauroralhourthanhehasyetprofaned，hasdespairedoflife，andispursuingadescendinganddarkeningway。
Afterapartialcessationofhissensuouslife，thesoulofman，oritsorgansrather，arereinvigoratedeachday，andhisGeniustriesagainwhatnoblelifeitcanmake。Allmemorableevents，Ishouldsay，transpireinmorningtimeandinamorningatmosphere。TheVedassay，“Allintelligencesawakewiththemorning。“Poetryandart，andthefairestandmostmemorableoftheactionsofmen，datefromsuchanhour。Allpoetsandheroes，likeMemnon，arethechildrenofAurora，andemittheirmusicatsunrise。Tohimwhoseelasticandvigorousthoughtkeepspacewiththesun，thedayisaperpetualmorning。Itmattersnotwhattheclockssayortheattitudesandlaborsofmen。MorningiswhenIamawakeandthereisadawninme。Moralreformistheefforttothrowoffsleep。
Whyisitthatmengivesopooranaccountoftheirdayiftheyhavenotbeenslumbering？Theyarenotsuchpoorcalculators。Iftheyhadnotbeenovercomewithdrowsiness，theywouldhaveperformedsomething。Themillionsareawakeenoughforphysicallabor；butonlyoneinamillionisawakeenoughforeffectiveintellectualexertion，onlyoneinahundredmillionstoapoeticordivinelife。
Tobeawakeistobealive。Ihaveneveryetmetamanwhowasquiteawake。HowcouldIhavelookedhimintheface？
Wemustlearntoreawakenandkeepourselvesawake，notbymechanicalaids，butbyaninfiniteexpectationofthedawn，whichdoesnotforsakeusinoursoundestsleep。Iknowofnomoreencouragingfactthantheunquestionableabilityofmantoelevatehislifebyaconsciousendeavor。Itissomethingtobeabletopaintaparticularpicture，ortocarveastatue，andsotomakeafewobjectsbeautiful；butitisfarmoreglorioustocarveandpainttheveryatmosphereandmediumthroughwhichwelook，whichmorallywecando。Toaffectthequalityoftheday，thatisthehighestofarts。Everymanistaskedtomakehislife，eveninitsdetails，worthyofthecontemplationofhismostelevatedandcriticalhour。Ifwerefused，orratherusedup，suchpaltryinformationasweget，theoracleswoulddistinctlyinformushowthismightbedone。