Author Henry David Thoreau Hark—hark—from out the thickest fogWarbles with might and mainThe fearless shrike, as all agogTo find in fog his gain.His steady sail he never furlsAt any time o' year,And perched now on winter's curls,He whistles in his ear. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 5 (1 vote) Rate Log in or register to post comments