limping, went up over his ragged and halting lines.' But in the appreciation of poetry there is a good deal more to be considered than this; and, as the same writer has remarked, there is 'a frank and unpretending nobleness' in many of Thoreau's verses, distinguished as they are, at their best, by their ripe fulness of thought, quiet gravity of tone, and epigrammatic terseness of expression. The title of poet could hardly be withheld from the author of such truly powerful pieces as 'The Fall of the Leaf,' 'Winter Memories,' 'Smoke in Winter,' or 'Inspiration.'
Nor should it be forgotten that Thoreau was always regarded as a poet by those who were associated with him. 'Poet-Naturalist' was the suggestive title which Ellery Channing applied to him; and Hawthorne remarked that 'his thoughts seem to measure and attune themselves into spontaneous verse, as they rightfully may, since there is real poetry in them.' Even Emerson's final estimate was far from unappreciative. 'His poetry,' he wrote in his biographical sketch, 'might be bad or good; he no doubt wanted a lyric facility and technical skill, but he
