Packed in my mind lie all the clothes
Which outward nature wears,
And in its fashion's hourly change
It all things else repairs.

In vain I look for change abroad,
And can no difference find,
Till some new ray of peace uncalled
Illumes my inmost mind.

What is it gilds the trees and clouds,
And paints the heavens so gay,
But yonder fast-abiding light
With its unchanging ray?

Lo, when the sun streams through the wood,
Upon a winter's morn,
Where'er his silent beams intrude
The murky night is gone.

How could the patient pine have known
The morning breeze would come,
Or humble flowers anticipate
The insect's noonday hum,—

Till the new light with morning cheer
From far streamed through the aisles,
And nimbly told the forest trees
For many stretching miles?

I've heard, within my inmost soul,
Such cheerful morning news,
In the horizon of my mind
Have seen such orient hues.

This is the beginning of a poem by Thoreau called "The Inward Morning." Purty, ain't it? It's about the way that we reflect nature, and how we are reflected in it. Remember that the Transcendentalists believed in the idea of correspondence, which is basically that exact thing. You know, that our internal selves reflect the external world, especially nature and all that.

In this poem, the speaker dramatizes the whole correspondence thing by depicting a correspondence between a harmony that exists within him ("Packed in my mind") and that exists externally, in nature ("the clothes/ Which outward nature wears"). Got it?

And it sure as succotash don't stop there. The poem also reflects the idea of intuition, one of those other big themes in Transcendentalist writing. A "ray of peace uncalled" illuminates the speaker's mind and soul. That is one mysterious ray. And it seems to come out of nowhere. So what's it doing in his mind and soul?!

Basically, it shows up to suggest the idea of intuition, or knowledge, that's arrived at through inspiration rather than through rationality. Think of that next time an uncalled ray shines in your eyes.

Poetry. Stirs the soul, don't it? In the world of Transcendentalism, it allowed thinkers like Thoreau to convey some of their most fundamental ideas in an awesomely artsy way. Essays are the bomb and all, but poetry allows readers to feel moved by words. And then they understand things newly. Through intuition. No wonder the Transcendentalists liked writing poetry so much.

We're extra big fans of the lines, "Lo, when the sun streams through the wood,/ Upon a winter's morn,/ Where'er his silent beams intrude/ The murky night is gone." And not just because of the sneaky, not-quite rhyme of "wood" and "intrude" or "morn" and "gone," but because they convey a sense of peace and renewal. If you're not feeling that, you make a rhyme.

Anyway, we get that sense of peace and renewal through the imagery; we sense it in the poetic description. Thoreau didn't need to say, "OK, so now we should feel good when we read these lines." We just do. In this way, the line manages to convey insights and emotions to us that go beyond the words themselves. And that's what poetry's all about.