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Though All the Fates Should Prove Unkind
Written By: Henry David Thoreau
Non-Fiction
Through all the fates should prove unkind, leave not your native land behind. The ship, becalmed, at length stands still, the steed must rest beneath the hill; But swiftly still our fortunes pace To find us out in every place. The vessel, though her mastss be firm, beneath her copper bears a worm; Around the cape, across the line, Till fields of ice her course confine; It matters not how smooth the breeze, How shallow or how deep the seas, Far from New England's blustering shore, New England's worm her hulk shall bore, and sink her into the Indian seas, as simply as the west wind breeze.