1 min read
Слушать(AI)Whats The Railroad To Me
What's the railroad to me?
I never go to
Where it ends.
It fills a few hollows,
And makes banks for the swallows,
It sets the sand a-blowing,
And the blackberries a-growing.
Henry David Thoreau
Henry David Thoreau (see name pronunciation; July 12, 1817 – May 6, 1862) was an American naturalist, essayist, poet, and philosopher.[3] A lead
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Mist
Low-anchored cloud, Newfoundland air, Fountain head and source of rivers, Dew-cloth, dream drapery,
I Am The Autumnal Sun
Sometimes a mortal feels in himself Nature — not his Father but his Mother stirs within him, and he becomes immortal with herimmortality From time to time she claims kindredship with us, and some globule from her veins steals up into our own<...
Let Such Pure Hate Still Underprop
Let such pure hate still underprop Our love, that we may be Each other's conscience, And have our sympathy Mainly from thence We'll one another treat like gods, And all the faith we have In virtue and in truth, bestow On either, and...
Winter Memories
Within the circuit of this plodding life There enter moments of an azure hue, Untarnished fair as is the violet Or anemone, when the spring stew them By some meandering rivulet, which make The best philosophy untrue that aims But to console m...