Henry David Thoreau

(12 July 1817 – 6 May 1862 / Concord, Massachusetts)

Comments about Henry David Thoreau

  • Rip XD LMAOO no u (5/23/2018 10:44:00 AM)

    ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

    0 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • ur mom gay (5/20/2018 12:19:00 PM)

    Your Mother is a homosexual

  • Ricky Bobby (3/21/2018 9:01:00 AM)

    I hate poems! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

  • Hairy ass (1/23/2018 12:18:00 PM)

    Reads like shit

  • ed witbeck (12/28/2017 4:53:00 PM)

    thoreav and whitman book what cash how much cash the book 1930

  • Christ Perrien (10/20/2016 2:07:00 AM)

    Trees are busy having sex with other trees for a fair part of the year. They cross-polinate all the time when they bloom. Were us better humans who might bang 10-20 of the opposite sex a year, Trees can do it with as many brethren as the wind and bees and birds can reach.

    To think they are combined by roots? LOL, NO, trees are are far more advanced and have sex with 100's of their kind in a day.

    yes I could have made a poem of this as well

  • Mallika Achuthan Menon Mallika Achuthan Menon (11/21/2013 11:27:00 PM)

    Your creations are really good! I invite you to read my poems..

  • MAGNUS ABRAHAM-DUKUMA (11/3/2007 7:17:00 AM)

    That's a perfect masterpiece. Kudos! Reach me on vito_ash@yahoo.com Cheers!

Best Poem of Henry David Thoreau

Friendship

I think awhile of Love, and while I think,
Love is to me a world,
Sole meat and sweetest drink,
And close connecting link
Tween heaven and earth.

I only know it is, not how or why,
My greatest happiness;
However hard I try,
Not if I were to die,
Can I explain.

I fain would ask my friend how it can be,
But when the time arrives,
Then Love is more lovely
Than anything to me,
And so I'm dumb.

For if the truth were known, Love cannot speak,
But only thinks and does;
Though surely out 'twill leak
Without the help of...

Read the full of Friendship

Epitaph On The World

Here lies the body of this world,
Whose soul alas to hell is hurled.
This golden youth long since was past,
Its silver manhood went as fast,
An iron age drew on at last;
'Tis vain its character to tell,
The several fates which it befell,
What year it died, when 'twill arise,
We only know that here it lies.

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