Henry David Thoreau

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

Epitaph On The World - Poem by Henry David Thoreau

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.


Comments about Epitaph On The World by Henry David Thoreau

  • Erasmus Of Rivenfjord (4/10/2018 4:30:00 PM)


    If only poetry was written like this nowadays (Report) Reply

    (10/19/2018 1:34:00 PM)

    Such poetry is still written but seldom published. As the poet Marilyn Hacker observed, Poetry seems to have been eliminated as a literary genre, and installed instead, as a kind of spiritual aerobic exercise- nobody need read it, but anybody can do it.

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Read poems about / on: silver, world



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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