Henry Thoreau (Генри Торо)

* * *

What's the railroad to me?
I never go to see
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.

1. Let Such Pure Hate Still Underprop
2. On Fields Oer Which the Reaper's Hand Has Passd
3. The Moon
4. Pray to What Earth Does This Sweet Cold Belong
5. Smoke

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