#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
Greater than memory of Achilles o… More, more by far to thee than tom… Those cart loads of old charnel as… Once living men—once resolute cour… The stepping stones to thee to-day…
I heard you solemn-sweet pipes of… pass’d the church, Winds of autumn, as I walk’d the… stretch’d sighs up above so mournf… I heard the perfect Italian tenor…
Ages and ages returning at interva… Undestroy’d, wandering immortal, Lusty, phallic, with the potent or… I, chanter of Adamic songs, Through the new garden the West,…
As I ebb’d with the ocean of life… As I wended the shores I know, As I walk’d where the ripples con… Where they rustle up hoarse and si… Where the fierce old mother endles…
My spirit to yours dear brother, Do not mind because many sounding… I do not sound your name, but I u… I specify you with joy O my comra… who are with you, before and since…
WHAT General has a good army in… He happy in himself, or she happy… But I tell you you cannot be happ… beget or conceive a child by other…
The two old, simple problems ever… Close home, elusive, present, baff… By each successive age insoluble,… To ours to-day—and we pass on the…
With husky-haughty lips, O sea! Where day and night I wend thy su… Imaging to my sense thy varied str… (I see and plainly list thy talk a… Thy troops of white-maned racers r…
Trickle drops! my blue veins leavi… O drops of me! trickle, slow drops… Candid from me falling, drip, blee… From wounds made to free you whenc… From my face, from my forehead and…
SHUT not your doors to me, proud… For that which was lacking among y… most, I bring; A book I have made for your dear… And for you, O soul of man, and y…
I doubt it not—then more, far more… In each old song bequeath’d—in eve… (Different—something unreck’d befo… In every object, mountain, tree, a… As part of each—evolv’d from each—…
The friendly and flowing savage, w… Is he waiting for civilization, or… Is he some Southwesterner rais’d… Is he from the Mississippi countr… The mountains? prairie-life, bush-…
Enough! enough! enough! Somehow I have been stunn’d. Stan… Give me a little time beyond my cu… I discover myself on the verge of… That I could forget the mockers a…
The big doors of the country barn… The dried grass of the harvest-tim… The clear light plays on the brown… The armfuls are pack’d to the sagg… I am there, I help, I came stretc…
Nothing is ever really lost, or ca… No birth, identity, form—no object… Nor life, nor force, nor any visib… Appearance must not foil, nor shif… Ample are time and space—ample the…