#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
I Celebrate myself, and sing myse… And what I assume you shall assum… For every atom belonging to me as… I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observ…
Shot gold, maroon and violet, dazz… The earth’s whole amplitude and N… for once to colors; The light, the general air possess… No limit, confine—not the Western…
How dare one say it? After the cycles, poems, singers,… Vaunted Ionia’s, India’s –Homer,… dotted roads, areas, The shining clusters and the Milk…
You who celebrate bygones, Who have explored the outward, the… has exhibited itself, Who have treated of man as the cre… and priests,
I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider brea… He most honors my style who learns… The boy I love, the same becomes… Wicked rather than virtuous out of…
This moment yearning and thoughtfu… It seems to me there are other men… thoughtful; It seems to me I can look over an… France, Spain—or far, far away, i…
AN old man bending, I come, among… Years looking backward, resuming,… Come tell us, old man, as from you… (Arous’d and angry, I’d thought t… but soon my fingers fail’d me, my…
EARTH, round, rolling, compact—s… mals—all these are words to be sai… Watery, vegetable, sauroid advance… tions, lispings of the future, Behold! these are vast words to be…
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…
Whispers of heavenly death murmur’… Labial gossip of night, sibilant c… Footsteps gently ascending, mystic… Ripples of unseen rivers, tides of… (Or is it the plashing of tears? t…
IN former songs Pride have I sun… Life, But here I twine the strands of P… And now, Life, Pride, Love, Patr… To you, O FREEDOM, purport of…
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…
NOT my enemies ever invade me—no… them I fear; But the lovers I recklessly love—… Lo! me, ever open and helpless, be… Utterly abject, grovelling on the…
As I sit writing here, sick and g… Not my least burden is that dulnes… Ungracious glooms, aches, lethargy… May filter in my dally songs.
Behold this swarthy face—these gra… This beard—the white wool, unclipt… My brown hands, and the silent man… Yet comes one, a Manhattanese, an… on the lips with robust love,