#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
Have I no weapon-word for thee—so… (Have I fought out and done indee… For all thy affectations, lisps, s… Nor for myself—my own rebellious s… Down, down, proud gorge!—though ch…
As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace return’d, and the dead that return no more, A Phantom, gigantic, superb, with stern visage, accosted me; Chant me the poem, it said, ...
We two, how long we were fool’d, Now transmuted, we swiftly escape… We are Nature, long have we been… We become plants, trunks, foliage,… We are bedded in the ground, we ar…
Long, too long America, Traveling roads all even and peace… only, But now, ah now, to learn from cri… with direst fate and recoiling not…
A SONG of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets… A song of farms—a song of the soil… A song with the smell of sun-dried… handle the pitch-fork;
The soft voluptuous opiate shades, The sun just gone, the eager light… dispell’d,) A haze—nirwana—rest and night—obli…
NOW I make a leaf of Voices—for… they are, And I have found that no word spo… O what is it in me that makes me t… Surely, whoever speaks to me in th…
WHAT General has a good army in… He happy in himself, or she happy…
Unfolded out of the folds of the w… always to come unfolded; Unfolded only out of the superbest… superbest man of the earth; Unfolded out of the friendliest wo…
How solemn as one by one, As the ranks returning worn and sw… As the faces the masks appear, as… (As I glance upward out of this p… you are,)
I MET a Seer, Passing the hues and objects of th… The fields of art and learning, pl… To glean Eidólons. Put in thy chants, said he,
O, Death! a black and pierceless… Hangs round thee, and the future s… No eye may see, no mind may grasp That mystery of fate. This braid, which now alternate th…
Not to exclude or demarcate, or pi… masses (even to expose them,) But add, fuse, complete, extend—an… To span vast realms of space and t… Evolution—the cumulative—growths a…
By the bivouac’s fitful flame, A procession winding around me, so… first I note, The tents of the sleeping army, th… The darkness lit by spots of kindl…
To-day, from each and all, a breat… To memory of Him—to birth of Him.