#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
Thee for my recitative, Thee in the driving storm even as… Thee in thy panoply, thy measur’d… Thy black cylindric body, golden b… Thy ponderous side-bars, parallel…
When the full-grown poet came, Out spake pleased Nature (the rou… of day and night,) saying, He is m… But out spake too the Soul of man… Nay he is mine alone;
Did you ask dulcet rhymes from me? Did you seek the civilian’s peacef… Did you find what I sang erewhile… Why I was not singing erewhile fo… am I now;
These are really the thoughts of a… If they are not yours as much as m… If they are not the riddle and the… If they are not just as close as t… This is the grass that grows where…
For him I sing, I raise the present on the past, (As some perennial tree out of its… With time and space I him dilate… To make himself by them the law un…
As the Greek’s signal flame, by a… Rose from the hill-top, like appla… Welcoming in fame some special vet… With rosy tinge reddening the land… So I aloft from Mannahatta’s ship…
A Glimpse, through an interstice… Of a crowd of workmen and drivers… late of a winter night—And I unre… Of a youth who loves me, and whom… seating himself near, that he may…
Heave the anchor short! Raise main-sail and jib—steer fort… O little white-hull’d sloop, now s… (I will not call it our concluding… But outset and sure entrance to th…
IN midnight sleep, of many a face… Of the look at first of the mortal… look; Of the dead on their backs, with a… I dream, I dream, I dream.
Race of veterans—race of victors! Race of the soil, ready for confli… (No more credulity’s race, abiding… Race henceforth owning no law but… Race of passion and the storm.
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…
After a long, long course, hundred… Accumulations, rous’d love and joy… Hopes, wishes, aspirations, ponder… Coating, compassing, covering—afte… Then only may these songs reach fr…
Locations and times—what is it in… and wherever, and makes me at home… Forms, colors, densities, odors—wh… them?
O BITTER sprig! Confession spr… In the bouquet I give you place a… Proceeding no further till, humble… I give fair warning, once for all. I own that I have been sly, thiev…
The little one sleeps in its cradl… I lift the gauze and look a long t… The youngster and the red-faced gi… I peeringly view them from the top… The suicide sprawls on the bloody…