#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
SOLID, ironical, rolling orb! Master of all, and matter of fact!… terms; Bringing to practical, vulgar test… dreams,
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…
Out of the cradle endlessly rockin… Out of the mocking-bird’s throat,… Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over the sterile sands and the fie… bed wander’d alone, bareheaded, ba…
At the last, tenderly, From the walls of the powerful for… From the clasp of the knitted lock… doors, Let me be wafted.
Apple orchards, the trees all cove… Wheat fields carpeted far and near… The eternal, exhaustless freshness… The yellow, golden, transparent ha… The aspiring lilac bushes with pro…
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,)
(Volunteer of 1861-2, at Washingt… Centenarian.) Give me your hand old Revolutiona… The hill-top is nigh, but a few st… Up the path you have follow’d me w…
Skirting the river road, (my foren… Skyward in air a sudden muffled so… The rushing amorous contact high i… The clinching interlocking claws,… Four beating wings, two beaks, a s…
(Ah little recks the laborer, How near his work is holding him t… The loving Laborer through space… After all not to create only, or f… But to bring perhaps from afar wha…
Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else b… Whether I walk the streets of Man… Or dart my sight over the roofs of… Or wade with naked feet along the…
Good-bye my fancy—(I had a word t… But ’tis not quite the time—The b… Is when its proper place arrives—a… I keep mine till the last.)
Me imperturbe, standing at ease in… Master of all, or mistress of all—… of irrational things, Imbued as they—passive, receptive,… Finding my occupation, poverty, no…
Spirit whose work is done—spirit o… Ere departing fade from my eyes yo… Spirit of gloomiest fears and doub… Spirit of many a solemn day and ma… That with muttering voice through…
I see the sleeping babe, nestling… mother; The sleeping mother and babe—hush’… long and long.
Soon shall the winter’s foil be he… Soon shall these icy ligatures unb… And air, soil, wave, suffused shal… From these dead clods and chills a… Thine eyes, ears—all thy best attr…