#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
And who art thou? said I to the s… Which, strange to tell, gave me an… I am the Poem of Earth, said the… Eternal I rise impalpable out of… Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely…
To get betimes in Boston town I r… Here’s a good place at the corner,… Clear the way there Jonathan! Way for the President’s marshal—w… Way for the Federal foot and drag…
Tears! tears! tears! In the night, in solitude, tears; On the white shore dripping, dripp… Tears—not a star shining—all dark… Moist tears from the eyes of a muf…
THINK of the Soul; I swear to you that body of yours… somehow to live in other spheres; I do not know how, but I know it… Think of loving and being loved;
After the sea-ship, after the whis… After the white-gray sails taut to… Below, a myriad myriad waves haste… Tending in ceaseless flow toward t… Waves of the ocean bubbling and gu…
Arm’d year—year of the struggle, No dainty rhymes or sentimental lo… Not you as some pale poetling seat… But as a strong man erect, clothed… rifle on your shoulder,
The pure contralto sings in the or… The carpenter dresses his plank, t… The married and unmarried children… The pilot seizes the king-pin, he… The mate stands braced in the whal…
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…
Fast-anchor’d eternal O love! O w… O bride! O wife! more resistless… Then separate, as disembodied or a… Ethereal, the last athletic realit… I ascend, I float in the regions…
Quicksand years that whirl me I k… Your schemes, politics, fail, line… Only the theme I sing, the great… One’s-self must never give way—tha… all is sure,
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free… Away from books, away from art, th… Thee fully forth emerging, silent,… lovest best, Night, sleep, death and the stars.
I met a seer, Passing the hues and objects of th… The fields of art and learning, pl… To glean eidolons. Put in thy chants said he,
These I singing in spring collect… (For who but I should understand… And who but I should be the poet… Collecting I traverse the garden… Now along the pond-side, now wadin…
As down the stage again, With Spanish hat and plumes, and… Back from the fading lessons of th… How much from thee! the revelation… (So firm—so liquid-soft—again that…
Of that blithe throat of thine fro… I’ll mind the lesson, solitary bir… E’en the profoundest chill, as now… Old age land-lock’d within its win… These snowy hairs, my feeble arm,…