#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
Flood-tide below me! I see you fa… Clouds of the west—sun there half… Crowds of men and women attired in… On the ferry-boats the hundreds an… And you that shall cross from shor…
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…
My spirit to yours dear brother, Do not mind because many sounding… I do not sound your name, but I u… I specify you with joy O my comra… who are with you, before and since…
Not the pilot has charged himself… beaten back and many times baffled… Not the pathfinder penetrating inl… By deserts parch’d, snows chill’d,… destination,
NOW, dearest comrade, lift me to… We must separate awhile—Here! tak… Whoever you are, I give it especi… So long!—And I hope we shall meet…
Wild, wild the storm, and the sea… Steady the roar of the gale, with… Shouts of demoniac laughter fitful… Waves, air, midnight, their savage… Out in the shadows there milk-whit…
As I ponder’d in silence, Returning upon my poems, consideri… A Phantom arose before me, with d… Terrible in beauty, age, and power… The genius of poets of old lands,
Not heat flames up and consumes, Not sea-waves hurry in and out, Not the air, delicious and dry, th… lightly along white down-balls of… Wafted, sailing gracefully, to dro…
Scented herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write,… Tomb-leaves, body-leaves, growing… Perennial roots, tall leaves—O th… delicate leaves,
I hear America singing, the varie… Those of mechanics, each one singi… The carpenter singing his as he me… The mason singing his as he makes… The boatman singing what belongs t…
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 butcher-boy puts off his killi… I loiter enjoying his repartee and… Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy… Each has his main-sledge, they are… From the cinder-strew’d threshold…
Far back, related on my mother’s s… Old Salt Kossabone, I’ll tell yo… (Had been a sailor all his life—wa… grandchild, Jenny; House on a hill, with view of bay…
Simple and fresh and fair from win… As if no artifice of fashion, busi… Forth from its sunny nook of shelt… the dawn, The spring’s first dandelion shows…
Nations ten thousand years before… thousand years before these States… Garner’d clusters of ages that men… and travel’d their course and pass… What vast-built cities, what order…