#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
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…
Of the terrible doubt of appearanc… Of the uncertainty after all—that… That may-be reliance and hope are… That may-be identity beyond the gr… May-be the things I perceive—the…
Singing my days, Singing the great achievements of… Singing the strong light works of… Our modern wonders, (the antique p… In the Old World the east the Su…
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…
Who has gone farthest? for I woul… And who has been just? for I woul… And who most cautious? for I woul… And who has been happiest? O I th… happier than I,
In paths untrodden, In the growth by margins of pond-w… Escaped from the lite that exhibit… From all the standards hitherto pu… conformities,
Now finale to the shore, Now land and life finale and farew… Now Voyager depart, (much, much f… Often enough hast thou adventur’d… Cautiously cruising, studying the…
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, ...
I dream’d in a dream I saw a city… of the rest of the earth, I dream’d that was the new city of… Nothing was greater there than the… It was seen every hour in the acti…
Grand is the seen, the light, to m… Grand is the earth, and grand are… And grand their laws, so multiform… But grander far the unseen soul of… (What were all those, indeed, with…
The negro holds firmly the reins o… The negro that drives the long dra… His blue shirt exposes his ample n… His glance is calm and commanding,… The sun falls on his crispy hair a…
Steaming the northern rapids—(an o… A sudden memory-flash comes back,… Here waiting for the sunrise, gazi… Again ’tis just at morning—a heavy… Again the trembling, laboring vess…
Stranger! if you, passing, meet me… speak to me, why should you not sp… And why should I not speak to you…
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…
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;