#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
A noiseless patient spider, I mark’d where on a little promont… Mark’d how to explore the vacant v… It launch’d forth filament, filame… Ever unreeling them, ever tireless…
First O songs for a prelude, Lightly strike on the stretch’d ty… How she led the rest to arms, how… How at once with lithe limbs unwai… (O superb! O Manhattan, my own, m…
The wild gander leads his flock th… Ya-honk he says, and sounds it dow… The pert may suppose it meaningles… Find its purpose and place up ther… The sharp-hoof’d moose of the nort…
Alone far in the wilds and mountai… Wandering amazed at my own lightne… In the late afternoon choosing a s… Kindling a fire and broiling the f… Falling asleep on the gather’d lea…
Many things to absorb I teach to… Yet if blood like mine circle not… If you be not silently selected by…
ll, and here again he lies.A sight… As from my tent I emerge so early… As slow I walk in the cool fresh… Three forms I see on stretchers l… Over each the blanket spread, ampl…
Let that which stood in front go b… Let that which was behind advance… Let bigots, fools, unclean persons… Let the old propositions be postpo… Let a man seek pleasure everywhere…
A child said What is the grass? f… How could I answer the child? I d… I guess it must be the flag of my… Or I guess it is the handkerchief… A scented gift and remembrancer de…
You felons on trial in courts, You convicts in prison-cells, you… handcuff’d with iron, Who am I too that I am not on tri… Me ruthless and devilish as any, t…
The appointed winners in a long-st… The course of Time and nations—Eg… The past entire, with all its hero… Its store of songs, inventions, vo… Garner’d for now and thee—To thin…
O sight of shame, and pain, and do… O fearful thought—a convict Soul! Rang the refrain along the hall, t… Rose to the roof, the vaults of he… Pouring in floods of melody in ton…
By the bivouac’s fitful flame, A procession winding around me, so… first I note, The tents of the sleeping army, th… The darkness lit by spots of kindl…
Always our old feuillage! Always Florida’s green peninsula—… Louisiana—always the cotton-fields… Always California’s golden hills… of New Mexico—always soft-breath’…
I think I could turn and live wit… I stand and look at them long and… They do not sweat and whine about… They do not lie awake in the dark… They do not make me sick discussin…
I have said that the soul is not m… And I have said that the body is… And nothing, not God, is greater… And whoever walks a furlong withou… And I or you pocketless of a dime…