#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
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…
What ship puzzled at sea, cons for… Or coming in, to avoid the bars an… Here, sailor! here, ship! take abo… Whom, in a little boat, putting of…
I was asking for something specifi… Whereupon lo! upsprang the aborigi… Now I see what there is in a name… self-sufficient, I see that the word of my city is…
On journeys through the States we… (Ay, through the world—urged by th… Sailing henceforth to every land—t… We, willing learners of all, teach… We have watch’d the seasons dispen…
NOT my enemies ever invade me—no… them I fear; But the lovers I recklessly love—… Lo! me, ever open and helpless, be… Utterly abject, grovelling on the…
In a little house keep I pictures… It is round, it is only a few inch… Yet behold, it has room for all th… Here the tableaus of life, and her… Here, do you know this? this is ci…
Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhat… Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating… No sentimentalist, no stander abov… No more modest than immodest. Unscrew the locks from the doors!
O MATER! O fils! O brood continental! O flowers of the prairies! O space boundless! O hum of might… O you teeming cities! O so invinc…
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…
Stretch’d and still lies the midni… Two great hulls motionless on the… Our vessel riddled and slowly sink… The captain on the quarter-deck co… Near by the corpse of the child th…
I am the poet of the Body and I a… The pleasures of heaven are with m… The first I graft and increase up… I am the poet of the woman the sam… And I say it is as great to be a…
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…
A child said, What is the grass?… hands; How could I answer the child?. .… is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my…
To think of time—of all that retro… To think of to-day, and the ages c… Have you guess’d you yourself woul… Have you dreaded these earth-beetl… Have you fear’d the future would b…
Here the frailest leaves of me, an… Here I shade and hide my thoughts… And yet they expose me more than a…
