#AmericanWriters #XIXCentury #1855 #LeavesOfGrass
Night on the prairies, The supper is over, the fire on th… The wearied emigrants sleep, wrapt… I walk by myself—I stand and look… realized before.
When his hour for death had come, He slowly rais’d himself from the… Drew on his war-dress, shirt, legg… waist, Call’d for vermilion paint (his lo…
A vague mist hanging ‘round half t… (Sometimes how strange and clear t… That all these solid things are in…
That which eludes this verse and a… Unheard by sharpest ear, unform’d… Nor lore nor fame, nor happiness n… And yet the pulse of every heart a… Which you and I and all pursuing…
Sauntering the pavement or riding… Faces of friendship, precision, ca… The spiritual-prescient face, the… The face of the singing of music,… judges broad at the back-top,
The little one sleeps in its cradl… I lift the gauze and look a long t… The youngster and the red-faced gi… I peeringly view them from the top… The suicide sprawls on the bloody…
YEARS of the unperform’d! your h… parting away for more august drama… I see not America only—I see not… but other nations preparing; I see tremendous entrances and exi…
As consequent from store of summer… Or wayward rivulets in autumn flow… Or many a herb—lined brook’s retic… Or subterranean sea—rills making f… Songs of continued years I sing.
Out from behind this bending rough… These lights and shades, this dram… This common curtain of the face co… you, in each for each, (Tragedies, sorrows, laughter, tea…
What you give me, I cheerfully ac… A little sustenance, a hut and gar… rendezvous with my poems; A traveler’s lodging and breakfast… Why should I be ashamed to own su…
Others may praise what they like; But I, from the banks of the runn… aught else, Till it has well inhaled the atmos… prairie-scent,
Despairing cries float ceaselessly… The sad voice of Death—the call o… alarmed, uncertain, “This sea I am quickly to sail, c… Come tell me where I am speeding—…
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;
Nor alone those camps of white, ol… When as order’d forward, after a l… Footsore and weary, soon as the li… Some of us so fatigued carrying th… in our tracks,
I believe in you my soul, the othe… And you must not be abased to the… Loafe with me on the grass, loose… Not words, not music or rhyme I w… Only the lull I like, the hum of…
