#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
Here, take this gift, I was reserving it for some hero,… One who should serve the good old… Some brave confronter of despots,… But I see that what I was reservi…
(“The Seventeenth—the finest Regi… Through the soft evening air enwin… Rocks, woods, fort, cannon, pacing… In dulcet streams, in flutes’ and… Electric, pensive, turbulent, arti…
No labor-saving machine, Nor discovery have I made; Nor will I be able to leave behin… hospital or library, Nor reminiscence of any deed of co…
Twenty-eight young men bathe by th… Twenty-eight young men and all so… Twenty-eight years of womanly life… She owns the fine house by the ris… She hides handsome and richly dres…
There is that in me’I do not kn… Wrench’d and sweaty’calm and coo… I sleep’I sleep long. I do not know it’it is without n… It is not in any dictionary, utter…
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.
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,
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…
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—…
Of that blithe throat of thine fro… I’ll mind the lesson, solitary bir… E’en the profoundest chill, as now… Old age land-lock’d within its win… These snowy hairs, my feeble arm,…
City of orgies, walks and joys! City whom that I have lived and s… you illustrious, Not the pageants of you—not your s… repay me;
Warble me now for joy of lilac-tim… Sort me O tongue and lips for Nat… Gather the welcome signs, (as chil… Put in April and May, the hylas c… Bees, butterflies, the sparrow wit…
To-day, with bending head and eyes… Less for the mighty crown laid low… Thy true condolence breathest, sen… Mourning a good old man—a faithful…
I sit and look out upon all the so… oppression and shame; I hear secret convulsive sobs from… themselves, remorseful after deeds… I see, in low life, the mother mis…
Come said the Muse, Sing me a song no poet yet has cha… Sing me the universal. In this broad earth of ours, Amid the measureless grossness and…
