#AmericanWriters #XIXCentury #1855 #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…
From Paumanok starting I fly like… Around and around to soar to sing… To the north betaking myself to si… To Kanada till I absorb Kanada i… To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, t…
Out of the rolling ocean the crowd… Whispering, I love you, before lo… I have travell’d a long way merely… For I could not die till I once l… For I fear’d I might afterward lo…
You lingering sparse leaves of me… And I some well-shorn tree of fie… You tokens diminute and lorn—(not… clover-bloom—no grain of August no… You pallid banner-staves—you penna…
I HEAR you have been asking for… sent the new race, our self-poised… Therefore I send you my poems, th… them what you wanted.
Aboard at a ship’s helm, A young steersman steering with ca… Through fog on a sea-coast doleful… An ocean-bell—O a warning bell, r… O you give good notice indeed, you…
O BITTER sprig! Confession spr… In the bouquet I give you place a… Proceeding no further till, humble… I give fair warning, once for all. I own that I have been sly, thiev…
For him I sing, I raise the present on the past, (As some perennial tree out of its… With time and space I him dilate… To make himself by them the law un…
COME closer to me; Push close, my lovers, and take th… Yield closer and closer, and give… possess. This is unfinish’d business with m…
Hush’d be the camps to-day, And soldiers let us drape our war-… And each with musing soul retire t… Our dear commander’s death. No more for him life’s stormy conf…
Did we count great, O soul, to pe… Absorbing deep and full from thoug… But now from thee to me, caged bir… Filling the air, the lonesome room… Is it not just as great, O soul?
On the beach at night alone, As the old mother sways her to and… As I watch the bright stars shini… universes and of the future. A vast similitude interlocks all,
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;
Would you hear of an old-time sea-… Would you learn who won by the lig… List to the yarn, as my grandmothe… Our foe was no skulk in his ship… His was the surly English pluck,…
Heave the anchor short! Raise main-sail and jib—steer fort… O little white-hull’d sloop, now s… (I will not call it our concluding… But outset and sure entrance to th…
