#AmericanWriters #XIXCentury #1855 #LeavesOfGrass
Manhattan’s streets I saunter’d p… On Time, Space, Reality—on such… Prudence. The last explanation always remain… immortality.
Arm’d year—year of the struggle, No dainty rhymes or sentimental lo… Not you as some pale poetling seat… But as a strong man erect, clothed… rifle on your shoulder,
COME, I will make the continent… I will make the most splendid race… I will make divine magnetic lands, With the love of comrades, With the life-long love of comrade…
The butcher-boy puts off his killi… I loiter enjoying his repartee and… Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy… Each has his main-sledge, they are… From the cinder-strew’d threshold…
I am he that aches with amorous lo… Does the earth gravitate? Does no… matter? So the Body of me, to all I meet,…
You sea! I resign myself to you a… I behold from the beach your crook… I believe you refuse to go back wi… We must have a turn together, I u… Cushion me soft, rock me in billow…
Apple orchards, the trees all cove… Wheat fields carpeted far and near… The eternal, exhaustless freshness… The yellow, golden, transparent ha… The aspiring lilac bushes with pro…
O take my hand, Walt Whitman! Such gliding wonders! such sights… Such join’d unended links, each ho… Each answering all—each sharing th… What widens within you, Walt Whit…
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free… Away from books, away from art, th… Thee fully forth emerging, silent,… lovest best, Night, sleep, death and the stars.
I need no assurances, I am a man… I do not doubt that from under the… am cognizant of, are now looking f… and actual faces, I do not doubt but the majesty and…
The noble sire fallen on evil days… I saw with hand uplifted, menacing… (Memories of old in abeyance, love… The insane knife toward the Mothe… The noble son on sinewy feet advan…
Stranger! if you, passing, meet me… speak to me, why should you not sp… And why should I not speak to you…
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,
Race of veterans—race of victors! Race of the soil, ready for confli… (No more credulity’s race, abiding… Race henceforth owning no law but… Race of passion and the storm.
WHY reclining, interrogating? Wh… What deepening twilight! scum floa… Who are they, as bats and night-do… What a filthy Presidentiad! (O so… arctic freezings!)
