#AmericanWriters #XIXCentury #1855 #LeavesOfGrass
An ancient song, reciting, ending, Once gazing toward thee, Mother o… Musing, seeking themes fitted for… Accept me, thou saidst, the elder… And name for me before thou goest…
To the leaven’d soil they trod cal… (Forth from my tent emerging for g… In the freshness the forenoon air,… again to peace restored, To the fiery fields emanative and…
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;
Skirting the river road, (my foren… Skyward in air a sudden muffled so… The rushing amorous contact high i… The clinching interlocking claws,… Four beating wings, two beaks, a s…
Tears! tears! tears! In the night, in solitude, tears; On the white shore dripping, dripp… Tears—not a star shining—all dark… Moist tears from the eyes of a muf…
And as to you Death, and you bitt… To his work without flinching the… I see the elder-hand pressing rece… I recline by the sills of the exqu… And mark the outlet, and mark the…
After the supper and talk—after th… As a friend from friends his final… Good-bye and Good-bye with emotio… (So hard for his hand to release t… No more for communion of sorrow an…
A march in the ranks hard-prest, a… A route through a heavy wood with… Our army foil’d with loss severe,… Till after midnight glimmer upon u… We come to an open space in the wo…
When the full-grown poet came, Out spake pleased Nature (the rou… of day and night,) saying, He is m… But out spake too the Soul of man… Nay he is mine alone;
The negro holds firmly the reins o… The negro that drives the long dra… His blue shirt exposes his ample n… His glance is calm and commanding,… The sun falls on his crispy hair a…
With all thy gifts America, Standing secure, rapidly tending,… Power, wealth, extent, vouchsafed… vouchsafed to thee, What if one gift thou lackest? (th…
EARTH, round, rolling, compact—s… mals—all these are words to be sai… Watery, vegetable, sauroid advance… tions, lispings of the future, Behold! these are vast words to be…
Good-bye my fancy—(I had a word t… But ’tis not quite the time—The b… Is when its proper place arrives—a… I keep mine till the last.)
As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace return’d, and the dead that return no more, A Phantom, gigantic, superb, with stern visage, accosted me; Chant me the poem, it said, ...
Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else b… Whether I walk the streets of Man… Or dart my sight over the roofs of… Or wade with naked feet along the…
