#AmericanWriters #XIXCentury #1855 #LeavesOfGrass
A lesser proof than old Voltaire’… Proof of this present time, and th… To my plain Northern hut, in outs… Brought safely for a thousand mile… Some three days since on their own…
Pensive and faltering, The words the Dead I write, For living are the Dead, (Haply the only living, only real, And I the apparition, I the spect…
1 GREAT are the myths—I too de… Great are Adam and Eve—I too loo… them; Great the risen and fallen nations… women, sages, inventors, rulers, w…
Now finale to the shore, Now land and life finale and farew… Now Voyager depart, (much, much f… Often enough hast thou adventur’d… Cautiously cruising, studying the…
Not heat flames up and consumes, Not sea-waves hurry in and out, Not the air, delicious and dry, th… lightly along white down-balls of… Wafted, sailing gracefully, to dro…
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,
SHUT not your doors to me, proud… For that which was lacking among y… most, I bring; A book I have made for your dear… And for you, O soul of man, and y…
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.
Ah poverties, wincings, and sulky… Ah you foes that in conflict have… (For what is my life or any man’s… the incessant war?) You degradations, you tussle with…
How solemn as one by one, As the ranks returning worn and sw… As the faces the masks appear, as… (As I glance upward out of this p… you are,)
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.
Over and through the burial chant, Organ and solemn service, sermon,… To me come interpolation sounds no… crowding up the aisle and from the… Of sudden battle’s hurry and harsh…
How dare one say it? After the cycles, poems, singers,… Vaunted Ionia’s, India’s –Homer,… dotted roads, areas, The shining clusters and the Milk…
O tan-faced prairie-boy, Before you came to camp came many… Praises and presents came and nour… You came, taciturn, with nothing t… When lo! more than all the gifts o…
By the bivouac’s fitful flame, A procession winding around me, so… first I note, The tents of the sleeping army, th… The darkness lit by spots of kindl…
