#Americans #XIXCentury #1855 #LeavesOfGrass
Thick-sprinkled bunting! flag of s… Long yet your road, fateful flag—l… bloody death, For the prize I see at issue at l… All its ships and shores I see in…
YEARS of the unperform’d! your h… parting away for more august drama… I see not America only—I see not… but other nations preparing; I see tremendous entrances and exi…
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,
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…
TRICKLE, drops! my blue veins <… O drops of me! trickle, slow drops… Candid, from me falling—drip, blee… From wounds made to free you whenc… From my face—from my forehead and…
Sounds of the winter too, Sunshine upon the mountains—many a… From cheery railroad train—from ne… The whispering air—even the mute c… Children’s and women’s tones—rhyth…
Now list to my morning’s romanza,… To the cities and farms I sing as… A young man comes to me bearing a… How shall the young man know the w… Tell him to send me the signs. An…
(Volunteer of 1861-2, at Washingt… Centenarian.) Give me your hand old Revolutiona… The hill-top is nigh, but a few st… Up the path you have follow’d me w…
All you are doing and saying is to… You have not learn’d of Nature—of… learn’d the great amplitude, recti… You have not seen that only such a… And that what is less than they mu…
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…
Enough! enough! enough! Somehow I have been stunn’d. Stan… Give me a little time beyond my cu… I discover myself on the verge of… That I could forget the mockers a…
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…
A song, a poem of itself—the word… Amid the wilds, the rocks, the sto… To me such misty, strange tableaux… Yonnondio— I see, far in the west or north, a…
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—…
There was a child went forth every… And the first object he look’d upo… And that object became part of him… Or for many years or stretching cy… The early lilacs became part of th…