#AmericanWriters #XIXCentury #1855 #LeavesOfGrass
To the garden, the world, anew asc… Potent mates, daughters, sons, pre… The love, the life of their bodies… Curious, here behold my resurrecti… The revolving cycles, in their wid…
How they are provided for upon the… How they inure to themselves as mu… appears their age, How people respond to them, yet kn… How there is something relentless…
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…
A child said, What is the grass?… hands; How could I answer the child?. .… is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my…
Others may praise what they like; But I, from the banks of the runn… aught else, Till it has well inhaled the atmos… prairie-scent,
SOLID, ironical, rolling orb! Master of all, and matter of fact!… terms; Bringing to practical, vulgar test… dreams,
Now lift me close to your face til… What you are holding is in reality… of a book; It is a man, flush’d and full-bloo… —We must separate awhile—Here! ta…
Whoever you are, I fear you are w… I fear these supposed realities ar… Even now your features, joys, spee… Your true soul and body appear bef… They stand forth out of affairs, o…
Flood-tide below me! I see you fa… Clouds of the west—sun there half… Crowds of men and women attired in… On the ferry-boats the hundreds an… And you that shall cross from shor…
The business man the acquirer vast… After assiduous years surveying re… Devises houses and lands to his ch… funds for a school or hospital, Leaves money to certain companions…
A call in the midst of the crowd, My own voice, orotund sweeping and… Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women,… Now the performer launches his ner…
Hast never come to thee an hour, A sudden gleam divine, precipitati… wealth? These eager business aims—books, p… To utter nothingness?
Over the carnage rose prophetic a… Be not dishearten’d, affection sha… Those who love each other shall be… They shall yet make Columbia vict… Sons of the Mother of All, you sh…
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…
Weapon shapely, naked, wan, Head from the mother’s bowels draw… Wooded flesh and metal bone, limb… Gray-blue leaf by red-heat grown,… Resting the grass amid and upon,
