#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
On the beach at night, Stands a child with her father, Watching the east, the autumn sky. Up through the darkness, While ravening clouds, the burial…
The wild gander leads his flock th… Ya-honk he says, and sounds it dow… The pert may suppose it meaningles… Find its purpose and place up ther… The sharp-hoof’d moose of the nort…
As the time draws nigh glooming a… A dread beyond of I know not what… I shall go forth, I shall traverse the States awhil… Perhaps soon some day or night whi…
You who celebrate bygones, Who have explored the outward, the… has exhibited itself, Who have treated of man as the cre… and priests,
Twenty-eight young men bathe by th… Twenty-eight young men and all so… Twenty-eight years of womanly life… She owns the fine house by the ris… She hides handsome and richly dres…
I met a seer, Passing the hues and objects of th… The fields of art and learning, pl… To glean eidolons. Put in thy chants said he,
STATES! Were you looking to be held togeth… By an agreement on a paper? Or by… Away! I arrive, bringing these, beyond a…
I have said that the soul is not m… And I have said that the body is… And nothing, not God, is greater… And whoever walks a furlong withou… And I or you pocketless of a dime…
I saw in Louisiana a live-oak gro… All alone stood it and the moss hu… Without any companion it grew ther… And its look, rude, unbending, lus… But I wonder’d how it could utter…
O you whom I often and silently c… with you; As I walk by your side, or sit ne… you, Little you know the subtle electri…
Delicate cluster! flag of teeming… Covering all my lands—all my seash… Flag of death! (how I watch’d you… pressing! How I heard you flap and rustle,…
Out of the cradle endlessly rockin… Out of the mocking-bird’s throat,… Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over the sterile sands and the fie… bed wander’d alone, bareheaded, ba…
As toilsome I wander’d Virginia’s… To the music of rustling leaves ki… I mark’d at the foot of a tree the… Mortally wounded he and buried on… understand,)
WHAT weeping face is that lookin… Why does it stream those sorrowful… Is it for some burial place, vast… Is it to wet the soil of graves?
Where the city’s ceaseless crowd m… Withdrawn I join a group of child… By the curb toward the edge of the… A knife-grinder works at his wheel… Bending over he carefully holds it…