#1855 #AmericanWriters #LeavesOfGrass
Lover divine and perfect Comrade, Waiting content, invisible yet, bu… Be thou my God. Thou, thou, the Ideal Man, Fair, able, beautiful, content, an…
A Glimpse, through an interstice… Of a crowd of workmen and drivers… late of a winter night—And I unre… Of a youth who loves me, and whom… seating himself near, that he may…
1 An old man bending, I come, am… Years looking backward, resuming,… dren, Come tell us old man, as from youn… that love me;
Starting from fish-shape Paumanok… Well-begotten, and rais’d by a per… After roaming many lands, lover of… Dweller in Mannahatta my city, or… Or a soldier camp’d or carrying my…
Let that which stood in front go b… Let that which was behind advance… Let bigots, fools, unclean persons… Let the old propositions be postpo… Let a man seek pleasure everywhere…
Soon shall the winter’s foil be he… Soon shall these icy ligatures unb… And air, soil, wave, suffused shal… From these dead clods and chills a… Thine eyes, ears—all thy best attr…
Ah, not this marble, dead and cold… Far from its base and shaft expand… comprehending, Thou, Washington, art all the wor… alone, America,
What am I, after all, but a child… name? repeating it over and over; I stand apart to hear—it never tir… To you, your name also; Did you think there was nothing bu…
Manhattan’s streets I saunter’d p… On Time, Space, Reality—on such… Prudence. The last explanation always remain… immortality.
SOLID, ironical, rolling orb! Master of all, and matter of fact!… terms; Bringing to practical, vulgar test… dreams,
(Ah little recks the laborer, How near his work is holding him t… The loving Laborer through space… After all not to create only, or f… But to bring perhaps from afar wha…
IN clouds descending, in midnight… Of the look at first of the mortal… Of the dead on their backs, with a… I dream, I dream, I dream. Of scenes of nature, the fields an…
1 HUSH’D be the camps to-day; And, soldiers, let us drape our wa… And each, with musing soul retire,… Our dear commander’s death. 2 No more for him life’s stormy c…
These I singing in spring collect… (For who but I should understand… And who but I should be the poet… Collecting I traverse the garden… Now along the pond-side, now wadin…
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…