Cock'd hats of mothy mould—crutches made of mist! Arms in slings—old men leaning on young men's. Does the ague convulse your limbs?
Leaves of Grass: Illustrated Edition
President's marshal, If you groan such groans you might balk the government. You have got your revenge, old buster—the crown is. Liberty, let others despair of you—I never despair of. Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean,. I rendezvous with my poems, A traveler's lodging and breakfast as journey through. For I myself am not one who bestows nothing upon man. These eager business aims—books politics, art, amours, To utter nothingness? O Manhattan, my own, my peerless!
O strongest you in the hour of danger, in crisis! O truer. How you sprang—how you threw off the costumes of.
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Manhattan arming. The blood of the city up—arm'd! Would the talkers be talking? Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder. How envied by all the earth. I hear the drums beat and the trumpets blowing, I myself move abroad swift-rising flying then, I use the wings of the land-bird and use the wings of the. New Orleans, I see far in the West the immense area of grain, I dwell. With passions of demons, slaughter, premature death? Eastern shore, and my Western shore the same, And all between those shores, and my ever-running.
Mississippi with bends and chutes, And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my. O pennant! Valueless, object of eyes, over all and demanding all—. I too leave the rest—great as it is, it is nothing—houses,. O banner so broad,. Niagara pouring, I travell'd the prairies over and slept on their breast, I. O wild as my heart, and powerful! Heard the continuous thunder as it bellow'd after the. What, to pavements and homesteads here, what were. What, to passions I witness around me to-day?
How it climbs with daring feet and hands—how it How the true thunder bellows after the lightning—how. How Democracy with desperate vengeful port strides on,. And do you rise higher than ever yet O days, O cities! When you yourself forever provide to defend me? For you provided me Washington—and now these also. Proud and passionate city—mettlesome, mad, extrava-.
Spring up O city—not for peace alone, but be indeed. Fear not—submit to no models but your own, O city!
Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
Behold me—incarnate me, as I have incarnated you! Smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately. Above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the. And come to the entry mother, to the front door come. She does not tarry to smooth her hair nor adjust her. All swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she.
Who are you my dear comrade? Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming? And sullen hymns of defeat? In mercy come quickly. I should never tire, Give me a perfect child, give me away aside from the.
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Give me interminable eyes—give me women—give me. Let me see new ones every day—let me hold new ones. Give me such shows—give me the streets of Manhattan! Give me Broadway, with the soldiers marching—give. The soldiers in companies or regiments—some starting. O such for me! O an intense life, full to repletion and The life of the theatre, bar-room, huge hotel, for me! The saloon of the steamer! Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me. T HE last sunbeam Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath, On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking,. Lo, the moon ascending, Up from the east the silvery round moon, Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,.
I see a sad procession, And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles, All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,. I hear the great drums pounding, And the small drums steady whirring, And every blow of the great convulsive drums,.monitoring.devops.indosystem.com/sitemap13.xml
Leaves Of Grass And Selected Poems And Prose
For the son is brought with the father, In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell, Two veterans son and father dropt together,. Now nearer blow the bugles, And the drums strike more convulsive, And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded,. And the strong dead-march enwraps me. In the eastern sky up-buoying, The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd, 'Tis some mother's large transparent face,. O strong dead-march you please me! O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me!
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial! The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music, And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,.
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Oregonese, shall be friends triune, More precious to each other than all the riches of the. O lands! I hear the sounds of the different missiles, the short. Why rising by the roadside here, do you the colours. Are the things so strange and marvelous you see or.
No more credulity's race, abiding-temper'd race, Race henceforth owning no law but the law of itself, Race of passion and the storm. I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face. How I heard you flap and rustle, cloth defiant!
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Flag cerulean—sunny flag, with the orbs of night. Ah my silvery beauty—ah my woolly white and crimson! Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty! My sacred one, my mother. Did you find what I sang erewhile so hard to follow? Why I was not singing erewhile for you to follow, to.
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