How they are provided for upon the earth (appearing at intervals),
How dear and dreadful they are to the earth,
How they inure to themselves as much as to any, what a paradox appears their age,
How people respond to them, yet know them not,
How there is something...
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Still though the one I sing, |
Myself My tongue, every atom... |
Give me the splendid silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling, |
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient, |
Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than mast-hemmed Manhattan? Flow on, river! flow with the flood-... |
Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, |
Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm, |
Skirting the river road (my forenoon walk, my rest), |
A line in long array where they wind betwixt green islands, |