I see before me now a travelling army halting,
Below a fertile valley spread, with barns and the orchards of summer,
Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt, in places rising high,
Broken, with rocks, with clinging cedars, with tall shapes dingily seen,
...
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A sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim, |
O captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, |
After an interval, reading, here in the midnight, |
Darest thou now, O soul, No map there, nor guide, |
[The Death of Lincoln.] Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, |
From “The Song of Myself” I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it... |
To Confront His Own Portrait for “The Wound Dresser” in “Leaves of Grass” OUT from behind this bending, rough-cut mask, |
From “The Song of Myself” My... |
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, |