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aims American appear artistic beautiful body breath bring called character charity common conventional critic culture death democracy democratic divine earth effects elements Emerson emotion equal evil eyes face fact faith feel final follow forces give ground hand hold human ideal ideas impression kind land laws Leaves of Grass less letter lines literary literature lives look mass material matter meaning merely mind nature never objects personality poems poet poetic poetry present qualities race reader reality refined relation religion says seems sense side social soul speaks spirit stand standards strong suggestion taste things thought tion touch true turn universal vital voice Walt Whitman Whit Whitman whole wounded writing young
Página 191 - My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death. Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy.
Página 54 - For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, And for love, sweet love — but praise! praise! praise! For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.
Página 251 - Now understand me well — it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.
Página 219 - I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen...
Página 49 - RECONCILIATION WORD over all, beautiful as the sky, Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time be utterly lost, That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world ; For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead, I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin — I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.
Página 52 - States themselves as of crape-veil'd women standing, With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night, With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads With the waiting depot...
Página 286 - And surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther. A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span or make it impatient, They are but parts, anything is but a part. See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that, Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that.
Página 141 - The pure contralto sings in the organ loft, The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp, The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner, The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with a strong arm, The mate stands braced in the whale-boat, lance and harpoon are ready...