Salut au Monde!
1 O take my hand Walt Whitman! Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds! Such join'd unended links, each hook'd to the next, Each answering all, each sharing the earth with all. What widens within you Walt Whitman? What waves and soils exuding? What climes? what persons and cities are here? Who are the infants, some playing, some slumbering? Who are the girls? who are the married women? Who are the groups of old men going slowly with their arms about each other's necks? What rivers are these? what forests and fruits are these? What are the mountains call'd that rise so high in the mists? What myriads of dwellings are they fill'd with dwellers?
Posted on 16/08/2014, in literature, poetry and tagged 19th Century Poetry, American literature, American poets, Daily Whitman, free verse, Leaves of Grass, literature, poems, poetry, Transcendentalists, Walt Whitman. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.