 | Leaves of grass. |  |
POET.
16 Demons and death then I
sing;
Put in all, aye all, will I — sword-shaped pennant for war, and banner so broad and blue,
And a pleasure new and extatic, and the prattled yearn- ing of children,
Blent with the sounds of the peaceful land, and the liquid wash of the sea;
And the icy cool of the far, far north, with rustling cedars and pines;
And the whirr of drums, and the sound of soldiers marching, and the hot sun shining south;
And the beach-waves combing over the beach on my 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 fields of Missouri;
The CONTINENT — devoting the whole identity, without reserving an atom,
Pour in! whelm that which asks, which sings, with all, and the yield of all.
Put in all, aye all, will I — sword-shaped pennant for war, and banner so broad and blue,
And a pleasure new and extatic, and the prattled yearn- ing of children,
Blent with the sounds of the peaceful land, and the liquid wash of the sea;
And the icy cool of the far, far north, with rustling cedars and pines;
And the whirr of drums, and the sound of soldiers marching, and the hot sun shining south;
And the beach-waves combing over the beach on my 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 fields of Missouri;
The CONTINENT — devoting the whole identity, without reserving an atom,
Pour in! whelm that which asks, which sings, with all, and the yield of all.
| Leaves of grass. | |