 | Leaves of grass. |  |
13
66 The negro holds firmly
the reins of his four horses
—
the block swags underneath on its tied-over
chain;
The negro that drives the dray of the stone-yard — steady and tall he stands, poised on one leg on the string-piece;
His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast, and loosens over his hip-band;
His glance is calm and commanding — he tosses the slouch of his hat away from his forehead;
The sun falls on his crispy hair and moustache — falls on the black of his polish'd and perfect limbs.
67 I behold the picturesque giant, and love him — and I do not stop there;
I go with the team also.
68 In me the caresser of
life wherever moving —
back- ward as
well as forward slueing;
To niches aside and junior bending.
69 Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain, or halt in the leafy shade! what is that you express in your eyes?
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.
70 My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck, on my distant and day-long ramble;
They rise together — they slowly circle around.
71 I believe in those wing'd purposes,
And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me,
And consider green and violet, and the tufted crown, intentional,
And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else;
And the jay in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me;
And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me.
The negro that drives the dray of the stone-yard — steady and tall he stands, poised on one leg on the string-piece;
His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast, and loosens over his hip-band;
His glance is calm and commanding — he tosses the slouch of his hat away from his forehead;
The sun falls on his crispy hair and moustache — falls on the black of his polish'd and perfect limbs.
67 I behold the picturesque giant, and love him — and I do not stop there;
I go with the team also.
36
To niches aside and junior bending.
69 Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain, or halt in the leafy shade! what is that you express in your eyes?
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.
70 My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck, on my distant and day-long ramble;
They rise together — they slowly circle around.
71 I believe in those wing'd purposes,
And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me,
And consider green and violet, and the tufted crown, intentional,
And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else;
And the jay in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me;
And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me.
| Leaves of grass. | |