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Leaves of grass.

  
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CONTENTS.
  
INSCRIPTION.

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[book]
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WALT WHITMAN'S DRUM -TAPS. New-York. 1865.
  
[page]
  
CONTENTS.
  
DRUM-TAPS.
  
SHUT NOT YOUR DOORS TO ME PROUD LIBRARIES.
  
CAVALRY CROSSING A FORD.
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SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAY-BREAK.
  
BY THE BIVOUAC'S FITFUL FLAME.">
  
1861.
  
FROM PAUMANOK STARTING I FLY LIKE A BIRD.
  
BEGINNING MY STUDIES.
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THE CENTENARIAN'S STORY.
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PIONEERS! O PIONEERS!
  
QUICKSAND YEARS THAT WHIRL ME I KNOW NOT WHITHER.
  
THE DRESSER.
  
WHEN I HEARD THE LEARN'D ASTRONOMER.
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RISE O DAYS FROM YOUR FATHOMLESS DEEPS.
  
A CHILD'S AMAZE.
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BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!
  
COME UP FROM THE FIELDS FATHER.
  
CITY OF SHIPS.
  
MOTHER AND BABE.
  
VIGIL STRANGE I KEPT ON THE FIELD ONE NIGHT.
  
BATHED IN WAR'S PERFUME.
  
A MARCH IN THE RANKS HARD-PREST, AND THE ROAD UNKNOWN.
  
LONG, TOO LONG, O LAND.
  
A SIGHT IN CAMP IN THE DAY-BREAK GREY AND DIM.
  
A FARM PICTURE.
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GIVE ME THE SPLENDID SILENT SUN.
  
OVER THE CARNAGE ROSE PROPHETIC A VOICE.
  
DID YOU ASK DULCET RHYMES FROM ME?
  
YEAR OF METEORS. (1859-60.)
  
THE TORCH.
  
YEARS OF THE UNPERFORM'D.
  
YEAR THAT TREMBLED AND REEL'D BENEATH ME.
  
THE VETERAN'S VISION.
  
O TAN-FACED PRAIRIE-BOY.
  
CAMPS OF GREEN.
  
AS TOILSOME I WANDER'D VIRGINIA'S WOODS.
  
HYMN OF DEAD SOLDIERS.
  
THE SHIP.
  
A BROADWAY PAGEANT. (RECEPTION JAPANESE EMBASSY, JUNE 16, 1860.)
  
FLAG OF STARS, THICK-SPRINKLED BUNTING.
  
OLD IRELAND.
  
LOOK DOWN FAIR MOON.
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OUT OF THE ROLLING OCEAN, THE CROWD.
  
WORLD, TAKE GOOD NOTICE.
  
I SAW OLD GENERAL AT BAY.
  
OTHERS MAY PRAISE WHAT THEY LIKE.
  
SOLID, IRONICAL, ROLLING ORB.
  
HUSH'D BE THE CAMPS TO-DAY. A. L. BURIED APRIL 19, 1865.
  
WEAVE IN, WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE.
  
TURN O LIBERTAD.
  
BIVOUAC ON A MOUNTAIN SIDE.
  
PENSIVE ON HER DEAD GAZING, I HEARD THE MOTHER OF ALL.
  
NOT YOUTH PERTAINS TO ME.
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SEQUEL TO DRUM-TAPS. (SINCE THE PRECEDING CAME FROM THE PRESS.) WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOOR-YARD BLOOM'D. AND OTHER PIECES.WASHINGTON. 1865-6.
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LEAVES OF GRASS. SONGS BEFORE PARTING.

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OTHERS MAY PRAISE WHAT THEY LIKE.

OTHERS may praise what they like;
But I, from the banks of the running Missouri, praise      nothing, in art, or aught else,
Till it has breathed well the atmosphere of this river —      also the western prairie-scent,
And fully exudes it again.
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