Leaves of grass (1872) | ||
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Yet, O my soul supreme!Know'st thou the joys of pensive thought?
Joys of the free and lonesome heart—the tender, gloomy heart?
Joy of the solitary walk—the spirit bowed yet proud—the suffering and the struggle?
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Joys of the thought of Death—the great spheres Time and Space?
Prophetic joys of better, loftier love's ideals—the Divine Wife—the sweet, eternal, perfect Comrade?
Joys all thine own, undying one—joys worthy thee, O Soul.
Leaves of grass (1872) | ||