 | Leaves of grass (1872) |  |
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For the lands, and for these passionate days, and for myself,Now I awhile return to thee, O soil of Autumn fields,
Reclining on thy breast, giving myself to thee,
Answering the pulses of thy sane and equable heart,
Tuning a verse for thee.
4
O Earth, that hast no voice, confide to me a voice!O harvest of my lands! O boundless summer growths!
O lavish, brown, parturient earth! O infinite, teeming womb!
A verse to seek, to see, to narrate thee.
| Leaves of grass (1872) | |