 | Leaves of grass (1872) |  |
7
13
But on these days of brightness,On the far-stretching beauteous landscape, the roads and lanes, the high-piled farm-wagons, and the fruits and barns,
Shall the dead intrude?
14
Ah, the dead to me mar not—they fit well in Nature;They fit very well in the landscape, under the trees and grass,
And along the edge of the sky, in the horizon's far margin.
15
Nor do I forget you, departed;Nor in winter or summer, my lost ones;
But most, in the open air, as now, when my soul is rapt and at peace—like pleasing phantoms,
Your dear memories, rising, glide silently by me.
| Leaves of grass (1872) | |