 | Leaves of grass (1872) |  |
10
22
Loud, O my throat, and clear, O soul!The season of thanks, and the voice of full-yielding;
The chant of joy and power for boundless fertility.
23
All till'd and untill'd fields expand before me;I see the true arenas of my race—or first, or last,
Man's innocent and strong arenas.
24
I see the Heroes at other toils;I see, well-wielded in their hands, the better weapons.
| Leaves of grass (1872) | |