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Abraham Lincoln afternoon afterward America amid army artist barouche beauty Brooklyn call'd character chyle crowded death democracy democratic earth Elias Hicks eyes face Fanny Kemble feudal first-class friends future George Fox give grand grass heart hospital hour human hundred land Leaves of Grass light Lincoln literary literature living Long Island look look'd mark'd ment miles modern moral mother nation Nature never night pass'd passion perfect perhaps poems poetic poetry poets political present race rest river scene Secession Secession War seem'd Shakspere sick side sight silent soldiers sometimes songs soul Specimen Days spirit stars street strong talk things thought tion to-day trees turn'd vast walk walk'd Walt Whitman ward Washington whole wild women woods wounded write York York city young
Page 110 - There is scarcely any earthly object gives me more — I do not know if I should call it pleasure — but something which exalts me, something which enraptures me — than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy winter day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and raving over the plain. It is my best season for devotion : my mind is wrapt up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him, who, in the pompous language of the Hebrew bard, ' walks on the wings of the wind.
Page 168 - And the glorious beauty, which is on the head of the fat valley, shall be a fading flower, And as the hasty fruit before the summer; Which when he that looketh upon it seeth, While it is yet in his hand he eateth it up.
Page 268 - But to speak in literature with the perfect rectitude and insouciance of the movements of animals and the unimpeachableness of the sentiment of trees in the woods and grass by the roadside is the flawless triumph of an.
Page 493 - SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me ! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark ! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark ; For tho...
Page 267 - The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity. Nothing is better than simplicity, — nothing can make up for excess or for the lack of definiteness.
Page 212 - Confess that to severe eyes, using the moral microscope upon humanity, a sort of dry and flat Sahara appears, these cities, crowded with petty grotesques, malformations, phantoms, playing meaningless antics. Confess that everywhere, in shop, street, church, theatre, barroom, official chair, are pervading flippancy and vulgarity, low cunning, infidelity...
Page 205 - I say that democracy can never prove itself beyond cavil, until it founds and luxuriantly grows its own forms of art, poems, schools, theology, displacing all that exists, or that has been produced anywhere in the past, under opposite influences.
Page 162 - LEAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home! Lead Thou me on. Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene — one Step enough for me.
Page 269 - Did you suppose there could be only one Supreme ? We affirm there can be unnumbered Supremes, and that one does not countervail another any more than one eyesight countervails another . . . and that men can be good or grand only of the consciousness of their supremacy within them.