from Song of the Open Road
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,Healthy, free, the world before me,The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,Strong and content I travel the open road.
from Song of Myself, § 31
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars,And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,And the tree-toad is a chef-d’œuvre for the highest,And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,And the cow crunching with depress’d head surpasses any statue,And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.
Out of May’s Shows Selected
Apple orchards, the trees all cover’d with blossoms;Wheat fields carpeted far and near in vital emerald green;The eternal, exhaustless freshness of each early morning;The yellow, golden, transparent haze of the warm afternoon sun;The aspiring lilac bushes with profuse purple or white flowers.
The First Dandelion
Simple and fresh and fair from winter’s close emerging,As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,Forth from its sunny nook of shelter’d grass—innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,The spring’s first dandelion shows its trustful face.
Twilight
The soft voluptuous opiate shades,The sun just gone, the eager light dispell’d—(I too will soon be gone, dispell’d,)A haze—nirwana—rest and night—oblivion.
To You
Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me?And why should I not speak to you?
Unseen buds
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