Song Of Myself, XXIX Poem by Walt Whitman

Song Of Myself, XXIX

Rating: 5.0


Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp-tooth'd touch!
Did it make you ache so, leaving me?

Parting track'd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan,
Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward.

Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital,
Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Dr Antony Theodore 25 September 2019

Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden. powerful words and imagination, . tony

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Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman

New York / United States
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