Walt Whitman

(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892 / New York / United States)

Song Of Myself, XXIX - Poem by Walt Whitman

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.


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Poem Submitted: Friday, October 9, 2015



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