9. Song of Myself (Walt Whitman, 1819-1892)

9

The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,
The armfuls are pack'd to the sagging mow.

I am there, I help, I came stretch'd atop of the load,
I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,
I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,
And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.
More: Song of Myself
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From Leaves of Grass, 1855 or thereabouts (Whitman published a lot of editions of this book).

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