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Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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WARBLE FOR LILAC TIME.
WARBLE me now, for joy of Lilac-time, |
Sort me, O tongue and lips, for Nature's sake, and
sweet life's sake—and death's the same as life's,
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Souvenirs of earliest summer—the birds' eggs, and the first
berries;
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Gather the welcome signs, (as children, with pebbles, or
stringing shells,)
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Put in April and May—the hylas croaking in the ponds
—the elastic air,
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View Page 97
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Bees, butterflies, the sparrow with its simple notes, |
Blue-bird, and darting swallow—nor forget the high-
hole flashing his golden wings,
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The tranquil sunny haze, the clinging smoke, the vapor, |
Spiritual, airy insects, humming on gossamer wings, |
Shimmer of waters, with fish in them—the cerulean
above;
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All that is jocund and sparkling—the brooks running, |
The maple woods, the crisp February days, and the
sugar-making;
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The robin, where he hops, bright-eyed, brown-breasted, |
With musical clear call at sunrise, and again at sunset, |
Or flitting among the trees of the apple-orchard, build-
-ing the nest of his mate;
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The melted snow of March—the willow sending forth
its yellow-green sprouts;
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—For spring-time is here! the summer is here! and
what is this in it and from it?
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Thou, Soul, unloosen'd—the restlessness after I know
not what;
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Come! let us lag here no longer—let us be up and
away!
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O for another world! O if one could but fly like a
bird!
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O to escape—to sail forth, as in a ship! |
To glide with thee, O soul, o'er all, in all, as a ship o'er
the waters!
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—Gathering these hints, the preludes—the blue sky,
the grass, the morning drops of dew;
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(With additional songs—every spring will I now strike
up additonal songs,
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Nor ever again forget, these tender days, the chants of
Death as well as Life;)
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The lilac-scent, the bushes, and the dark green heart-
shaped leaves,
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Wood-violets, the little delicate pale blossoms called
innocence,
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Samples and sorts not for themselves alone, but for
their atmosphere,
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To tally, drench'd with them, tested by them, |
Cities and artificial life, and all their sights and scenes |
View Page 98
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My mind henceforth, and all its meditations—my reci-
tatives,
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My land, my age, my race, for one to serve in songs, |
(Sprouts, tokens ever of death indeed the same as life,) |
To grace the bush I love—to sing with the birds, |
A warble for joy of Lilac-time. |
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