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Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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SPARKLES FROM THE WHEEL.
1
WHERE the city's ceaseless crowd moves on, the live-
long day,
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Withdrawn, I join a group of children watching—I
pause aside withthem.
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By the curb, toward the edge of the flagging, |
A knife-grinder works at his wheel, sharpening a great
knife;
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Bending over, he carefully holds it to the stone—by
foot and knee,
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With measur'd tread, he turns rapidly—As he presses
with light but firm hand,
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Forth issue, then, in copious golden jets, |
2
The scene and all its belongings—how they seize and
affect me!
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The sad, sharp-chinn'd old man, with worn clothes, and
broad shoulder-band of leather;
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Myself, effusing and fluid—a phantom curiously float-
ing—now here absorb'd and arrested;
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View Page 104
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The group, (an unminded point, set in a vast surround-
ing;)
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The attentive, quiet children—the loud, proud, restive
base of the streets;
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The low, hoarse purr of the whirling stone—the light-
press'd blade,
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Diffusing, dropping, sideways-darting, in tiny showers
of gold,
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