Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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I SEE before me now, a traveling army halting;

Below, a fertile valley spread, with barns, and the
orchards of summer;

Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt in
places, rising high!

Broken, with rocks, with clinging cedars, with tall
shapes, dingily seen;

The numerous camp-fires scatter'd near and far, some
away up on the mountain;

The shadowy forms of men and horses, looming, large-
sized, flickering;

And over all, the sky—the sky! far, far out of reach,
studded, breaking out, the eternal stars.

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