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To the Leaven'd Soil They Trod.

Part of the cluster DRUM-TAPS.


TO the leaven'd soil they trod, calling, I sing, for the  
(Not cities, nor man alone, nor war, nor the dead, But forth from my tent emerging for good—loosing,  
 untying the tent-ropes;)
In the freshness, the forenoon air, in the far-stretching  
 circuits and vistas, again to peace restored,
To the fiery fields emanative, and the endless vistas  
 beyond—to the south and the north;
To the leaven'd soil of the general western world, to  
 attest my songs,
(To the average earth, the wordless earth, witness of  
 war and peace,)
To the Alleghanian hills, and the tireless Mississippi, To the rocks I, calling, sing, and all the trees in the  
To the plain of the poems of heroes, to the prairie  
 spreading wide,
To the far-off sea, and the unseen winds, and the sane  
 impalpable air;
…And responding, they answer all, (but not in words,) The average earth, the witness of war and peace,  
 acknowledges mutely;
The prairie draws me close, as the father, to bosom  
 broad, the son;
The Northern ice and rain, that began me, nourish me  
 to the end;
But the hot sun of the South is to ripen my songs.

Part of the cluster DRUM-TAPS.

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