Leaves of Grass Quotes Flashcards
Poet of the Body and Soul
I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, /
The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, /
The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a new tongue.
Song of Myself, 21
celebration of self
I celebrate myself, and sing myself /
And what I assume you shall assume, /
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
Song of Myself, 1
leisure
I loaf and invite my soul, I lean and loaf at my ease … observing a spear of summer grass.
Song of Myself
contradiction
Do I contradict myself? /
Very well then I contradict myself, /
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
Song of Myself, 51
arias
Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking
When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d
The commonplace
“the commonplace I sing”
The Commonplace
The poet as president
Their Presidents shall not be their common referee so much as their poets shall.
By Blue Ontario’s Shore
rhythm
a new rhythmus fitted for thee (soul/vocative)
Proud Music of the Storm
war and book are one
My book and the war are one
To Thee Old Cause (Inscriptions)
bards and war
Know’st thou not there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards? /
And that is the theme of war
As I Ponder’d in Silence (Inscriptions)
Brain of the new world
Brain of the New World, what a task is thine, … to recast poems, churches, art /
(Recast, may-be discard them, end them - may-be their work is done, who knows?
Thou Mother with Thy Equal Brood
untamed Walt
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am unstranslatable, /
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
Song of Myself, 52
defining America
I heard that you ask’d for something to prove this puzzle of the New World, /
And to define America, her athletic Democracy, /
Therefore I send you my poems that you behold in them what you wnated”
To Foreign Lands (whole poem)
take my leaves
take my leaves, America, take them South and take them North
Starting from Paumanok
changing songs
Must I change my triumphant songs? said I to myself, /
Must I indeed learn to chant the cold dirges of the baffled? /
And sullen hymns of defeat?
Year That Trembled and Reel’d Beneath Me