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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
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WANDERING AT MORN.
Emerging from the night from gloomy thoughts, thee in my
thoughts,
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Yearning for thee harmonious Union! thee, singing bird divine! |
Thee coil'd in evil times my country, with craft and black dismay,
with every meanness, treason thrust upon thee,
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This common marvel I beheld—the parent thrush I watch'd feed-
ing its young,
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The singing thrush whose tones of joy and faith ecstatic, |
Fail not to certify and cheer my soul. |
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If worms, snakes, loathsome grubs, may to sweet spiritual songs
be turn'd,
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If vermin so transposed, so used and bless'd may be, |
Then may I trust in you, your fortunes, days, my country; |
Who knows but these may be the lessons fit for you? |
From these your future song may rise with joyous trills, |
Destin'd to fill the world. |
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