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Leaves of Grass (1891-92)
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IN PATHS UNTRODDEN.
In the growth by margins of pond-waters, |
Escaped from the life that exhibits itself, |
From all the standards hitherto publish'd, from the pleasures,
profits, conformities,
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Which too long I was offering to feed my soul, |
Clear to me now standards not yet publish'd, clear to me that my
soul,
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That the soul of the man I speak for rejoices in comrades, |
Here by myself away from the clank of the world, |
Tallying and talk'd to here by tongues aromatic, |
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No longer abash'd, (for in this secluded spot I can respond as I
would not dare elsewhere,)
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Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself, yet contains
all the rest,
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Resolv'd to sing no songs to-day but those of manly attachment, |
Projecting them along that substantial life, |
Bequeathing hence types of athletic love, |
Afternoon this delicious Ninth-month in my forty-first year, |
I proceed for all who are or have been young men, |
To tell the secret of my nights and days, |
To celebrate the need of comrades. |
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