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Walt Whitman

When I heard the learn’d astronomer; When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me; When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them; When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;… Continue reading Walt Whitman

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American Culture · American Literature · Americana · Anthology · Cataloguing · Classic · Collection · Colloquial Speech · Compilation · Free Association · Free Verse · Interior Monologue · Lists · Poetry · Reference · Romanticism · Stream of Consciousness · Transcendentalism

Walt Whitman

You sea! I resign myself to you also … . I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked inviting fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me; We must have a turn together … . I undress … . hurry me out of           sight of the… Continue reading Walt Whitman

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Robert Frost

Hyla Brook By June our brook’s run out of song and speed. Sought for much after that, it will be found Either to have gone groping underground (And taken with it all the Hyla breed That shouted in the mist a month ago, Like ghost of sleigh bells in a ghost of snow)— Or flourished… Continue reading Robert Frost

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American Culture · American Literature · Americana · Cataloguing · Classic · Collection · Colloquial Speech · Free Association · Free Verse · Interior Monologue · Lists · Poetry · Romanticism · Stream of Consciousness · Transcendentalism

Walt Whitman

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d, Of… Continue reading Walt Whitman

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American Culture · American Literature · Colloquial Speech · Magazine · Modernism · Poetry · Traditionalism

Robert Frost

Why make so much of fragmentary blue In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue? Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)— Though some savants make earth include the sky; And blue so far above us comes so… Continue reading Robert Frost

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