![]() My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. Song of Myself By 1819-1892 1 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. D a y P o e m s * D a y P o e m s * D a y P o e m s * D a y P o e m s * D a y P o e m s * D a y P o e m s * D a y P o e m s Won't you help support DayPoems? This is the source of the first poetry placed on DayPoems., exactly what the title says, and well worth reading.: 'If a guy somewhere in Asia makes a blog and no one reads it, does it really exist?', miniature, minimalist-inspired sculptures created from industrial cereamics, an art project at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon., More projects from Portland, Furby, Eliza, Mr_Friss and Miss_Friss., a Portland, Oregon, exhibit, Aug. Poetry Whirl Indexes Poetry Places Nodes powered by Open Directory Project at DayPoems Favorites, a huge collection of books as text, produced as a volunteer enterprise starting in 1990. ![]() ![]() ![]() To link to this poem, put the URL below into your page: Song of Myself by Walt Whitman Walt Whitman: Song of Myself The DayPoems Poetry Collection, editor Click to submit poems to DayPoems, comment on DayPoems or a poem within, comment on other poetry sites, update links, or simply get in touch. ![]()
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