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nature lovers meetup Message Board › Today's poem - 1/31/2013

Today's poem - 1/31/2013

user 3046110
Group Organizer
Washington, DC
Post #: 1,169
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Walt Whitman

The camp of Georgia wagoners, just after dark—the
supper-fires, and the cooking and eating by whites
and negroes,
Thirty or forty great wagons—the mules, cattle, horses,
feeding from troughs,
The shadows, gleams, up under the leaves of the old
sycamore-trees—the flames—also the black smoke
from the pitch-pine, curling and rising;
Southern fishermen fishing—the sounds and inlets of
North Carolina’s coast—the shad-fishery and the
herring-fishery—the large sweep-seines—the wind-
lasses on shore worked by horses—the clearing,
curing, and packing-houses;
Deep in the forest, in piney woods, turpentine dropping
from the incisions in the trees—There are the
turpentine works,
There are the negroes at work, in good health—the
ground in all directions is covered with pine
—In Tennessee and Kentucky, slaves busy in the coalings,
at the forge, by the furnace-blaze, or at the corn-
In Virginia, the planter’s son returning after a long
absence, joyfully welcomed and kissed by the aged
mulatto nurse.
On rivers, boatmen safely moored at night-fall, in their
boats, under shelter of high banks,

Some of the younger men dance to the sound of the banjo
or fiddle—others sit on the gunwale, smoking and
Late in the afternoon, the mocking-bird, the American
mimic, singing in the Great Dismal Swamp—there
are the greenish waters, the resinous odour, the
plenteous moss, the cypress-tree, and the juniper-tree.
—Northward, young men of Mannahatta—the target
company from an excursion returning home at
evening, the musket-muzzles all bear bunches of
flowers presented by women;
Children at play—or on his father’s lap a young boy fallen
asleep, (how his lips move! how he smiles in his
The scout riding on horseback over the plains west of the
Mississippi—he ascends a knoll and sweeps his eye
California life—the miner, bearded, dressed in his rude
costume—the stanch California friendship—the
sweet air—the graves one, in passing, meets, soli-
tary, just aside the horse-path;
Down in Texas, the cotton-field, the negro-cabins—drivers
driving mules or oxen before rude carts—cotton-
bales piled on banks and wharves.
Encircling all, vast-darting up and wide, the American
Soul, with equal hemispheres—one Love, one Dila-
tion or Pride.

Today's poem is thanks to "Poems by Walt Whitman" by William Rossetti

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You can see previous poems by going to "Message Board." All members are welcome to post a poem under "Today's poem", on the message board. The poem is usually posted between 10pm the previous night and 9 am on the day of the poem. It could be your own or someone else's. It should be something to do with nature, and ideally it should have something to do with the particular day.
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