My Canary Bird

from Leaves of Grass: BOOK XXXIV. SANDS AT SEVENTY - by Walt Whitman.

  Did we count great, O soul, to penetrate the themes of mighty books,
  Absorbing deep and full from thoughts, plays, speculations?
  But now from thee to me, caged bird, to feel thy joyous warble,
  Filling the air, the lonesome room, the long forenoon,
  Is it not just as great, O soul?

 

from Leaves of Grass: BOOK XXXIV. SANDS AT SEVENTY by Walt Whitman
As I Sit Writing Here	Queries to My Seventieth Year

Sort by date Sort by score

Enable comment auto-refresher

Add your comment

ImmortalPoetry welcomes all comments. If you do not want to be anonymous, register or log in. It is free.