Whitman Poetry
The moon is like a scimitar,
A little silver scimitar,
A-drifting down the sky.
And near beside it is a star,
A timid twinkling golden star,
That watc…
October 20, 2016
Mellow hazes, lowly trailing
Over wood and meadow, veiling
&nb…
October 20, 2016
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She wal…
October 20, 2016
Rain will fall on the fading flowers,
Winds will blow through the dripping tree,
 …
October 20, 2016
We walk on starry fields of white
And do not see the daisies;
&nbs…
October 20, 2016
This day, two hundred years ago,
The wild grape by the river's side,
And ta…
October 20, 2016
The Autumn hills are golden at the top,
And rounded as a poet's silver rhyme;
&nbs…
October 20, 2016
