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The great writers, one piece at a time.

Walt Whitman · Leaves of Grass

Poem 215 of 382 · Autumn Rivulets

What Am I After All

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What am I after all but a child, pleas’d with the sound of my own name? repeating it over and over; I stand apart to hear--it never tires me.

To you your name also; Did you think there was nothing but two or three pronunciations in the sound of your name?

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