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Walt Whitman · Leaves of Grass

Poem 300 of 382 · Sands at Seventy

A Font of Type

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This latent mine--these unlaunch’d voices--passionate powers, Wrath, argument, or praise, or comic leer, or prayer devout, (Not nonpareil, brevier, bourgeois, long primer merely,) These ocean waves arousable to fury and to death, Or sooth’d to ease and sheeny sun and sleep, Within the pallid slivers slumbering.

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