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The great writers, one piece at a time.

Walt Whitman · Leaves of Grass

Poem 311 of 382 · Sands at Seventy

Out of May’s Shows Selected

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Apple orchards, the trees all cover’d with blossoms; Wheat fields carpeted far and near in vital emerald green; The eternal, exhaustless freshness of each early morning; The yellow, golden, transparent haze of the warm afternoon sun; The aspiring lilac bushes with profuse purple or white flowers.

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