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Walt Whitman · Leaves of Grass

Poem 339 of 382 · Sands at Seventy

A Prairie Sunset

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Shot gold, maroon and violet, dazzling silver, emerald, fawn, The earth’s whole amplitude and Nature’s multiform power consign’d for once to colors; The light, the general air possess’d by them--colors till now unknown, No limit, confine--not the Western sky alone--the high meridian-- North, South, all, Pure luminous color fighting the silent shadows to the last.

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