In the canon
Leaves of Grass
- Form
- Form Poetry Collection
- Year
- Year 1855
- Pages
- Pages 620
A poet sings a sprawling, ever-growing hymn to his own body, to ordinary American lives, and to the democracy binding them, insisting the self, the grass and the dead are all one continuous thing.
I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
The blurb, the gist, the why of the day and the work itself are in the app. The first button needs it on this device; the second gets it there.