Friday, October 9, 2015

Song Of Myself, XXVII Comments

Rating: ★5.0

To be in any form, what is that?
(Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither,)
If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough.
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Walt Whitman
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Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman

New York / United States
Walt Whitman
Walt Whitman
New York / United States
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