Walt Whitman Poems

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LONG, too long, O land,
Traveling roads all even and peaceful, you learn’d from joys and prosperity only;
But now, ah now, to learn from crises of anguish—advancing, grappling with direst
fate,
and
recoiling not;
And now to conceive, and show to the world, what your children en-masse really are;
(For who except myself has yet conceiv’d what your children en-masse really are?)


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