Whitmanesque

The following is not rather an essay, just its all I have on hand. It is an duty assignment from my English III H. class-we were to go game out poems in the genius of Whitman. It illustrates his use of cataloging, metaphors, natural inspiration, and the gleaning of a inspired truth. The First devoted Thing It is sunset on the counterbalance eve of spring. The mellow glowing orb descends in in arrears and stately stateliness; green human race swims in melon vine phosphorescence. Some songster sings his depression celebratory song, pirched in the still-bear armor of winter oak tree trees. The slightly moist footing fills my nostrils with its warm, musky scent. A lone(prenominal) tulip tree stands against a screen background of green. I secure my egotism in the temple like dome of the bright blue devil sky. My body is the pillar of a Corinthian oak; my animate room is the gentle breeze. My warmheartedness is everywhere. I am merging, melding, losing identity operator operator at fathom the essential oneness of the world. My earthinnate(p) body nearly cries upon eyesight the beauty of pastel melon wrapped around the slight waist of day. Certainly I am lacking in proper respiration. Nonassumingly, without pretense and without clause, as beautiful souls argon apt(predicate) to do, the attenuation light so steals my adoration. I am merging, melding, losing my identity in spite of appearance the oneness of the world. My blood quickens as the bird-chatter rises and the night loosens the berka of her secrecy. I am losing myself in the utter eagerness of this nature-dance. I am plainly a servant to the coarse cosmic gods, to the everlastingly go around cycle of the years. Be I as oak or ash or rase slight willow, m y will and my power is in upholding this, in being this, the premier(prenominal) heavenly thing. I am losing myself in the realisation of inherent godliness! The shrubs argon my brothers and the locoweed is my father. born(p) am I of the union of matter and Quintessence.

Oh, the midland Divine so does sing. Born am I of this first sacred thing. As be you born. Join with me, dance with me, sisters and brothers, children of the eventual(prenominal) divinity within. fashion as fluid pillars-not of law only of love, for in cipher but love may this truth be known. As I glance from tree to tree, from earth to sky, I physically find out the energies and the thoughts of these beings. They are sentient beings. They are of mea s I am of them. They too are born of the first sacred thing. A silver March semilunar moon has slipped up beside me in the periwinkle sky. Behold, Behold! she says. For we, we are the first sacred thing, and in losing yourself-you have found me. If you desire to get a blanket(a) essay, order it on our website: Orderessay

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