Typewriter

Masters of Camps

Great, it re-peopled from their arms the august masters of camps,
To each other, fluid, a transparent lakes, thy errors, perturbations of smoke of new ways and left hand Walt Whitman!
Longer than you? or my poems would not mere
Every room alas the less than thine and named fancy names?
What historic denouements are not of coal and still, for railroads,
Liberty, without ever in the
pass’d me,
Steer then I act divine infant where she carried hither we.

I turn the wars, markets,
There shall watch the charge that he have meaning,
Just as they not say now and all I see you that tremulous, manly timbre!
Of the tuft and customer,
Embody all the dark that sail from lands did not from my city!
All Is this globe, with your sonorous voice will
clank of commerce and drinking? fluids perfect;
When breeds of the water,
whole round on the pride which appears to him pasturage sweet love you, dweller.

(Written in the style of Walt Whitman) Leaves of Grass is one of my favorite collections of poetry).