Poetry for a Sunday Afternoon–Walt Whitman's Miracles
Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked … Continue reading Poetry for a Sunday Afternoon–Walt Whitman's Miracles
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Poetry for a Sunday Afternoon–Walt Whitman's Miracles
Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked … Continue reading Poetry for a Sunday Afternoon–Walt Whitman's Miracles