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Walt Whitman · Leaves of Grass

Poem 276 of 382 · From Noon to Starry Night

A Clear Midnight

— ✻ —

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou
lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.

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