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Walt Whitman · Leaves of Grass

Poem 305 of 382 · Sands at Seventy

The First Dandelion

— ✻ —

Simple and fresh and fair from winter’s close emerging,
As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,
Forth from its sunny nook of shelter’d grass--innocent, golden, calm
as the dawn,
The spring’s first dandelion shows its trustful face.

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