Page:Leaves of Grass (1860).djvu/75

200.My ties and ballasts leave me—I travel—I sail—
my elbows rest in the sea-gaps,
I skirt the sierras—my palms cover continents,
I am afoot with my vision.

201.By the city's quadrangular houses—in log huts—
camping with lumbermen,
Along the ruts of the turnpike—along the dry gulch
and rivulet bed,
Weeding my onion-patch, or hoeing rows of carrots
and parsnips—crossing savannas—trailing in
forests,
Prospecting—gold-digging—girdling the trees of a
new purchase,
Scorched ankle-deep by the hot sand—hauling my
boat down the shallow river,
Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb over-
head—Where the buck turns furiously at the
hunter,
Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a
rock—Where the otter is feeding on fish,
Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the
bayou,
Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey
—Where the beaver pats the mud with his
paddle-tail,
Over the growing sugar—over the cotton plant—
over the rice in its low moist field,
Over the sharp-peaked farm house, with its scalloped
scum and slender shoots from the gutters,
Over the western persimmon—over the long-leaved
corn—over the delicate blue-flowered flax,
Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer
and buzzer there with the rest,