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nydus/Leaves of GrassPublic

The definitive collection of Walt Whitman’s poetry.

Page 106 of 508
Table of Contents

40

I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an arm’d force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.

Sleep⁠—I and they keep guard all night, Not doubt, not disease shall dare to lay finger upon you, I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself, And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so.

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