Sane, random, negligent hours,
Sane, easy, culminating hours,
After the flush, the Indian summer, of my life,
Away from Books—away from Art—the lesson learn’d, pass’d o’er,
Soothing, bathing, merging all—the sane, magnetic,
Now for the day and night themselves—the open air,
Now for the fields, the seasons, insects, trees—the rain and snow,
Where wild bees flitting hum,
Or August mulleins grow, or winter’s snowflakes fall,
Or stars in the skies roll round—
The silent sun and stars.
Public-domain source text
Supplement Hours
by Walt Whitman
From Standard Ebooks · standardebooks/walt-whitman_leaves-of-grass
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This is a source transcription from Standard Ebooks, published in Past Poetry’s public-domain archive without line-by-line editorial notes. Public-domain source edition. Availability can vary by territory.
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