Whitman, as Printed

‹ Leaves of Grass, 1855

The lines with “at”

at 155 Back to A

  1. p. iii, line 15The Americans of all nations at any time upon the earth have probably the fullest poetical […]
  2. p. iii, line 20[…] orderly to their ampler largeness and stir. Here at last is something in the doings of man that corresponds […]
  3. p. vi, line 12[…] life, re examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults […]
  4. p. vii, line 37[…] proved by their unconstraint. A heroic person walks at his ease through and out of that custom or precedent […]
  5. p. viii, line 83[…] when the large names of patriots are laughed at in the public halls from the lips of the orators […]
  6. p. viii, line 90[…] walk abroad upon the earth stung with compassion at the sight of numberless brothers answering our equal friendship and […]
  7. p. viii, line 92[…] and when we are elated with noble joy at the sight of slaves . . . . when the soul retires in the […]
  8. p. viii, line 112[…] be a bound booby and rogue in office at a high salary than the poorest free mechanic or farmer […]
  9. p. ix, line 19[…] the grand-opera its . . . . the hugehulled cleanshaped New-York clipper at sea under steam or full sail gleams with unmatched beauty […]
  10. p. ix, line 88[…] condition which precedes the birth of babes, nor at any time during the changes of life, nor in that […]
  11. p. x, line 1[…] gives much when he givesa few slight attentions at the latch of the gate. The premises of the prudence […]
  12. p. x, line 18[…] age, and the issuing sickness and desperate revolt at the close of a life without elevation or naivete, and […]
  13. p. x, line 29[…] appears too faint for the eye to observe at all when little and large alike drop quietly aside at […]
  14. p. x, line 30[…] when little and large alike drop quietly aside at the thought of the prudence suitable for immortality. What is […]
  15. p. x, line 34[…] wisdom spaced out by ages and coming back at a certain time with strong reinforcements and rich presents and […]
  16. p. x, line 90[…] or opinion's sake . . . all pains of enthusiasts scoffed at by their neighbors . . all the vast sweet love and precious […]
  17. p. x, line 100[…] whether it succeeded or no . . . . all that has at any time been well suggested out of the divine heart […]
  18. p. x, line 109[…] by any one—these singly and wholly inured at their time and inure now and will inure always to […]
  19. p. xi, line 8[…] truth. The prudence of the greatest poet answers at last the craving and glut of the soul, is not […]
  20. p. xi, line 54[…] Has no new discovery in science or arrival at superior planes of thought and judgment and behaviour fixed him […]
  21. p. xi, line 72[…] beginning. Has any one fancied he could sit at last under some due authority and rest satisfied with explanations […]
  22. p. xii, line 38[…] with audible and absolute acknowledgement, and set slavery at nought for life and death? Will it help breed one […]
  23. p. 13, line 5I lean and loafe at my ease . . . . observing a spear of summer grass.
  24. p. 14, line 3Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
  25. p. 14, line 6You shall no longer take things at second or third hand . . . . nor look through the eyes of the dead . . . . nor feed on the spectres in books,
  26. p. 15, line 1As God comes a loving bedfellow and sleeps at my side all night and close on the peep of the day,
  27. p. 15, line 3Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes,
  28. p. 15, line 19Both in and out of the game, and watching and wondering at it.
  29. p. 17, line 5And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
  30. p. 18, line 24Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
  31. p. 18, line 29My eyes settle the land . . . . I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck.
  32. p. 19, line 14I had him sit next me at table . . . . my firelock leaned in the corner.
  33. p. 20, line 3The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market,
  34. p. 21, line 5The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats,
  35. p. 21, line 25The deacons are ordained with crossed hands at the altar,
  36. p. 21, line 27The farmer stops by the bars of a Sunday and looks at the oats and rye,
  37. p. 21, line 28The lunatic is carried at last to the asylum a confirmed case,
  38. p. 21, line 30The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case,
  39. p. 21, line 34The quadroon girl is sold at the stand . . . . the drunkard nods by the barroom stove,
  40. p. 22, line 20The canal-boy trots on the towpath—the bookkeeper counts at his desk—the shoemaker waxes his thread,
  41. p. 22, line 30The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to each other,
  42. p. 22, line 31(Miserable! I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you,)
  43. p. 23, line 14Patriarchs sit at supper with sons and grandsons and great grandsons around them,
  44. p. 23, line 31At home on Canadian snowshoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen off Newfoundland,
  45. p. 23, line 32At home in the fleet of iceboats, sailing with the rest and tacking,
  46. p. 23, line 33At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine or the Texan ranch,
  47. p. 25, line 27That life is a suck and a sell, and nothing remains at the end but threadbare crape and tears.
  48. p. 26, line 10I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.
  49. p. 26, line 22I laugh at what you call dissolution,
  50. p. 29, line 8Whoever degrades another degrades me . . . . and whatever is done or said returns at last to me,
  51. p. 30, line 23A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.
  52. p. 30, line 27Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols, silently rising, freshly exuding,
  53. p. 31, line 12I underlying causes to balance them at last,
  54. p. 31, line 26Talkative young ones to those that like them . . . . the recitative of fish-pedlars and fruit-pedlars . . . . the loud laugh of workpeople at their meals,
  55. p. 32, line 3The slow-march played at night at the head of the association,
  56. p. 33, line 2They bribed to swap off with touch, and go and graze at the edges of me,
  57. p. 34, line 8And I could come every afternoon of my life to look at the farmer's girl boiling her iron tea-kettle and baking shortcake.
  58. p. 34, line 24I stand and look at them sometimes half the day long.
  59. p. 35, line 12Swift wind! Space! My Soul! Now I know it is true what I guessed at;
  60. p. 35, line 23Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead . . . . where the buck turns furiously at the hunter,
  61. p. 36, line 21Where the striped and starred flag is borne at the head of the regiments;
  62. p. 36, line 26At he-festivals with blackguard jibes and ironical license and bull-dances and drinking and laughter,
  63. p. 36, line 27At the cider-mill, tasting the sweet of the brown sqush . . . . sucking the juice through a straw,
  64. p. 36, line 28At apple-pealings, wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find,
  65. p. 36, line 29At musters and beach-parties and friendly bees and huskings and house-raisings;
  66. p. 37, line 9Where the yellow-crowned heron comes to the edge of the marsh at night and feeds upon small crabs;
  67. p. 37, line 19Pleased with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preacher, or any preacher . . . . looking seriously at the camp-meeting;
  68. p. 37, line 20Looking in at the shop-windows in Broadway the whole forenoon . . . . pressing the flesh of my nose to the thick plate-glass,
  69. p. 37, line 23Coming home with the bearded and dark-cheeked bush-boy . . . . riding behind him at the drape of the day;
  70. p. 37, line 30Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while,
  71. p. 38, line 6I visit the orchards of God and look at the spheric product,
  72. p. 38, line 7And look at quintillions ripened, and look at quintillions green.
  73. p. 38, line 15I ascend to the foretruck . . . . I take my place late at night in the crow's nest . . . . we sail through the arctic sea . . . . it is plenty light enough,
  74. p. 39, line 4How he saved the drifting company at last,
  75. p. 39, line 15I am the hounded slave . . . . I wince at the bite of the dogs,
  76. p. 40, line 15The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo.
  77. p. 40, line 31A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart . . . . the living and dead lay together,
  78. p. 41, line 6At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies;
  79. p. 41, line 17On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead.
  80. p. 41, line 18Ten o'clock at night, and the full moon shining and the leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported,
  81. p. 42, line 9Toward twelve at night, there in the beams of the moon they surrendered to us.
  82. p. 42, line 27What the savage at the stump, his eye-sockets empty, his mouth spirting whoops and defiance,
  83. p. 42, line 28What stills the traveler come to the vault at Mount Vernon,
  84. p. 42, line 30What burnt the gums of the redcoat at Saratoga when he surrendered his brigades,
  85. p. 43, line 5It is I let out in the morning and barred at night.
  86. p. 43, line 9Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp, but I also lie at the last gasp,
  87. p. 44, line 18Earth! you seem to look for something at my hands,
  88. p. 45, line 25Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters,
  89. p. 46, line 9By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for every person born;
  90. p. 46, line 10Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels with shirts bagged out at their waists;
  91. p. 48, line 30Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers,
  92. p. 49, line 9Nor the little child that peeped in at the door and then drew back and was never seen again,
  93. p. 50, line 28Jostling me through streets and public halls . . . . coming naked to me at night,
  94. p. 50, line 31Or while I swim in the bath . . . . or drink from the pump at the corner . . . . or the curtain is down at the opera . . . . or I glimpse at a woman's face in the railroad car;
  95. p. 51, line 7I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems,
  96. p. 52, line 14This day before dawn I ascended a hill and looked at the crowded heaven,
  97. p. 53, line 9My words itch at your ears till you understand them.
  98. p. 53, line 14And I swear I never will translate myself at all, only to him or her who privately stays with me in the open air.
  99. p. 53, line 22The farmboy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice,
  100. p. 54, line 8No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and about death.
  101. p. 56, line 3I depart as air . . . . I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
  102. p. 56, line 10Failing to fetch me me at first keep encouraged,
  103. p. 58, line 3If you carouse at the table I say I will carouse at the opposite side of the table;
  104. p. 58, line 16Iroquois eating the warflesh—fishtearer in his lair of rocks and sand . . . . Esquimaux in the dark cold snowhouse . . . . Chinese with his transverse eyes . . . . Bedowee—or wandering nomad—or tabounschik at the head of his droves,
  105. p. 61, line 11The pulses of your brain waiting their chance and encouragement at every deed or sight;
  106. p. 62, line 6Everyday objects . . . . the housechairs, the carpet, the bed and the counterpane of the bed, and him or her sleeping at night, and the wind blowing, and the indefinite noises:
  107. p. 63, line 17The house you live in . . . . the rent . . . . the other tenants . . . . the deposite in the savings-bank . . . . the trade at the grocery,
  108. p. 63, line 25Will you seek afar off? You surely come back at last,
  109. p. 66, line 7I see one building the house that serves him a few years . . . . or seventy or eighty years at most;
  110. p. 66, line 11Cold dash of waves at the ferrywharf,
  111. p. 66, line 17Duly rattles the deathbell . . . . the gate is passed . . . . the grave is halted at . . . . the living alight . . . . the hearse uncloses,
  112. p. 67, line 2Good day's work or bad day's work . . . . pet stock or mean stock . . . . first out or last out . . . . turning in at night,
  113. p. 67, line 9Have you pleasure from looking at the sky? Have you pleasure from poems?
  114. p. 69, line 8We cannot be stopped at a given point . . . . that is no satisfaction;
  115. p. 73, line 23Now of the old war-days . . the defeat at Brooklyn;
  116. p. 73, line 27The same at last and at last when peace is declared,
  117. p. 74, line 4Now I tell what my mother told me today as we sat at dinner together,
  118. p. 74, line 10My mother looked in delight and amazement at the stranger,
  119. p. 74, line 11She looked at the beauty of her tallborne face and full and pliant limbs,
  120. p. 78, line 9The group of laborers seated at noontime with their open dinnerkettles, and their wives waiting,
  121. p. 78, line 12The wrestle of wrestlers . . two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, goodnatured, nativeborn, out on the vacant lot at sundown after work,
  122. p. 78, line 18Suchlike I love . . . . I loosen myself and pass freely . . . . and am at the mother's breast with the little child,
  123. p. 79, line 7To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
  124. p. 80, line 13Whatever the survey . . whatever the sea and the sail, he strikes soundings at last only here,
  125. p. 80, line 24A slave at auction!
  126. p. 81, line 20A woman at auction,
  127. p. 82, line 13The face of the singing of music, the grand faces of natural lawyers and judges broad at the backtop,
  128. p. 82, line 14The faces of hunters and fishers, bulged at the brows . . . . the shaved blanched faces of orthodox citizens,
  129. p. 83, line 5A stallion that yielded at last to the thongs and knife of the gelder.
  130. p. 84, line 3I saw the face of the most smeared and slobbering idiot they had at the asylum,
  131. p. 84, line 22Spots or cracks at the windows do not disturb me,
  132. p. 84, line 28Stand at my side till I lean as high as I can upon you,
  133. p. 85, line 4I saw the rich ladies in full dress at the soiree,
  134. p. 86, line 18The person he favors by day or sleeps with at night is blessed.
  135. p. 86, line 22He says indifferently and alike, How are you friend? to the President at his levee,
  136. p. 87, line 10Whoever he looks at in the traveler's coffeehouse claims him,
  137. p. 87, line 21Like lightning Europe le'pt forth . . . . half startled at itself,
  138. p. 88, line 5For many a promise sworn by royal lips, And broken, and laughed at in the breaking,
  139. p. 89, line 5Here's a good place at the corner . . . . I must stand and see the show.
  140. p. 89, line 21Here gape your smart grandsons . . . . their wives gaze at them from the windows,
  141. p. 91, line 4His own parents . . he that had propelled the fatherstuff at night, and fathered him . . and she that conceived him in her womb and birthed him . . . . they gave this child more of themselves than that,
  142. p. 91, line 6The mother at home quietly placing the dishes on the suppertable,
  143. p. 91, line 16Vehicles . . teams . . the tiered wharves, and the huge crossing at the ferries;
  144. p. 91, line 17The village on the highland seen from afar at sunset . . . . the river between,
  145. p. 94, line 8Do you imagine it is stopped at this? . . . . and the increase abandoned?
  146. p. 94, line 15If there be equilibrium or volition there is truth . . . . if there be things at all upon the earth there is truth.
  147. p. 95, line 5It is immutable . . it does not depend on majorities . . . . majorities or what not come at last before the same passionless and exact tribunal.