Spontaneous Me Walt Whitman Spontaneous me, Nature, The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with, The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder, The hill-side whiten’d with blossoms of the mountain ash, The same, late in autumn—the hues of red, yellow, drab, purple, and light and dark green,The rich coverlid of the grass—animals and birds—the private untrimm’d bank— the primitive apples—the pebble-stones, Beautiful dripping fragments—the negligent list of one after another, as I happen... Read more