colours in the backyard

Brenda Anderson

The Play-Ground. - Walt Whitman:


When painfully athwart my brain
Dark thoughts come crowding on,
And, sick of wordly hollowness,
My heart feels sad or lone—

Then out upon the green I walk,
Just ere the close of day,
And swift I ween the sight I view
Clears all my gloom away.

For there I see young children—
The cheeriest things on earth—
I see them play—I hear their tones
Of loud and reckless mirth.

And many a clear and flute-like laugh
Comes ringing through the air;
And many a roguish, flashing eye,
And rich red cheeks, are there.

O, lovely, happy children!
I am with you in my soul;
I shout—I strike the ball with you—
With you I race and roll.—

Methinks white-winged angels,
Floating unseen the while,
Hover around this village green,
And pleasantly they smile.

O, angels! guard these children!
Keep grief and guilt away;
From earthly harm—from evil thoughts—
O, shield them night and day!

W.

Publication information
"The Play-Ground." Brooklyn Daily Eagle 1 June 1846: [1].


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