In summer, the song sings itself.
—William Carlos Williams, “The Botticellian Trees”
I loafe and invite my Soul;
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.
—Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass , 1900
In summer, the song sings itself.
—William Carlos Williams, “The Botticellian Trees”
I loafe and invite my Soul;
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.
—Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass , 1900