“But on these days of brightness, On the far-stretching beauteous lansdscape, the roads And lanes, the high-piled farm-wagons, and the fruits and barns, Should the dead intrude? Ah, the dead me mar not – they fit well in Nature; They fit very well in the landscape, under the trees and grass, And along the edge of the sky, in the horizon’s far margin. Nor do I forget you, departed; Nor in winter or summer, my lost ones; But most, in the open air, as now, when my soul is rapt and at peace – Life pleasing phantoms, your dear memories, rising, glide silently by me.” Walt Whitman, LEAVES OF GRASS– A Carol of Harvest, for 1867
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