WHAT am I, after all, but a child, pleas'd with the sound of my own
name? repeating it over and over;
I stand apart to hear--it never tires me.
To you, your name also;
Did you think there was nothing but two or three pronunciations in
the sound of your name?
What Am I, After All?
Walt Whitman
(1)
Poem topics: child, never, hear, stand, sound, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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