reflect (think) deeply on a subject -- perhaps aloud
The agonistic throes, the ecstasies, joys of the solemn musings day or night?
The Originatress comes, The nest of languages, the bequeather of poems, the race of eld, Florid with blood, pensive, rapt with musings, hot with passion, Sultry with perfume, with ample and flowing garments, With sunburnt visage, with intense soul and glittering eyes, The race of Brahma comes.
Then after burying, mourning the dead, (Faithful to them found or unfound, forgetting not, bearing the past, here new musing,) A day—a passing moment or an hour—America itself bends low, Silent, resign’d, submissive.
Old Chants An ancient song, reciting, ending, Once gazing toward thee, Mother of All, Musing, seeking themes fitted for thee, Accept me, thou saidst, the elder ballads, And name for me before thou goest each ancient poet.
I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them, And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them, I saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of the war, But I saw they were not as was thought, They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer’d not, The living remain’d and suffer’d, the mother suffer’d, And the wife and the child and the musing comrade suffer’d, And the armies that remain’d suffer’d.
BOOK XXIII By Blue Ontario’s Shore By blue Ontario’s shore, As I mused of these warlike days and of peace return’d, and the dead that return no more, A Phantom gigantic superb, with stern visage accosted me, Chant me the poem, it said, that comes from the soul of America, chant me the carol of victory, And strike up the marches of Libertad, marches more powerful yet, And sing me before you go the song of the throes of Democracy.
And you O my soul where you stand, Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them, Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold, Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
…of Life 1 As I ebb’d with the ocean of life, As I wended the shores I know, As I walk’d where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok, Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant, Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways, I musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward, Held by this electric self out of the pride of which I utter poems, Was seiz’d by the spirit that trails in the lines underfoot, The rim, the sediment that stands for all the water and all the…
A Twilight Song As I sit in twilight late alone by the flickering oak-flame, Musing on long-pass’d war-scenes—of the countless buried unknown soldiers, Of the vacant names, as unindented air’s and sea’s—the unreturn’d, The brief truce after battle, with grim burial-squads, and the deep-fill’d trenches Of gather’d from dead all America, North, South, East, West, whence they came up, From wooded Maine, New-England’s farms, from fertile Pennsylvania, Illinois, Ohio, From the measureless…
Hush’d Be the Camps To-Day [May 4, 1865 Hush’d be the camps to-day, And soldiers let us drape our war-worn weapons, And each with musing soul retire to celebrate, Our dear commander’s death.
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…from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last, See, the prismatic colors glistening and rolling,) Tufts of straw, sands, fragments, Buoy’d hither from many moods, one contradicting another, From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the swell, Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of liquid or soil, Up just as much out of fathomless workings fermented and thrown, A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves floating, drifted at random, Just as much for us that sobbing…
There are no more uses of "muse" identified with this meaning, but check unspecified meaning below.
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He mused aloud about the afternoon’s developments.
Let me muse on it on a while and I’ll get back to you.
Of physiology from top to toe I sing, Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say the Form complete is worthier far, The Female equally with the Male I sing.
And here and hence for thee, O universal Muse! and thou for them!
BIRDS OF PASSAGE Song of the Universal 1 Come said the Muse, Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted, Sing me the universal.
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the Muse;—I say the Form complete is worthier far.
Ashes of Soldiers Ashes of soldiers South or North, As I muse retrospective murmuring a chant in thought, The war resumes, again to my sense your shapes, And again the advance of the armies.
Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering, Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life, Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt, alone, or in the crowded street, Comes before me the unknown soldier’s grave, comes the inscription rude in Virginia’s woods, Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.
…populous pavements, Dweller in Mannahatta my city, or on southern savannas, Or a soldier camp’d or carrying my knapsack and gun, or a miner in California, Or rude in my home in Dakota’s woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring, Or withdrawn to muse and meditate in some deep recess, Far from the clank of crowds intervals passing rapt and happy, Aware of the fresh free giver the flowing Missouri, aware of mighty Niagara, Aware of the buffalo herds grazing the plains, the hirsute and…
…Ended, deceas’d through time, her voice by Castaly’s fountain, Silent the broken-lipp’d Sphynx in Egypt, silent all those centurybaffling tombs, Ended for aye the epics of Asia’s, Europe’s helmeted warriors, ended the primitive call of the muses, Calliope’s call forever closed, Clio, Melpomene, Thalia dead, Ended the stately rhythmus of Una and Oriana, ended the quest of the holy Graal, Jerusalem a handful of ashes blown by the wind, extinct, The Crusaders’ streams of shadowy midnight…
2 Come Muse migrate from Greece and Ionia, Cross out please those immensely overpaid accounts, That matter of Troy and Achilles’ wrath, and AEneas’, Odysseus’ wanderings, Placard "Removed" and "To Let" on the rocks of your snowy Parnassus, Repeat at Jerusalem, place the notice high on jaffa’s gate and on Mount Moriah, The same on the walls of your German, French and Spanish castles, and Italian collections, For know a better, fresher, busier sphere, a wide, untried domain awaits,…
I say I bring thee Muse to-day and here, All occupations, duties broad and close, Toil, healthy toil and sweat, endless, without cessation, The old, old practical burdens, interests, joys, The family, parentage, childhood, husband and wife, The house-comforts, the house itself and all its belongings, Food and its preservation, chemistry applied to it, Whatever forms the average, strong, complete, sweet-blooded man or woman, the perfect longeve personality, And helps its present life to…
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…frame, thy springs and valves, the tremulous twinkle of thy wheels, Thy train of cars behind, obedient, merrily following, Through gale or calm, now swift, now slack, yet steadily careering; Type of the modern—emblem of motion and power—pulse of the continent, For once come serve the Muse and merge in verse, even as here I see thee, With storm and buffeting gusts of wind and falling snow, By day thy warning ringing bell to sound its notes, By night thy silent signal lamps to swing.
) The male and female many laboring not, Shall ever here confront the laboring many, With precious benefits to both, glory to all, To thee America, and thee eternal Muse.
Fear not O Muse! truly new ways and days receive, surround you, I candidly confess a queer, queer race, of novel fashion, And yet the same old human race, the same within, without, Faces and hearts the same, feelings the same, yearnings the same, The same old love, beauty and use the same.