Walt Whitman
I MET a Seer, Passing the hues and objects of the world, The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense, To glean Eidólons. Put in thy chants, said he, No more the puzzling hour,
THE sobbing of the bells, the sudden death-news everywhere, The slumberers rouse, the rapport of the People, (Full well they know that message in the darkness, Full well return, respond within their breasts, their
NOT heaving from my ribb’d breast only; Not in sighs at night, in rage, dissatisfied with myself; Not in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs; Not in many an oath and promise broken; Not in my
1 COME up from the fields, father, here’s a letter from our Pete; And come to the front door, mother-here’s a letter from thy dear son. 2 Lo, ’tis autumn; Lo, where the trees,
AS if a phantom caress’d me, I thought I was not alone, walking here by the shore; But the one I thought was with me, as now I walk by the shore-the one I
SPLENDOR of ended day, floating and filling me! Hour prophetic-hour resuming the past! Inflating my throat-you, divine average! You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing. Open mouth of my Soul,
AN old man’s thought of School; An old man, gathering youthful memories and blooms, that youth itself cannot. Now only do I know you! O fair auroral skies! O morning dew upon the grass!
A WOMAN waits for me-she contains all, nothing is lacking, Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the right man were lacking. Sex contains all, Bodies, Souls, meanings,
I HEARD that you ask’d for something to prove this puzzle, the New World, And to define America, her athletic Democracy; Therefore I send you my poems, that you behold in them what you
1 MANHATTAN’S streets I saunter’d, pondering, On time, space, reality-on such as these, and abreast with them, prudence. 2 After all, the last explanation remains to be made about prudence; Little and large alike
WHILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long, And my head on the pillow rests at home, and the vacant midnight passes, And through the stillness, through the
WE two-how long we were fool’d! Now transmuted, we swiftly escape, as Nature escapes; We are Nature-long have we been absent, but now we return; We become plants, leaves, foliage, roots, bark; We are
LOOK down, fair moon, and bathe this scene; Pour softly down night’s nimbus floods, on faces ghastly, swollen, purple; On the dead, on their backs, with their arms toss’d wide, Pour down your unstinted
HOURS continuing long, sore and heavy-hearted, Hours of the dusk, when I withdraw to a lonesome and unfrequented spot, seating myself, leaning my face in my hands; Hours sleepless, deep in the night, when
SOMETIMES with one I love, I fill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn’d love; But now I think there is no unreturn’d love-the pay is certain, one way or another; (I loved
Page 1 of 2112345...1020...»Last »