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WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D . . . 255 O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN . . . . . . . . 262 HUSH'D BE
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O CAPTAIN! my Captain!
O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain!
my Captain!
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse
WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D . . . 255 O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN . . . . . . . . 262 HUSH'D BE
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O CAPTAIN! my Captain!
O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain!
my Captain!
or "To the Leaven'd Soil they Trod," Or "Captain! My Captain!"
Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,(says my grandmother's father;) We have
my Captain!
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 1 O CAPTAIN! my captain!
Leave you not the little spot, Where on the deck my captain lies.
Fallen cold and dead. 2 O captain! my captain!
We closed with him, the yards entangled, the can- non cannon touched, My captain lashed fast with his
I laughed content when I heard the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cried
Only three guns were in use, One was directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast, Two
Serene stood the little captain, He was not hurried, his voice was neither high nor low, His eyes gave
riddled and slowly sinking, prepara- tions preparations to pass to the one we had conquered, The captain
We closed with him—the yards entangled—the can- non cannon touch'd; My captain lash'd fast with his own
Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries
Only three guns are in use; One is directed by the captain himself against the ene- my's enemy's main-mast
Serene stands the little captain; He is not hurried—his voice is neither high nor low; His eyes give
The black ship, mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets—but the pluck of the captain and engineers
We closed with him—the yards entangled—the cannon touched, My captain lashed fast with his own hands.
I laughed content when I heard the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cried
Only three guns were in use, One was directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast, Two
Serene stood the little captain, He was not hurried—his voice was neither high nor low, His eyes gave
Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic, And the soldiers suppose him to be a captain, and the sailors
In the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass , Whitman included the lines: "Who learns my lesson complete?
My Lesson Have you learned my lesson complete: It is well—it is but the gate to a larger lesson—and And
mother generations guided me, / My embryo has never been torpid . . . . nothing could overlay it; /
All forces have been steadily employed to complete and delight me, / Now I stand on this spot with my
White noted a relationship between these pages and the poems "Who Learns My Lesson Complete?
White noted a relationship between these pages and the poems "Who Learns My Lesson Complete?
In the 1888 November Boughs, however, Whitman reprinted the 1867 version as Small the Theme of my Chant
manuscript draft may have been written before the Civil War, since it does not include the 1867 line "My
White noted a relationship between these pages and the poems Who Learns My Lesson Complete?
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
I swear I will have each quality of my race in my- self myself , (Talk as you like, he only suits These
rapt verse, my call—mock me not!
my lands!
WEAVE IN, WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE. WEAVE in! weave in, my hardy life!
That, O my brethren—that is the mission of Poets.
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
I swear I will have each quality of my race in my- self myself , (Talk as you like, he only suits These
rapt verse, my call—mock me not!
You, by my charm, I invoke!
For that we live, my brethren—that is the mission of Poets.
Have you studied out my land, its idioms and men?
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
rapt song, my charm—mock me not!
You, by my charm, I invoke!
make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, then reproduce all in my
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, to appear again in my strength, gait, face?
rapt verse, my call, mock me not!
You by my charm I invoke.
make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, then reproduce all in my
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, to appear again in my strength, gait, face?
rapt verse, my call, mock me not!
You by my charm I invoke.
myself make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, reproduce all in my
Have you studied out MY LAND, its idioms and men?
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, nobility, meanness—to appear again in my strength, gait
own Soul or defiled my body, I have claimed nothing to myself which I have not carefully claimed for
myself make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, reproduce all in my
Have you studied out my land, its idioms and men?
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, nobility, meanness—to appear again in my strength, gait
Underneath all is nativity, I swear I will stand by my own nativity—pious or impious, so be it!
I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the causes of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship
That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be.
A morning glory at my window satisfies me more than the meta- physics metaphysics of books."
I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest music to them. Vivas to those who have failed.
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass.
Have you studied out MY LAND, its idioms and men?
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
in your and my name, the Present time.
Open mouth of my Soul, uttering gladness, Eyes of my Soul, seeing perfection, Natural life of me, faithfully
To prepare for sleep, for bed—to look on my rose- colored flesh, To be conscious of my body, so amorous
swear I will am can not to evade any part of myself, Not America, nor any attribute of America, Not my
body—not friendship, hospitality, procreation, Not my soul—not the last explanation of prudence, Not
make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, then reporduce all in my
For the great Idea, That, O my brethren, that is the mission of poets.
.— (He could say) I know well enough the perpetual myself in my poems—but it is because the universe
Phantoms welcome, divine and tender, Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions; Follow me
Perfume therefore my chant, O Love! immortal Love!
For that we live, my brethren—that is the mission of Poets.
the sisters Death and Might, incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world. … For my
where he lies, white-faced and still in the coffin—I draw near; I bend down and touch lightly with my