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the breath is leaving my throat; ! Open your floodgates!
I am faintish I can contain resist you no longer think I shall drop sink , Take drops the tears of my
¶Little as your mouth yo lips are am faintish I am faintish; and it has drained me dry of my strength
. . . . my breath is tight in its throat; / Unclench your floodgates!
Open your mouth gums my pardy, that I put send blow grit in you with one a breath ; Spread your palms
. * shall uncage in my breast a thousand armed great winged broad‑ wide‑winged strengths and unknown
I want that untied tenor, clean and fresh as the Creation, whose vast pure volume floods my soul.
paces and powers, uncage in my heart a thousand new strengths, and unknown ardors and terrible —making
furious than hail hail and lightning. that leap lulling me drowsily with honeyed uncaging waking in my
likely relates to the following lines, from the poem that would be titled "Song of Myself": "I open my
whom we knew not before Then the great authors take him for an author And the great soldiers for a captain
O laugh when my eyes settle the land The imagery and phrasing of these lines bears some resemblance to
and dwells serenely behind it.— When out of a feast I eat bread only corn and roast potatoes fo for my
dinner, through my own voluntary choice it is very well and I much content, but if some arrogant head
inspiration . . . . the beating of my heart . . . . the passing of blood and air through my lungs.
See in particular: "And I know that the hand of God is the elderhand of my own, / And I know that the
spirit of God is the eldest brother of my own" (1855, p. 15–16).; Transcribed from digital images of
It seem to me more than all the print I have read in my life."
The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate
What is nearest and commonest and nearest and cheapest and easiest is Me, Me going in for my chances,
myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to receive my
of Grass, eventually titled "Song of Myself": "The supernatural of no account . . . . myself waiting my
It still maintains: I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable; I sound my barbaric yawp over
His text is—and it is a stalwart text: "I stand in my place, with my own day, here!" II.
"I resist anything better than my own diversity," he says.
Clifford in his essay on "Cosmic Emotion:" "I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled far-
"My sun has his sun, and round him obediently wheels, He joins with his partners a group of superior
Hence from my shuddering sight to never more return that Show of blacken'd mutilated corpses!
knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my
own And I know that the Spirit of God is the brother of my own And that all the men ever born are also
my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers And that a kelson of the creation is love." . . . .
manuscript appeared as the following, in the poem eventually titled "Song of Myself": "All I mark as my
The first several lines of Pictures (not including this line) were revised and published as My Picture-Gallery
A similar line in that poem reads: "O the joy of my spirit! It is uncaged!
Because I am in my place what of that? The perfect male and female are everywhere in their place.
the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass, later titled "Song of Myself": "I resist anything better than my
own diversity, / And breathe the air and leave plenty after me, / And am not stuck up, and am in my
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.
describes himself well enough in the lines, I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable — , I sound my
He says (p. 31): Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
His tribute to Abraham Lincoln (p. 262), beginning "O Captain! my Captain!"
I beat and pound for the dead; I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.
white locks at the runaway sun; I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags."
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life."
"Between my knees my forehead was,— My lips, drawn in, said not, Alas!
My hair was over in the grass, My naked ears heard the day pass."
He explains his inspiration thus: Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It
He explains the limit of his happiness: I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To
touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand .
Whenever he does this he writes lines that will live—notably, his "O Captain, my Captain," inspired by
forced to remember another son of the people, Robert Burns, and one involuntarily thinks of his "O, my
Love's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O my Love's like a melodie That's sweetly
(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was unreturned, Yet out of my love have I written these
hardly patience with a man who could offer the public lines like these, and call them poetry: "I tucked my
trowser-ends into my boots, and went and had a good time."
I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air.
My special word to thee. Hear me illustrious!
woodedge, thy touching-distant beams enough, or man matured, or young or old, as now to thee I launch my
lengthening shadows, prepare my starry nights.
Bless the Lord,O my soul!
lengthening shadows, prepare my starry nights.
poems which have rhyme and the stanza, the rhymes are of the crudest and the stanzas are fetters: O Captain
my Captain! our fearful trip is done.
O,the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
I do not press my finger across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and
Amelioration is my lesson, he says with calm voice, and progress is my lesson and the lesson of all things
I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my
own, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
What is commonest and cheapest and nearest and easiest is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for
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
darkness, Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking—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 touch'd; My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.
Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,(says my grandmother's father;) We have
Only three guns are in use; One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast; Two
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
I know perfectly well my own egotism. . . .
I will put in my poems, that with you is heroism, upon land and sea. . . .
On my way a moment I pause, Here for you! And here for America!
of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds, brighter and clear- er clearer for my sake!
All I mark as my own, you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me.
I know I am august; I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself, or be understood; I see that the
My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite; I laugh at what you call dissolution; And I know the
My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs; On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches
Before I was born out of my mother, generations guided me; My embryo has never been torpid—nothing could
over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of migrations, look afar, Look off the shores of my
"My days I sing, and the land's:" this is the key-note.
I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship
That I walk up my stoop!
The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows; The air tastes good to my palate.
camping with lumber-men, Along the ruts of the turnpike . . . along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Hoeing my
gold-digging . . . girdling the trees of a new purchase, Scorched ankle-deep by the hot sand . . . hauling my
for I am you seem to me all one lurid Curse oath curse; I look down off the river with my bloodshot eyes
, after 10 I see the steamboat that carries away my woman.— Damn him!
how he does defile me This day, or some other, I will have him and the like of him to curse the do my
I will stop the drag them out—the sweet marches of heaven shall be stopped my maledictions.— Whitman
how he does defile me, / How he informs against my brother and sister and takes pay for their blood,
/ How he laughs when I look down the bend after the steamboat that carries away my woman" (1855, p. 74
thousands, each one with his entry to himself; They are always watching with their little eyes, from my
head to my feet.
lift put the girder of the earth a globe the house away if it lay between me and whatever I wanted.— My
senses all men is truth; Logic and sermons never convince ; me; The dew of the night drives deep er into my
/ Logic and sermons never convince, / The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul. / Only what proves
as two—as my soul and I; and I gu reckon it is the same with all oth men and women.— I know that my
trousers around my boots, and my cuffs back from my wrists and go among the rough drivers and boatmen
I tell you just as beautiful to die; For I take my death with the dying And my birth with the new-born
lips, to the palms of my hands, and whatever my hands hold.
hands, and my head my head mocked with a prickly I am here after I remember crucifixion and bloody coronation
": "My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, / They rise together
these lines may relate to the following line in the poem ultimately titled "Song of Myself": "I take my
To the Poor— I have my place among you Is it nothing that I have preferred to be poor, rather than to
To-day my soul is full of the love of the body.
"Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. ∗∗∗∗∗ While they discuss
The first doubt lodged in my mind against the claims of the Christian Church and ministry was the first
To my surprise and horror, they spent the whole time in regaling one another with smutty yarns.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
philosopher's life in the quiet woodland ways, Where if I cannot be gay let a passionless peace be my
And my heart is a handful of dust, And the wheels go over my head, And my bones are shaken with pain,
What I experience or portray shall go from my composition without a shred of my composition.
You shall stand by my side, and look in the mirror with me."
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
He swoops by me, and rebukes me hoarse ly with his invitation; He complains with sarcastic voice of my
roughs, a kosmos" (1855, p. 29) and "The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me . . . . he complains of my
gab and my loitering. / I too am not a bit tamed . . . .
We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch'd, My captain lash'd fast with his own hands
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 enemy's main- mast 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 touch'd, My captain lash'd fast with his own hands
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 enemy's main- mast 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
with a secret wish that I had not begun to read and a vow that I would never do the like again), by my
Lowell voices in the best way it can be voiced this limitation, or to my mind wrong poetic notion, in
"Behind the hill, behind the sky, Behind my inmost thought, he sings; No feet avail; to hear it nigh,
—you say in "New York;" but I had my hearing of most of those you mention elsewhere.
Sidney Morse . ∗ "Good-Bye, my Fancy!" Walt Whitman. 1891. The Second Annex to "Leaves of Grass"
Poem in the 1856 edition of Leaves of Grass: "The best I had done seemed to me blank and suspicious, / My
The lines "I am too great to be a mere President or Major General / I remain with my fellows—with mechanics
fool and the wise thinker" may be related to a similar phrase in the poem eventually titled Who Learns My
I say to my own greatness, Away!
outward" (1855, p. 51). may be related to a similar phrase in the poem eventually titled "Who Learns My
in the 1856 edition of Leaves of Grass : "The best I had done seemed to me blank and suspicious, / My
—I doubt whether who my greatest thoughts, as I had supposed them, are not shallow.
—My pride is impotent; my love gets no response.
My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches
Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in
I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, And all I see multiplied as high as I can
; No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair;— I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, I lead no
man to a dinner-table, library, exchange; But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll, My
I loafe and invite my Soul, I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.
The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzzed whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine
, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs
The sound of the belched words of my voice, words loosed to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses
Our poet goes on to say (105): I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my own body."—p. 55.
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds, brighter and clearer for my sake! Far swooping elbowed earth!
What I experience or portray shall go from my composition without a shred of my composition.
I lie in the night air in my red shirt… the pervading hush is for my sake.
We close with him: the yards entangled… the masts 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
Serene stood the little captain: He was not hurried…his voice was neither high or low— His eyes gave
"What I experience or portray shall go from my composition without a shred of my composition.
You shall stand by my side and look in the mirror with me."
"I am the teacher of Athletes; He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own, proves the width of
my own; He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher; The boy I love, the same
He rejoices to feel that he is "not stuck up and is in his [my] place," for "The moth and the fish eggs
How perfect is my soul! How perfect the earth and the minutest thing upon it!
Oh, my soul! If I realize you I have satisfaction. Laws of the earth and air!
I cannot tell how my ankles bend . . . . nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the
To walk up my stoop is unaccountable . . . . I pause to consider if it really be.
My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes
Speech is the twin of my vision . . . . it is unequal to measure itself.
I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about