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Search : of captain, my captain!
Year : 1855
Work title : Faces

5 results

Leaves of Grass (1855)

  • Date: 1855
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

We closed with him . . . . the yards entangled . . . . the cannon touched, My captain lashed fast with

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 mainmast, Two

Serene stood the little captain, He was not hurried . . . . his voice was neither high nor low, His eyes

Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic, And the soldiers suppose him to be a captain . . . . and

After all is said and

  • Date: Between 1850 and 1855
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

a makes raises but bubble of the sea-ooze in comparison with against that unspeakable Something in my

—I look back upon that time in my own days.— I have no gibes nor mocks mockings or laughter;—I have only

Annotations Text:

the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass, which was ultimately titled "Song of Myself": "Backward I see in my

hands are cut by the

  • Date: Between 1850 and 1855
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

when I visited the Asylum and they showed me their most smeared and slobbering idiot, Yet I knew for my

for my consolation, of the great laws that emptied and broke my my brother s Whitman probably drafted

No doubt the efflux

  • Date: Before 1855
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

/ Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sun-light expands my blood?

/ Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?

blood—that if I walk with an arm of theirs around my neck, my soul leaps and laughs like a new-waked

—(Am I loved by them boundlessly because my love for them is more boundless?

truth, my sympathy, and my dignity.

Leaves of Grass, "Sauntering the Pavement or Riding the Country"

  • Date: 1855
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

Features of my equals, would you trick me with your creased and cadaverous march?

I saw the face of the most smeared and slobbering idiot they had at the asylum, And I knew for my consolation

what they knew not; I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my brother, The same wait to clear the

Come nigh to me limber-hip'd man and give me your finger and thumb, Stand at my side till I lean as high

Fill me with albescent honey . . . . bend down to me, Rub to me with your chafing beard . . rub to my

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