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.— (He could say) I know well enough the perpetual myself in my poems—but it is because the universe
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
am a Russ, An arctic sailor traversing I traverse the sea of Kara A Kamskatkan Kamchatkan drawn on my
The oppression of my heart is not fitful and has no pangs; but a torpor like that of some stagnant pool
Around me are my brother men, merry and jovial.
—Ah, if the flesh could but act what my rational mind, in its moments of clear inspiration aspires to
untrodden and mouldy, I see no longer any axe upon it, I see the mighty and friendly emblem of the power of my
I do not vaunt my love for you, I have what I have. The axe leaps!
response, Take what I have then, (saying fain,) take the pay you approached for, Take the white tears of my
THE friend I am happy with, The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder, The hill-side whitened
pressed and glued together with love, Earth of chaste love—life that is only life after love, The body of my
and trembling encirling fingers—the young man all colored, red, ashamed, angry; The souse upon me of my
eats in me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall pro- duce produce boys to fill my
How perfect is my soul! How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon it!
My soul! if I realize you, I have satisfaction, Animals and vegetables!
I cannot define my satisfaction, yet it is so, I cannot define my life, yet it is so.
read your Poem "Leaves of Grass"—I have read nothing hitherto in which in a large sense I recognized my
distinctly I comprehend no better sphere than this earth, I comprehend no better life than the life of my
I do not know what follows the death of my body, But I know well that whatever it is, it is best for
I am not uneasy but I shall have good housing to myself, 11* But this is my first—how can I like the
, I suppose the pink nipples of the breasts of women with whom I shall sleep will taste the same to my
lips, But this is the nipple of a breast of my mother, always near and always divine to me, her true
do not doubt there is more in myself than I have supposed—and more in all men and women —and more in my
May my right-hand wither if I don't tell the world before another week, what one woman thinks of you.
leave Walt the 4th July I rushit rush it some I have the best buggy and Harness there is in Scio with my
of the big guns out here Walt the folks know very little is a letup on me every one is trying to be my
present but write to me as soon as you get this G I Storms Walter do not wate wait for me to write give my
enquiring friends Dressmaker in particular and give me his address if you can George I Storms P.S. in my
It was later reprinted in Good-Bye My Fancy (1891), under the title American National Literature before
to the oppressive factory conditions created by the capitalist factory owners that he called "The Captains
to the oppressive factory conditions created by the capitalist factory owners that he called "The Captains
I rubbed my eyes a little, to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid sense of the book is
head at nightfall, and he is fain to say,— I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable; I sound my
I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease…observing a spear of summer grass.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeeful green stuff woven.
All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me.
." ***** "O despairer, here is my neck, You shall not go down! Hang your whole weight upon me."
My moral constitution may be hopelessly tainted or—too sound to be tainted, as the critic wills, but
, Earth of the limpid grey of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! Far swooping elbowed earth!
The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul."
———Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance ."
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbowed earth!
the wounded person, My hurt turns livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.
Heat and smoke I inspired…I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their
I lie in the night air in my red shirt…the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie, exhausted
"I, too, am not a bit tamed…I, too, am untransla- table untranslatable ; I sound my barbaric yawp over
my soul!
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
O my body!
my brother or my sister! Keep on!
WHO learns my lesson complete? Boss, journeyman, apprentice? churchman and atheist?
as every one is immortal, I know it is wonderful—but my eye-sight is equally wonderful, and how I was
con- ceived conceived in my mother's womb is equally wonderful, And how I was not palpable once, but
years old in the Year 79 of America, and that I am here anyhow, are all equally wonderful, And that my
I rubbed my eyes a little, to see if this sunbeam were no illusion; but the solid sense of the book is
I wish to see my benefactor, and have felt much like striking my tasks and visiting New York to pay you
my respects.
people and The States face to face, to confront them with an American rude tongue; but the work of my
A few years, and the average annual call for my Poems is ten or twenty thousand copies—more, quite likely
It is all as well done, in my opinion, as could be practicable. Each element here is in condition.
out the lines, build cities, work mines, break up farms; it is yours to have been the original true Captain
my brother or my sister! Keep on!
Receive me and my lover too—he will not let me go without him.
Darkness, you are gentler than my lover!
I descend my western course, my sinews are flaccid, Perfume and youth course through me, and I am their
carefully darn my grand-son's stockings.
How he informs against my brother and sister, and takes pay for their blood!
.—" He is a painter, carver and sculptor: "A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my
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
she blushingly cries—Come nigh to me, limber-hipp'd man, and give me your finger and thumb, Stand at my
upon you, Fill me with albescent honey, bend down to me, Rub to me with your chafing beard, rub to my
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!
REALISM is mine, my miracles, Take all of the rest—take freely—I keep but my own—I give only of them,
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight
any one I love—or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at the table at dinner with my
perfect old man, or the perfect old woman, Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial, Or my
Part of "Pictures" was published as "My Picture-Gallery" in The American in October 1880 and later incorporated
It is I, you women—I make my way, I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable—but I love you, I do not hurt
babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn, I shall demand perfect men and women out of my
O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman! Such gliding wonders! Such sights and sounds!
change of the light and shade, I see distant lands, as real and near to the inhabitants of them as my
see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-beloved, saying to the people, Do not weep for me, this is not my
I do not refuse you my hand, or prefer others before you, I do not say one word against you.
way myself, I find my home wherever there are any homes of men.
curious, breath- ing breathing , laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them, to touch any one, to rest my
As I see my soul reflected in nature, as I see through a mist, one with inexpressible com- pleteness
O my body!
are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul, I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my
instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel, All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my
COME closer to me, Push close, my lovers, and take the best I possess, Yield closer and closer, and give
Neither a servant nor a master am I, I take no sooner a large price than a small price —I will have my
become so for your sake, If you remember your foolish and outlawed deeds, do you think I cannot remember my
this day just as much in love with them as you, Then I am eternally in love with you, and with all my
friendly companions, I intend to reach them my hand, and make as much of them as I do of men and women
ALL day I have walked the city and talked with my friends, and thought of prudence, Of time, space, reality—of
And I stood before the young man face to face, and took his right hand in my left hand, and his left
hand in my right hand, And I answered for his brother, and for men, and I answered for the poet, and
to the President at his levee, And he says, Good-day, my brother!
Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic, And the soldiers suppose him to be a captain, and the sailors
and let one line of my poem contradict another! Let the people sprawl with yearning aimless hands!
Let him who is without my poems be assas- sinated assassinated !
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!
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?
It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well. Allons! be not detained!
I give you my hand!
without shame or the need of shame Air, soil, water, fire, these are words, I myself am a word with them—my
qualities interpenetrate with theirs—my name is noth- ing nothing to them, Though it were told in the
three thousand lan- guages languages , what would air, soil, water, fire, know of my name?
When I undertake to tell the best, I find I can- not cannot , My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots,
My breath will not be obedient to its organs, I become a dumb man.
my soul!
my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision.
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
Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women, household, intimates, Now the performer launches
Unfolded only out of the inimitable poem of the woman can come the poems of man — only thence have my
withdraw from the still woods I loved, I will not go now on the pastures to walk, I will not strip my
clothes from my body to meet my lover the sea, I will not touch my flesh to the earth, as to other flesh
I do not see any of it upon you today—or per- haps perhaps I am deceived, I will run a furrow with my
plough—I will press my spade through the sod, and turn it up underneath, I am sure I shall expose some
That it is safe to allow it to lick my naked body all over with its tongues!
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your
O I have been dilatory and dumb, I should have made my way straight to you long ago, I should have blabbed
light, But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its nimbus of gold-colored light, From my
not Walt Whitman, might have written this: I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable, I sound my
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun; I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it
Emerson in the printed letter sent to us—"I rubbed my eyes a little, to see if this sunbeam were no illusion
"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
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
As every one is immortal, I know it is wonderful; but my eyesight is equally wonderful, and how I was
conceived in my mother's womb is equally wonderful.
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy
All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
I loafe, and invite my soul; I lean and loafe at my ease— Observing a spear of Summer grass."
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, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers…and the women my sisters and
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
is as big to me as any, Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my body.'