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by the indolent waves, I am exposed, cut by bitter and poisoned hail Steeped amid honeyed morphine , my
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 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
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.
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
See, for instance: "I take my place among you as much as among any," (1855, p. 48); "Nor do I understand
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
since, after the closest inquiry, "I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones."
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some the spread of my own body."
As for Mine, Mine has the idea of my own, and what's Mine is my own, and my own is all Mine and believes
in your and my name, the Present time. 6.
I lie in the night air in my red shirt—the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie, exhausted
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!
O my body, that gives me identity! O my organs !
Underfoot, the divine soil— Overhead, the sun.— Afford foothold to my poems, you Nourish my poems, Earth
In Poem The earth, that is my model of poems model ?
The body of a man, is my model—I do not reject what I find in my body—I am not ashamed—Why should I be
My Darling (Now I am maternal— a child bearer— bea have from my womb borne a child, and observe it For
levee in life,— After death Now when I am looked back upon, I will I hold levee, after death, I lean on my
left elbow—I take ten thousand lovers, one after another, by my right hand.— I have all lives, all effects
more foolish than the rest of the volume:— "I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable, I sound my
The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness, after the rest, and true as any, on the
I depart as air—I shake my white locks at the run-away sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it
To prepare for sleep, for bed—to look on my rose-coloured flesh, To be conscious of my body, so amorous
Have you learned the physiology, phrenology, politics, geography, pride, freedom, friendship, of my land
Earth of the limpid grey of clouds, brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbowed Earth!
first poem of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass , later called "Song of Myself": "I do not trouble my
The first several lines of the notebook (not including this line) were revised and published as "My Picture-Gallery
just granting his request, with great commiseration, when an old lady from the gallery cries out "O my
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my own body."—p. 55.
If I worship any particular thing, it shall be some of the spread of my own body."—p. 55.