Skip to main content

Search Results

Filter by:

Date


Dates in both fields not required
Entering in only one field Searches
Year, Month, & Day Single day
Year & Month Whole month
Year Whole year
Month & Day 1600-#-# to 2100-#-#
Month 1600-#-1 to 2100-#-31
Day 1600-01-# to 2100-12-#

Work title

See more

Year

  • 1860 4
Search : of captain, my captain!
Year : 1860
Work title : Thoughts

4 results

Leaves of Grass (1860–1861)

  • Date: 1860–1861
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

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

Cluster: Thoughts. (1860)

  • Date: 1860–1861
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

it harmed me, giving others the same chances and rights as myself—As if it were not indispensable to my

AS I sit with others, at a great feast, suddenly, while the music is playing, To my mind, (whence it

if that were not the resumé; Of Histories—As if such, however complete, were not less complete than my

poems; As if the shreds, the records of nations, could possibly be as lasting as my poems; As if here

Cluster: Chants Democratic and Native American. (1860)

  • Date: 1860–1861
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

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

Chants Democratic and Native American 11

  • Date: 1860–1861
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

sake, Of departing—of the growth of a mightier race than any yet, Of myself, soon, perhaps, closing up my

Back to top