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  • 1871 4
Search : of captain, my captain!
Year : 1871
Work title : Faces

4 results

Leaves of Grass (1871)

  • Date: 1871
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

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

The Poetry of Democracy: Walt Whitman

  • Date: July 1871
  • Creator(s): Dowden, Edward
Text:

bit of pathos—indubitably human—in my eye, confess now am I not a man and a brother?"

place, with my own day, here."

my dwell- dwelling .)"

'O the life of my senses and flesh, transcending my senses and flesh.'

my South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me!"

Annotations Text:

my South!O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me!"

Faces

  • Date: 1871
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

Features of my equals, would you trick me with your creas'd and cadaverous march?

I saw the face of the most smear'd 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

pickets, Come here, she blushingly cries—Come nigh to me, lim-ber-hipp'dlimber-hipp'd man, Stand at my

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

Cluster: Leaves of Grass. (1871)

  • Date: 1871
  • Creator(s): Walt Whitman
Text:

Features of my equals, would you trick me with your creas'd and cadaverous march?

I saw the face of the most smear'd 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

pickets, Come here, she blushingly cries—Come nigh to me, lim-ber-hipp'dlimber-hipp'd man, Stand at my

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

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