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  • 1871 4
Search : of captain, my captain!
Year : 1871
Work title : From Pentup Aching Rivers

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!"

Cluster: Children of Adam. (1871)

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

What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)

songs in Sex, Offspring of my loins.

Behold me where I pass—hear my voice—approach, Touch me—touch the palm of your hand to my Body as I pass

; Be not afraid of my Body.

all was still, ringing little bells last night under my ear.

From Pent-Up Aching Rivers.

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

I were nothing; From what I am determin'd to make illustrious, even if I stand sole among men; From my

The oath of the inseparableness of two together—of the woman that loves me, and whom I love more than my

warp and from the woof; (To talk to the perfect girl who understands me, To waft to her these from my

own lips—to effuse them from my own body;) From privacy—from frequent repinings alone; From plenty of

the right person not near; From the soft sliding of hands over me, and thrusting of fingers through my

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