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Dozens of pages of his rhythmic prose are not worth "My Captain," which among all his compositions comes
If Whitman, after the same length of time, proves more fortunate, it will be because he wrote "My Captain
describes himself well enough in the lines, I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable — , I sound my
He says (p. 31): Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
His tribute to Abraham Lincoln (p. 262), beginning "O Captain! my Captain!"
are famous everywhere; and, though later efforts have been less happy, the one exquisite song, "O, Captain
My Captain!" written on the death of Lincoln, would make him one of our honored poets forever.
future," "You do not understand me, you cannot understand me, but I can wait hundreds of years for my
— The words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything.
"Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke or a hair on the back of my hand just
Bless the Lord,O my soul!
my special word to thee. Who can be a companion of thy course!
lengthening shadows, prepare my starry nights.
my Captain! our fearful trip is done.
O,the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
I wish to see my benefactor, and have felt much like striking my tasks and visiting New York to pay you
my respects.
The air tastes good to my palate.
Was't charged against my chants they had forgotten art?
Another song on the death of Lincoln, "Oh Captain! My Captain!"
There is a lawless saying, fit only for the wise, but full of meaning for poets and great captains,—
I loafe and invite my soul. I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of sum- mer summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from
stuck up, and am in my place.
Now comes a passage remarkable for its nobility: "With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums
I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.
I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air.
My special word to thee. Hear me illustrious!
woodedge, thy touching-distant beams enough, or man matured, or young or old, as now to thee I launch my
lengthening shadows, prepare my starry nights.
communed to- gether together Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own; Was't charged against my
Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance
That sport'st amid the lightning flash and thunder cloud, In them, in thy experiences, had'st thou my
Whitman's poems, though possessing individuality of their own: "Primary chief bard am I to Elphin, And my
I was with my Lord in the highest sphere, On the fall of Lucifer into the depth of hell; I have borne
been in Asia with Noah in the ark; I have seen the destruction of Sodom and Gomorra; I have been with my
whole universe; I shall be until the day of doom on the face of the earth; And it is not known whether my
Echoes of camps, with all th[gap] Trooping tumultuous, all[gap] bending me powerless[gap] Entering my
make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, then reporduce all in my
For the great Idea, That, O my brethren, that is the mission of poets.
I, the Titan, the hard-mouthed mechanic, spending my life in the hurling of words.
Me, master, years a hundred since from my parents sundered.
It still maintains: I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable; I sound my barbaric yawp over