Walt Whitman

(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892 / New York / United States)

Shut Not Your Doors, &C. - Poem by Walt Whitman

SHUT not your doors to me, proud libraries,
For that which was lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet
needed most, I bring;
Forth from the army, the war emerging--a book I have made,
The words of my book nothing--the drift of it everything;
A book separate, not link'd with the rest, nor felt by the intellect,
But you, ye untold latencies, will thrill to every page;
Through Space and Time fused in a chant, and the flowing, eternal
To Nature, encompassing these, encompassing God--to the joyous,
electric All,
To the sense of Death--and accepting, exulting in Death, in its turn,
the same as life,
The entrance of Man I sing. 10

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Read poems about / on: identity, war, nature, death, god, time, life

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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