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"Viewed freely, the English language is the accretion and growth of every dialect, race, and range of time, and is both the free and compacted composition of all."
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. "Slang in America," North American Review (Cedar Falls, Iowa, November 1885). |
"Camerado! This is no book;
Who touches this touches a man."
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. So Long! pt. 4. |
"I lean and loaf at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at where they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check without original energy."
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself (Fr. I, l. 5-13). . .
The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. |
"Is this then a touch? quivering me to a new identity,
Flames and ether making a rush for my veins,
Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them,
My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly
different from myself,
On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs,"
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself (Fr. XXVIII, l. 619-623). . .
The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. |
"There is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd universe."
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. "Song of Myself," sct. 48, Leaves of Grass (1855). |
"Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely."
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. "Song of Myself," sct. 23, Leaves of Grass (1855). |
"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you."
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself (Fr. I, l. 1-3). . .
The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. |
"They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago."
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself, sect. 32, Leaves of Grass (1855). |
"To behold the day-break!
The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows,
The air tastes good to my palate.
Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising,
freshly exuding,
Scooting obliquely high and low."
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself (Fr. XXIV, l. 550-554). . .
The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. |
"They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied—not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of
years ago,
Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole earth."
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself (Fr. XXXII, l. 694-691). . .
The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. |
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