Song Of Myself, II Poem by Walt Whitman

Song Of Myself, II

Rating: 4.8

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the pass- ing of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much?
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

B.m. Biswas 12 December 2015

really a poem of perfumes..delight..heart and blood........

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Rahman Henry 09 October 2015

Song of Myself is a supreme poem by Walt Whitman. I like this poem so much. I wish to translate it into my native language, Bengali for Mass-Readers.

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M Asim Nehal 12 December 2015

You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. Lovely poem, I liked it.10

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Muzahidul Reza 17 November 2017

Outstanding poem claims exact democracy, liked and loved

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E.j. Langley 12 December 2015

I love feed the spectres in books best. The rest is also good, of course. To Walt Whitman, who knew the crotch and vine of it all!

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Edward Kofi Louis 12 December 2015

The muse of peace with the fragrance of myself. Nice work.

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Thomas Plotz 12 December 2015

March 1892, well thank you Sir. Keep up the good work up there.

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Ratnakar Mandlik 12 December 2015

An excellent poem penned in celebration of one's own profound happiness. Liked the poem very much. Thanks for sharing this superb poem of a master spirit.

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Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman

New York / United States
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