Walt Whitman

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

Walt Whitman Poems

81. Excelsior 12/31/2002
82. Faces 12/31/2002
83. Facing West From California's Shores 12/31/2002
84. Fast Anchor'D, Eternal, O Love 12/31/2002
85. For Him I Sing 12/31/2002
86. France, The 18th Year Of These States 12/31/2002
87. From Far Dakota's Canons 12/31/2002
88. From My Last Years 12/31/2002
89. From Paumanok Starting 12/31/2002
90. From Pent-Up Aching Rivers 12/31/2002
91. Full Of Life, Now 12/31/2002
92. Germs 12/31/2002
93. Give Me The Splendid, Silent Sun 12/31/2002
94. Gliding Over All 12/31/2002
95. God 12/31/2002
96. Great Are The Myths 12/31/2002
97. Had I The Choice 1/3/2003
98. Hast Never Come To Thee An Hour 12/31/2002
99. Here The Frailest Leaves Of Me 12/31/2002
100. Here, Sailor 12/31/2002
101. Hours Continuing Long 12/31/2002
102. How Solemn As One By One 12/31/2002
103. Hush'D Be The Camps Today 1/3/2003
104. Hush'D Be The Camps To-Day 12/31/2002
105. I Am He That Aches With Love 12/31/2002
106. I Dream'D In A Dream 12/31/2002
107. I Hear America Singing 12/31/2002
108. I Hear It Was Charged Against Me 12/31/2002
109. I Heard You, Solemn-Sweep Pipes Of The Organ 12/31/2002
110. I Saw In Louisiana A Live Oak Growing 12/31/2002
111. I Saw Old General At Bay 12/31/2002
112. I Sing The Body Electric 12/31/2002
113. I Sit And Look Out 12/31/2002
114. I Thought I Was Not Alone 12/31/2002
115. I Was Looking A Long While 12/31/2002
116. I Will Take An Egg Out Of The Robin's Nest 12/31/2002
117. In Cabin'D Ships At Sea 12/31/2002
118. In Former Songs 12/31/2002
119. In Midnight Sleep 12/31/2002
120. In Paths Untrodden 12/31/2002

Comments about Walt Whitman

  • Ryan Walker (8/17/2012 1:06:00 AM)

    Song of Myself is easily THE, American Epic, (along with Moby Dick,) that expresses what a generation felt during that period. Reading it is an exploration into both his world, and your own. It is easily of one of the poems that any avid reader of poetry should read.

    207 person liked.
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  • Kevin Straw Kevin Straw (4/11/2012 8:29:00 PM)

    O what a wordy wordless Whitman. If only he would shut up at the right moment!

    I note the comments have been removed from the poems of the day, such is the respect the site creators have for their contributors.

  • Caneesha Bartlett (4/8/2012 4:53:00 PM)

    I will always love his beauty and such truthful poetry

  • Aj Meunier (3/22/2012 10:54:00 PM)

    i love witman hes my fave poet

  • Silviu Ciocan (1/8/2010 1:46:00 AM)

    ...and Borges read and like very much Whitman.

  • Poet Hunter (7/6/2009 12:19:00 AM)

    'For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you' - Walt Whitman was way ahead of his time when he wrote 'Leaves of Grass' and it seems, for some, he is still way ahead of the times. Great poet! !

  • Ben Dover (3/11/2008 7:56:00 AM)

    nice beard..wanker
    go walt

  • Indigo Hawkins (2/15/2008 4:25:00 PM)

    Whitman is such a hedonist. I love him for it.

  • Riquetta Elliott (10/10/2007 10:44:00 AM)

    Walt Whitman is a genuine poet because he writes his expression freely about his sentiments. He don't have to rhyme to make his poetry meaningful. He has a free verse to make it meaningful and understanding.

  • Zubyre Parvez Zubyre Parvez (1/22/2007 12:15:00 PM)

    I love Walt Whitman, he writes with the grand air and he encompasses variety, he isn't staring down a microscope though he has the attentiveness of any detail-orientated person. It's his emotional heart centre at work ant its very magical. It's that which makes his writing expansive and gives us a feeling of exuberance. He's not an intellectual, but a Lover.

    Alot of contemporary poetry since the classics seems homely and nice, domestic etc, but its really the grand stuff such as Eternity that gives the classical poets their grand airs. And their poetry lasts...they are concerned with the foundations and posterity and the long term...they care about life after them and they care about their forefathers, their country, their people, they just love, that's all.

    There's been a trend in the contemporary poets to be banal, like Phillip Larkin, and its a direct product of being in a godless world, and the literati push for the banal and disordered thinking of the modernists and postmodernists, so that now the national poets who work towards unity, spirituality and grand narratives (something healthy and good) are pushed to the sidelines. Yet post-structuralism and so much modern theory has destroyed the traditional sublime arts which are limitless in their level of beauty and art can is a pursuit of perfection.
    I dunno but Rumi mighta reached a level of beauty in his poetry that musta been supreme this side of the galaxy!

    walt whitman was a national poet and he was a traditional sage. He preserved the forms of his forefathers, and he is writing within a tradition, he has a strong sense of place and he is connected to the larger picture and yet his individuality is very pronounced.
    He has his launchpad his womb of history and ancestory, and he flies his rocket.
    Goethe was a rooted traveller and explorer of life so is Whitman.

Best Poem of Walt Whitman

O Captain! My Captain!


O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.


O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ...

Read the full of O Captain! My Captain!

A Paumanok Picture

TWO boats with nets lying off the sea-beach, quite still,
Ten fishermen waiting--they discover a thick school of mossbonkers--
they drop the join'd seine-ends in the water,
The boats separate and row off, each on its rounding course to the
beach, enclosing the mossbonkers,
The net is drawn in by a windlass by those who stop ashore,
Some of the fishermen lounge in their boats, others stand ankle-deep
in the water, pois'd on strong legs,
The boats

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