SOMETIMES with one I love, I fill myself with rage, forfear I effuse unreturn’d love;But now I think there is no unreturn’d love—the payis certain, one way or another;(I loved a certain person ardently, and my love wasnot return’d;Yet out of that, I have written these songs.) — Walt Whitman, “Sometimes With One I Love,”… Continue reading Walt Whitman
I Saw in Louisiana A Live-Oak Growing I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing… Continue reading Walt Whitman
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best.Night, sleep, and the stars. ― Walt Whitman, “A Clear Midnight,” in the section “From Noon to Starry Night” in the seventh… Continue reading Walt Whitman
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars. — Walt Whitman, from “Song of Myself,” Leaves of Grass. Originally published: July 4, 1855.
Love, that is the pulse of all, the sustenance and the pang […] No other theme but love—knitting, enclosing, all-diffusing love. — Walt Whitman, from “The Mystic Trumpeter”, Leaves of Grass (Simon Schuster, August 1st 2006) Originally published July 4th 1855.
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,Night, sleep, death and the stars. — Walt Whitman, “A Clear Midnight,” Leaves of Grass. Originally published: July 4, 1855.
What is it, then, between us?What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us? Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not. — Walt Whitman, from “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” Leaves of Grass, Originally published: July 4, 1855.
O soul, thou pleasest me—I thee;Sailing these seas, or on the hills, or waking in the night,Thoughts, silent thoughts, of Time, and Space, and Death, like waters flowing,Bear me, indeed, as through the regions infinite,Whose air I breathe, whose ripples hear—lave me all over;Bathe me, O God, in thee—mounting to thee,I and my soul to… Continue reading Walt Whitman
I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new tongue. — Walt Whitman, from Section 21 of “Song of Myself,” Leaves of… Continue reading Walt Whitman
… re-examine all you have been told […] dismiss whatever insults your own soul… ― Walt Whitman, from the preface of Leaves of Grass. Originally published: July 4, 1855.