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Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman

Solid, Ironical, Rolling Orb

SOLID, ironical, rolling orb!
Master of all, and matter of fact!—at last I accept your
        terms;
Bringing to practical, vulgar tests, of all my ideal
        dreams,
And of me, as lover and hero.

Drum-Taps

#Americans #XIXCentury

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Other works by Walt Whitman...
Song of Myself, VIII

The little one sleeps in its cradl… I lift the gauze and look a long t… The youngster and the red-faced gi… I peeringly view them from the top… The suicide sprawls on the bloody…
Book XXI. Drum-Taps: Come Up From the Fields Father

Come up from the fields father, he… And come to the front door mother,… Lo, ’tis autumn, Lo, where the trees, deeper green,… Cool and sweeten Ohio’s villages…
Book V. Calamus: Roots and Leaves Themselves Alone

Roots and leaves themselves alone… Scents brought to men and women fr… pond-side, Breast-sorrel and pinks of love—fi… than vines,
Book XXI. Drum-Taps: Race of Veterans

Race of veterans—race of victors! Race of the soil, ready for confli… (No more credulity’s race, abiding… Race henceforth owning no law but… Race of passion and the storm.
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Book XXXV. Good-Bye My Fancy: A Christmas Greeting

Welcome, Brazilian brother—thy am… A loving hand—a smile from the nor… (Let the future care for itself, w… Ours, ours the present throe, the… the faith;)
Book XXX. Whispers of Heavenly Death: Whispers of Heavenly Death

Whispers of heavenly death murmur’… Labial gossip of night, sibilant c… Footsteps gently ascending, mystic… Ripples of unseen rivers, tides of… (Or is it the plashing of tears? t…
Book XXIV. Autumn Rivulets: Sparkles From the Wheel

Where the city’s ceaseless crowd m… Withdrawn I join a group of child… By the curb toward the edge of the… A knife-grinder works at his wheel… Bending over he carefully holds it…
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Book XXXIV. Sands At Seventy: Of That Blithe Throat of Thine

Of that blithe throat of thine fro… I’ll mind the lesson, solitary bir… E’en the profoundest chill, as now… Old age land-lock’d within its win… These snowy hairs, my feeble arm,…
Book XX. By The Roadside: To a President

All you are doing and saying is to… You have not learn’d of Nature—of… learn’d the great amplitude, recti… You have not seen that only such a… And that what is less than they mu…
To the States

WHY reclining, interrogating? Wh… What deepening twilight! scum floa… Who are they, as bats and night-do… What a filthy Presidentiad! (O so… arctic freezings!)
Book V. Calamus: Recorders Ages Hence

Recorders ages hence! Come, I will take you down undern… tell you what to say of me; Publish my name and hang up my pic… lover,
To Other Lands

I HEAR you have been asking for… sent the new race, our self-poised… Therefore I send you my poems, th… them what you wanted.
Song of Myself, XIV

The wild gander leads his flock th… Ya-honk he says, and sounds it dow… The pert may suppose it meaningles… Find its purpose and place up ther… The sharp-hoof’d moose of the nort…
In Midnight Sleep

IN midnight sleep, of many a face… Of the look at first of the mortal… look; Of the dead on their backs, with a… I dream, I dream, I dream.
Book XXI. Drum-Taps: Song of the Banner at Day-Break

O A new song, a free song, Flapping, flapping, flapping, flap… By the wind’s voice and that of th… By the banner’s voice and child’s… Low on the ground and high in the…



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