All Poems
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Not Heaving from My Ribbâd Breast Only.
© Walt Whitman
NOT heaving from my ribbd breast only;
Not in sighs at night, in rage, dissatisfied with myself;
Not in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs;
Not in many an oath and promise broken;
As Consequent, Etc.
© Walt Whitman
AS consequent from store of summer rains,
Or wayward rivulets in autumn flowing,
Or many a herb-lined brooks reticulations,
Or subterranean sea-rills making for the sea,
Thou Orb Aloft Full-Dazzling.
© Walt Whitman
THOU orb aloft full-dazzling! thou hot October noon!
Flooding with sheeny light the gray beach sand,
The sibilant near sea with vistas far and foam,
And tawny streaks and shades and spreading blue;
Solid, Ironical, Rolling Orb.
© Walt Whitman
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.
Not Heat Flames up and Consumes.
© Walt Whitman
NOT heat flames up and consumes,
Not sea-waves hurry in and out,
Not the air, delicious and dry, the air of the ripe summer, bears lightly along white
down-balls of
What Place is Besieged?
© Walt Whitman
WHAT place is besieged, and vainly tries to raise the siege?
Lo! I send to that place a commander, swift, brave, immortal;
And with him horse and footand parks of artillery,
And artillery-men, the deadliest that ever fired gun.
From Far Dakotas Cañons.
© Walt Whitman
FROM far Dakotas cañons,
Lands of the wild ravine, the dusky Sioux, the lonesome stretch, the silence,
Haply to-day a mournful wail, haply a trumpet-note for heroes.
Behold this Swarthy Face.
© Walt Whitman
BEHOLD this swarthy facethese gray eyes,
This beardthe white wool, unclipt upon my neck,
My brown hands, and the silent manner of me, without charm;
Yet comes one, a Manhattanese, and ever at parting, kisses me lightly on the lips with
I saw Old General at Bay.
© Walt Whitman
I SAW old General at bay;
(Old as he was, his grey eyes yet shone out in battle like stars;)
His small force was now completely hemmd in, in his works;
He calld for volunteers to run the enemys linesa desperate emergency;
These Carols.
© Walt Whitman
THESE Carols, sung to cheer my passage through the world I see,
For completion, I dedicate to the Invisible World.
Ah Poverties, Wincings and Sulky Retreats.
© Walt Whitman
AH poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats!
Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me!
(For what is my life, or any mans life, but a conflict with foesthe old, the
incessant
By Broad Potomacs Shore.
© Walt Whitman
1
BY broad Potomacs shoreagain, old tongue!
(Still utteringstill ejaculatingcanst never cease this babble?)
Again, old heart so gayagain to you, your sense, the full flush spring returning;
Spirit That Formd This Scene.
© Walt Whitman
SPIRIT that formd this scene,
These tumbled rock-piles grim and red,
These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks,
These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness,
Year of Meteors, 1859 60.
© Walt Whitman
YEAR of meteors! brooding year!
I would bind in words retrospective, some of your deeds and signs;
I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidentiad;
I would sing how an old man, tall, with white hair, mounted the scaffold in Virginia;
In the New Garden in all the Parts.
© Walt Whitman
IN the new garden, in all the parts,
In cities now, modern, I wander,
Though the second or third result, or still further, primitive yet,
Days, places, indifferentthough various, the same,
Hast Never Come to Thee an Hour.
© Walt Whitman
HAST never come to thee an hour,
A sudden gleam divine, precipitating, bursting all these bubbles, fashions, wealth?
These eager business aimsbooks, politics, art, amours,
To utter nothingness?
Prairie-Grass Dividing, The.
© Walt Whitman
THE prairie-grass dividingits special odor breathing,
I demand of it the spiritual corresponding,
Demand the most copious and close companionship of men,
Demand the blades to rise of words, acts, beings,
I Heard You, Solemn-sweet Pipes of the Organ.
© Walt Whitman
I HEARD you, solemn-sweet pipes of the organ, as last Sunday morn I passd the
church;
Winds of autumn!as I walkd the woods at dusk, I heard your long-stretchd
sighs, up above, so mournful;
Savantism.
© Walt Whitman
THITHER, as I look, I see each result and glory retracing itself and nestling close,
always
obligated;
Thither hours, months, yearsthither trades, compacts, establishments, even the most
Thou Reader.
© Walt Whitman
THOU reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as I,
Therefore for thee the following chants.
