All Poems
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World Below the Brine, The.
© Walt Whitman
THE world below the brine;
Forests at the bottom of the seathe branches and leaves,
Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seedsthe thick tangle, the openings,
and
Two Rivulets.
© Walt Whitman
TWO Rivulets side by side,
Two blended, parallel, strolling tides,
Companions, travelers, gossiping as they journey.
Facing West from Californiaâs Shores.
© Walt Whitman
FACING west, from Californias shores,
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,
I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of migrations,
look afar,
These, I, Singing in Spring.
© Walt Whitman
THESE, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers,
(For who but I should understand lovers, and all their sorrow and joy?
And who but I should be the poet of comrades?)
Collecting, I traverse the garden, the worldbut soon I pass the gates,
Mystic Trumpeter, The.
© Walt Whitman
1
HARK! some wild trumpetersome strange musician,
Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night.
Shut Not Your Doors, &c.
© Walt Whitman
SHUT not your doors to me, proud libraries,
For that which was lacking on all your well-filld shelves, yet needed most, I bring;
Forth from the army, the war emerginga book I have made,
The words of my book nothingthe drift of it everything;
Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field.
© Walt Whitman
VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night:
When you, my son and my comrade, dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave, which your dear eyes returnd, with a look I shall never forget;
Among the Multitude.
© Walt Whitman
AMONG the men and women, the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none elsenot parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I
am;
at Weeping Face.
© Walt Whitman
WHAT weeping face is that looking from the window?
Why does it stream those sorrowful tears?
Is it for some burial place, vast and dry?
Is it to wet the soil of graves?
City Dead-House, The.
© Walt Whitman
BY the City Dead-House, by the gate,
As idly sauntering, wending my way from the clangor,
I curious pausefor lo! an outcast form, a poor dead prostitute brought;
Her corpse they deposit unclaimdit lies on the damp brick pavement;
From Paumanok Starting.
© Walt Whitman
FROM Paumanock starting, I fly like a bird,
Around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all;
To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs,
To Kanada, till I absorb Kanada in myselfto Michigan then,
So Far and So Far, and on Toward the End.
© Walt Whitman
SO far, and so far, and on toward the end,
Singing what is sung in this book, from the irresistible impulses of me;
But whether I continue beyond this book, to maturity,
Whether I shall dart forth the true rays, the ones that wait unfired,
Pensive and Faltering.
© Walt Whitman
PENSIVE and faltering,
The words, the dead, I write;
For living are the Dead;
(Haply the only living, only real,
And I the apparitionI the spectre.) 5
Dresser, The.
© Walt Whitman
1
AN old man bending, I come, among new faces,
Years looking backward, resuming, in answer to children,
Come tell us, old man, as from young men and maidens that love me;
Ethiopia Saluting the Colors.
© Walt Whitman
1
WHO are you, dusky woman, so ancient, hardly human,
With your woolly-white and turband head, and bare bony feet?
Why, rising by the roadside here, do you the colors greet?
A Broadway Pageant.
© Walt Whitman
1
OVER the western sea, hither from Niphon come,
Courteous, the swart-cheekd two-sworded envoys,
Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive,
A Leaf for Hand in Hand.
© Walt Whitman
A LEAF for hand in hand!
You natural persons old and young!
You on the Mississippi, and on all the branches and bayous of the Mississippi!
You friendly boatmen and mechanics! You roughs!
You twain! And all processions moving along the streets!
I wish to infuse myself among you till I see it common for you to walk hand in hand!
Italian Music in Dakota.
© Walt Whitman
THROUGH the soft evening air enwrinding all,
Rocks, woods, fort, cannon, pacing sentries, endless wilds,
In dulcet streams, in flutes and cornets notes,
Electric, pensive, turbulent artificial,
Respondez!
© Walt Whitman
RESPONDEZ! Respondez!
(The war is completedthe price is paidthe title is settled beyond recall;)
Let every one answer! let those who sleep be waked! let none evade!
Must we still go on with our affectations and sneaking?
Salut au Monde.
© Walt Whitman
1
O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!
Such joind unended links, each hookd to the next!
