All Poems
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From My Last Years.
© Walt Whitman
FROM my last years, last thoughts I here bequeath,
Scatterd and dropt, in seeds, and wafted to the West,
Through moisture of Ohio, prairie soil of Illinoisthrough Colorado, California air,
For Time to germinate fully.
Assurances.
© Walt Whitman
I NEED no assurancesI am a man who is preoccupied, of his own Soul;
I do not doubt that from under the feet, and beside the hands and face I am cognizant of,
are
now looking faces I am not cognizant ofcalm and actual faces;
Quicksand Years.
© Walt Whitman
QUICKSAND years that whirl me I know not whither,
Your schemes, politics, faillines give waysubstances mock and elude me;
Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possessd Soul, eludes not;
Ones-self must never give waythat is the final substancethat out of all
Indications, The.
© Walt Whitman
THE indications, and tally of time;
Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs;
Time, always without flaw, indicates itself in parts;
What always indicates the poet, is the crowd of the pleasant company of singers, and their
One Hour to Madness and Joy.
© Walt Whitman
ONE hour to madness and joy!
O furious! O confine me not!
(What is this that frees me so in storms?
What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)
Tests.
© Walt Whitman
ALL submit to them, where they sit, inner, secure, unapproachable to analysis, in the
Soul;
Not traditionsnot the outer authorities are the judgesthey are the judges of
outer
Primeval my Love for the Woman I Love.
© Walt Whitman
PRIMEVAL my love for the woman I love,
O bride! O wife! more resistless, more enduring than I can tell, the thought of you!
Then separate, as disembodied, the purest born,
The ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation,
I ascendI float in the regions of your love, O man,
O sharer of my roving life.
Great are the Myths.
© Walt Whitman
1
GREAT are the mythsI too delight in them;
Great are Adam and EveI too look back and accept them;
Great the risen and fallen nations, and their poets, women, sages, inventors, rulers,
Reconciliation.
© Walt Whitman
WORD over all, beautiful as the sky!
Beautiful that war, and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost;
That the hands of the sisters Death and Night, incessantly softly wash again, and ever
again,
A Riddle Song.
© Walt Whitman
THAT which eludes this verse and any verse,
Unheard by sharpest ear, unformd in clearest eye or cunningest mind,
Nor lore nor fame, nor happiness nor wealth,
And yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world incessantly,
On Journeys Through The States.
© Walt Whitman
ON journeys through the States we start,
(Ay, through the worldurged by these songs,
Sailing henceforth to every landto every sea;)
We, willing learners of all, teachers of all, and lovers of all.
To a Pupil.
© Walt Whitman
IS reform needed? Is it through you?
The greater the reform needed, the greater the personality you need to accomplish it.
You! do you not see how it would serve to have eyes, blood, complexion, clean and sweet?
Mother and Babe.
© Walt Whitman
I SEE the sleeping babe, nestling the breast of its mother;
The sleeping mother and babehushd, I study them long and long.
That Music Always Round Me.
© Walt Whitman
THAT music always round me, unceasing, unbeginningyet long untaught I did not hear;
But now the chorus I hear, and am elated;
A tenor, strong, ascending, with power and health, with glad notes of day-break I hear,
A soprano, at intervals, sailing buoyantly over the tops of immense waves,
A Song.
© Walt Whitman
1
COME, I will make the continent indissoluble;
I will make the most splendid race the sun ever yet shone upon;
I will make divine magnetic lands,
To Him that was Crucified.
© Walt Whitman
MY spirit to yours, dear brother;
Do not mind because many, sounding your name, do not understand you;
I do not sound your name, but I understand you, (there are others also;)
I specify you with joy, O my comrade, to salute you, and to salute those who are with you,
My Picture-Gallery.
© Walt Whitman
IN a little house keep I pictures suspended, it is not a fixd house,
It is round, it is only a few inches from one side to the other;
Yet behold, it has room for all the shows of the world, all memories?
Here the tableaus of life, and here the groupings of death;
Here, do you know this? this is cicerone himself,
With finger raisd he points to the prodigal pictures.
Poem of Remembrance for a Girl or a Boy.
© Walt Whitman
YOU just maturing youth! You male or female!
Remember the organic compact of These States,
Remember the pledge of the Old Thirteen thenceforward to the rights, life, liberty,
equality of
To the Garden the World.
© Walt Whitman
TO the garden, the world, anew ascending,
Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding,
The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being,
Curious, here behold my resurrection, after slumber;
