All Poems

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An Old Mans Thought of School.

© Walt Whitman

AN old mans thought of School;
An old man, gathering youthful memories and blooms, that youth itself cannot.

Now only do I know you!

Weave in, Weave in, My Hardy Life.

WEAVE in! weave in, my hardy life!
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come;
Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight weave in!
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant weave! tire not!

I Thought I was not Alone.

© Walt Whitman

I THOUGHT I was not alone, walking here by the shore,
But the one I thought was with me, as now I walk by the shore,
As I lean and look through the glimmering lightthat one has utterly disappeared,
And those appear that perplex me.

I am He that Aches with Love.

© Walt Whitman

I AM he that aches with amorous love;
Does the earth gravitate? Does not all matter, aching, attract all matter?
So the Body of me, to all I meet, or know.

Proud Music of The Storm.

© Walt Whitman

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PROUD music of the storm!
Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies!
Strong hum of forest tree-tops! Wind of the mountains!

Here, Sailor.

© Walt Whitman

WHAT ship, puzzled at sea, cons for the true reckoning?
Or, coming in, to avoid the bars, and follow the channel, a perfect pilot needs?
Here, sailor! Here, ship! take aboard the most perfect pilot,
Whom, in a little boat, putting off, and rowing, I, hailing you, offer.

I Dreamd in a Dream.

© Walt Whitman

I DREAMD in a dream, I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of
the
earth;

Turn, O Libertad.

© Walt Whitman

TURN, O Libertad, for the war is over,
(From it and all henceforth expanding, doubting no more, resolute, sweeping the world,)
Turn from lands retrospective, recording proofs of the past;
From the singers that sing the trailing glories of the past;

Sleepers, The.

© Walt Whitman

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I WANDER all night in my vision,
Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and stopping,
Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers,

This Dust was Once the Man.

© Walt Whitman

THIS dust was once the Man,
Gentle, plain, just and resoluteunder whose cautious hand,
Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age,
Was saved the Union of These States.

City of Orgies.

© Walt Whitman

CITY of orgies, walks and joys!
City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make you illustrious,
Not the pageants of younot your shifting tableaux, your spectacles, repay me;
Not the interminable rows of your housesnor the ships at the wharves,

Walt Whitmans Caution.

© Walt Whitman

TO The States, or any one of them, or any city of The States, Resist much, obey
little;
Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved;
Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city, of this earth, ever afterward resumes its
liberty.

Drum-Taps.

© Walt Whitman

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FIRST, O songs, for a prelude,
Lightly strike on the stretchd tympanum, pride and joy in my city,
How she led the rest to armshow she gave the cue,

Spontaneous Me.

© Walt Whitman

SPONTANEOUS me, Nature,
The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with,
The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder,
The hill-side whitend with blossoms of the mountain ash,

Myself and Mine.

© Walt Whitman

MYSELF and mine gymnastic ever,
To stand the cold or heatto take good aim with a gunto sail a boatto
manage
horsesto beget superb children,

To Thee, Old Cause!

© Walt Whitman

TO thee, old Cause!
Thou peerless, passionate, good cause!
Thou stern, remorseless, sweet Idea!
Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands!

Perfections.

© Walt Whitman

ONLY themselves understand themselves, and the like of themselves,
As Souls only understand Souls.

To a Common Prostitute.

© Walt Whitman

BE composedbe at ease with meI am Walt Whitman, liberal and lusty as Nature;
Not till the sun excludes you, do I exclude you;
Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you, do my
words

Passage to India.

© Walt Whitman

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SINGING my days,
Singing the great achievements of the present,
Singing the strong, light works of engineers,

Camps of Green.

© Walt Whitman

NOT alone those camps of white, O soldiers,
When, as orderd forward, after a long march,
Footsore and weary, soon as the light lessend, we halted for the night;
Some of us so fatigued, carrying the gun and knapsack, dropping asleep in our tracks;