Poems begining by A
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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,
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
Artillerymans Vision, The.
© Walt Whitman
WHILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long,
And my head on the pillow rests at home, and the vacant midnight passes,
And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear, the breath of my infant,
There in the room, as I wake from sleep, this vision presses upon me:
As Toilsome I Wanderd.
© Walt Whitman
AS toilsome I wanderd Virginias woods,
To the music of rustling leaves, kickd by my feet, (for twas autumn,)
I markd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier,
Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat, (easily all could I understand;)
Apostroph.
© Walt Whitman
O MATER! O fils!
O brood continental!
O flowers of the prairies!
O space boundless! O hum of mighty products!
A Paumanok Picture.
© Walt Whitman
TWO boats with nets lying off the sea-beach, quite still,
Ten fishermen waitingthey discover a thick school of mossbonkersthey drop the
joind seine-ends in the water,
The boats separate and row off, each on its rounding course to the beach, enclosing the
As a Strong Bird on Pinions Free.
© Walt Whitman
1
AS a strong bird on pinions free,
Joyous, the amplest spaces heavenward cleaving,
Such be the thought Id think to-day of thee, America,
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?
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!
An Army Corps on the March.
© Walt Whitman
WITH its cloud of skirmishers in advance,
With now the sound of a single shot, snapping like a whip, and now an irregular volley,
The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on;
Glittering dimly, toiling under the sunthe dust-coverd men,
A Carol of Harvest, for 1867
© Walt Whitman
1
A SONG of the good green grass!
A song no more of the city streets;
A song of farmsa song of the soil of fields.
As I Watchd the Ploughman Ploughing.
© Walt Whitman
AS I watchd the ploughman ploughing,
Or the sower sowing in the fieldsor the harvester harvesting,
I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies:
(Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.)
A Promise to California.
© Walt Whitman
A PROMISE to California,
Also to the great Pastoral Plains, and for Oregon:
Sojourning east a while longer, soon I travel toward you, to remain, to teach robust
American
After the Sea-Ship.
© Walt Whitman
AFTER the Sea-Shipafter the whistling winds;
After the white-gray sails, taut to their spars and ropes,
Below, a myriad, myriad waves, hastening, lifting up their necks,
Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship:
A Boston Ballad, 1854.
© Walt Whitman
TO get betimes in Boston town, I rose this morning early;
Heres a good place at the cornerI must stand and see the show.
Clear the way there, Jonathan!
As I lay with Head in your Lap, Camerado.
© Walt Whitman
AS I lay with my head in your lap, Camerado,
The confession I made I resumewhat I said to you in the open air I resume:
I know I am restless, and make others so;
I know my words are weapons, full of danger, full of death;
As At Thy Portals Also Death.
© Walt Whitman
AS at thy portals also death,
Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds,
To memories of my mother, to the divine blending, maternity,
To her, buried and gone, yet buried not, gone not from me,
A Sight in Camp.
© Walt Whitman
A SIGHT in camp in the day-break grey and dim,
As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air, the path near by the hospital tent,
Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there, untended lying,
