Car poems

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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;

Ship Starting, The.

© Walt Whitman

LO! the unbounded sea!
On its breast a Ship starting, spreading all her sailsan ample Ship,
carrying even her moonsails;
The pennant is flying aloft, as she speeds, she speeds so statelybelow,
emulous waves press forward,
They surround the Ship, with shining curving motions, and foam.

As I Sat Alone by Blue Ontarios Shores.

© Walt Whitman

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AS I sat alone, by blue Ontarios shore,
As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace returnd, and the dead that return no
more,

Mannahatta.

© Walt Whitman

I WAS asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name!

Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient;

This Compost.

© Walt Whitman

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SOMETHING startles me where I thought I was safest;
I withdraw from the still woods I loved;
I will not go now on the pastures to walk;

To Think of Time.

© Walt Whitman

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TO think of timeof all that retrospection!
To think of to-day, and the ages continued henceforward!

Poem of Joys.

© Walt Whitman

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O TO make the most jubilant poem!
Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols of Death.
O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!

Miracles.

© Walt Whitman

WHY! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,

In Midnight Sleep.

© Walt Whitman

1
IN midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish,
Of the look at first of the mortally woundedof that indescribable look;
Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide,

When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloomd.

© Walt Whitman

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WHEN lilacs last in the door-yard bloomd,
And the great star early droopd in the western sky in the night,
I mourndand yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Ashes of Soldiers.

© Walt Whitman

ASHES of soldiers!
As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought,
Lo! the war resumesagain to my sense your shapes,
And again the advance of armies.

Song at Sunset.

© Walt Whitman

SPLENDOR of ended day, floating and filling me!
Hour prophetichour resuming the past!
Inflating my throatyou, divine average!
You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing.

Walt Whitman.

© Walt Whitman

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I CELEBRATE myself;
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.

Wildflowers And Hothouse-plants

© Henrik Johan Ibsen

"GOOD Heavens, man, what a freak of taste!
What blindness to form and feature!
The girl's no beauty, and might be placed
As a hoydenish kind of creature."

Night Ray

© Paul Celan

Most brightly of all burned the hair of my evening loved one:
to her I send the coffin of lightest wood.
Waves billow round it as round the bed of our dream in Rome;
it wears a white wig as I do and speaks hoarsely:

Plutonian Ode

IWhat new element before us unborn in nature? Is there
a new thing under the Sun?
At last inquisitive Whitman a modern epic, detonative,
Scientific theme

Nagasaki Days

Cumulus clouds float across blue sky
over the white-walled Rockwell Corporation factory
-- am I going to stop that?

Psalm IV

Now I'll record my secret vision, impossible sight of the face of God:
It was no dream, I lay broad waking on a fabulous couch in Harlem
having masturbated for no love, and read half naked an open book of Blake
on my lap

In The Baggage Room At Greyhound

IIn the depths of the Greyhound Terminal
sitting dumbly on a baggage truck looking at the sky
waiting for the Los Angeles Express to depart
worrying about eternity over the Post Office roof in