Death poems
/ page 279 of 560 /
Prayer of Columbus.
© Walt Whitman
A BATTERD, wreckd old man,
Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home,
Pent by the sea, and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months,
Sore, stiff with many toils, sickend, and nigh to death,
Warble for Lilac-Time.
© Walt Whitman
WARBLE me now, for joy of Lilac-time,
Sort me, O tongue and lips, for Natures sake, and sweet lifes sakeand
deaths the same as lifes,
Souvenirs of earliest summerbirds eggs, and the first berries;
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.)
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;
To Oratists.
© Walt Whitman
TO oratiststo male or female,
Vocalism, measure, concentration, determination, and the divine power to use words.
Are you full-lungd and limber-lippd from long trial? from vigorous practice?
from
Singer in the Prison, The.
© Walt Whitman
1
O sight of shame, and pain, and dole!
O fearful thoughta convict Soul!
RANG the refrain along the hall, the prison,
Song for All Seas, All Ships.
© Walt Whitman
1
TO-DAY a rude brief recitative,
Of ships sailing the Seas, each with its special flag or ship-signal;
Of unnamed heroes in the shipsOf waves spreading and spreading, far as the eye can reach;
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,
Joy, Shipmate, Joy!
© Walt Whitman
JOY! shipmatejoy!
(Pleasd to my Soul at death I cry;)
Our life is closedour life begins;
The long, long anchorage we leave,
Hushd be the Camps To-day.
© Walt Whitman
1
HUSHD be the camps to-day;
And, soldiers, let us drape our war-worn weapons;
And each with musing soul retire, to celebrate,
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;
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
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,
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
Weave in, Weave in, My Hardy Life.
© Walt Whitman
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!
Proud Music of The Storm.
© Walt Whitman
1
PROUD music of the storm!
Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies!
Strong hum of forest tree-tops! Wind of the mountains!
Sleepers, The.
© Walt Whitman
1
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,
