Great poems
/ page 270 of 549 /
Poets to Come.
© Walt Whitman
POETS to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me, and answer what I am for;
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known,
Arouse! Arousefor you must justify meyou must answer.
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
Behavior.
© Walt Whitman
BEHAVIORfresh, native, copious, each one for himself or herself,
Nature and the Soul expressedAmerica and freedom expressedIn it the finest
art,
In it pride, cleanliness, sympathy, to have their chance,
1861.
© Walt Whitman
AARMD year! year of the struggle!
No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you, terrible year!
Not you as some pale poetling, seated at a desk, lisping cadenzas piano;
But as a strong man, erect, clothed in blue clothes, advancing, carrying a rifle on your
Sparkles from The Wheel.
© Walt Whitman
1
WHERE the citys ceaseless crowd moves on, the live-long day,
Withdrawn, I join a group of children watchingI pause aside with them.
To a President.
© Walt Whitman
ALL you are doing and saying is to America dangled mirages,
You have not learnd of Natureof the politics of Nature, you have not
learnd
the
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
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,
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?
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,
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!
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
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,
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,
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!
Passage to India.
© Walt Whitman
1
SINGING my days,
Singing the great achievements of the present,
Singing the strong, light works of engineers,
