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Salut au Monde.
© Walt Whitman
1
O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!
Such joind unended links, each hookd to the next!
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,
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.
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!
Longings for Home.
© Walt Whitman
O MAGNET-SOUTH! O glistening, perfumed South! My South!
O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse, and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me!
O dear to me my birth-thingsAll moving things, and the trees where I was
bornthe
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,
We TwoHow Long We were Foold.
© Walt Whitman
WE twohow long we were foold!
Now transmuted, we swiftly escape, as Nature escapes;
We are Naturelong have we been absent, but now we return;
We become plants, leaves, foliage, roots, bark;
A Riddle Song.
© Walt Whitman
THAT which eludes this verse and any verse,
Unheard by sharpest ear, unformd in clearest eye or cunningest mind,
Nor lore nor fame, nor happiness nor wealth,
And yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world incessantly,
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,
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,
When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloomd.
© Walt Whitman
1
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.
Walt Whitman.
© Walt Whitman
1
I CELEBRATE myself;
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.
In The Baggage Room At Greyhound
© Allen Ginsberg
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
Making The Lion For All It's Got -- A Ballad
© Allen Ginsberg
A lion met America
in the road
they stared at each other
two figures on the crossroads in the desert.
Father Death Blues (Don't Grow Old, Part V)
© Allen Ginsberg
Hey Father Death, I'm flying home
Hey poor man, you're all alone
Hey old daddy, I know where I'm going
A Desolation
© Allen Ginsberg
Now mind is clear
as a cloudless sky.
Time then to make a
home in wilderness.
Death & Fame
© Allen Ginsberg
When I die
I don't care what happens to my body
throw ashes in the air, scatter 'em in East River
bury an urn in Elizabeth New Jersey, B'nai Israel Cemetery
The Double Vision Of Michael Robartes
© William Butler Yeats
On the grey rock of Cashel the mind's eye
Has called up the cold spirits that are born
When the old moon is vanished from the sky
And the new still hides her horn.
Song For The Severed Head In `The King Of The Great Clock Tower'
© William Butler Yeats
Saddle and ride, I heard a man say,
Out of Ben Bulben and Knocknarea,
What says the Clock in the Great Clock Tower?
All those tragic characters ride
