Peace poems
/ page 170 of 319 /
To a foild European Revolutionaire.
© Walt Whitman
1
COURAGE yet! my brother or my sister!
Keep on! Liberty is to be subservd, whatever occurs;
That is nothing, that is quelld by one or two failures, or any number of failures,
O Sun of Real Peace.
© Walt Whitman
O SUN of real peace! O hastening light!
O free and extatic! O what I here, preparing, warble for!
O the sun of the world will ascend, dazzling, and take his heightand you too, O my
Ideal,
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.
Song of the Universal.
© Walt Whitman
1
COME, said the Muse,
Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted,
Sing me the Universal.
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;
Out from Behind this Mask.
© Walt Whitman
1
OUT from behind this bending, rough-cut Mask,
(All straighter, liker Masks rejectedthis preferrd,)
This common curtain of the face, containd in me for me, in you for you, in each for
City of Ships.
© Walt Whitman
CITY of ships!
(O the black ships! O the fierce ships!
O the beautiful, sharp-bowd steam-ships and sail-ships!)
City of the world! (for all races are here;
A Farm-Picture.
© Walt Whitman
THROUGH the ample open door of the peaceful country barn,
A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding;
And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.
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
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!
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,
Drum-Taps.
© Walt Whitman
1
FIRST, O songs, for a prelude,
Lightly strike on the stretchd tympanum, pride and joy in my city,
How she led the rest to armshow she gave the cue,
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,
Camps of Green.
© Walt Whitman
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;
As I Walk These Broad, Majestic Days.
© Walt Whitman
AS I walk these broad, majestic days of peace,
(For the war, the struggle of blood finishd, wherein, O terrific Ideal!
Against vast odds, having gloriously won,
Now thou stridest onyet perhaps in time toward denser wars,
As I Sat Alone by Blue Ontarios Shores.
© Walt Whitman
1
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,
Unnamed Lands.
© Walt Whitman
NATIONS ten thousand years before These States, and many times ten thousand years before
These
States;
Garnerd clusters of ages, that men and women like us grew up and traveld their
So Long.
© Walt Whitman
1
TO concludeI announce what comes after me;
I announce mightier offspring, orators, days, and then, for the present, depart.
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
1
I CELEBRATE myself;
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.
