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Poems begining by S

 / page 142 of 287 /

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Song

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

Wintah, summah, snow er shine,
Hit's all de same to me,
Ef only I kin call you mine,
An' keep you by my knee.

Still I Rise

© Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Solid, Ironical, Rolling Orb.

© Walt Whitman

SOLID, ironical, rolling orb!
Master of all, and matter of fact!—at last I accept your terms;
Bringing to practical, vulgar tests, of all my ideal dreams,
And of me, as lover and hero.

Spirit That Form’d This Scene.

© Walt Whitman

SPIRIT that form’d this scene,
These tumbled rock-piles grim and red,
These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks,
These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness,

Savantism.

© Walt Whitman

THITHER, as I look, I see each result and glory retracing itself and nestling close,
always
obligated;
Thither hours, months, years—thither trades, compacts, establishments, even the most

Song of the Exposition.

© Walt Whitman

1
AFTER all, not to create only, or found only,
But to bring, perhaps from afar, what is already founded,
To give it our own identity, average, limitless, free;

Sing of the Banner at Day-Break.

© Walt Whitman

POET.
O A NEW song, a free song,
Flapping, flapping, flapping, flapping, by sounds, by voices clearer,
By the wind’s voice and that of the drum,

Sobbing of The Bells, The.

© Walt Whitman

THE sobbing of the bells, the sudden death-news everywhere,
The slumberers rouse, the rapport of the People,
(Full well they know that message in the darkness,
Full well return, respond within their breasts, their brains, the sad reverberations,)
The passionate toll and clang—city to city, joining, sounding, passing,
Those heart-beats of a Nation in the night.

Spain 1873–’74.

© Walt Whitman

OUT of the murk of heaviest clouds,
Out of the feudal wrecks, and heap’d-up skeletons of kings,
Out of that old entire European debris—the shatter’d mummeries,
Ruin’d cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests,

Shut Not Your Doors, &c.

© Walt Whitman

SHUT not your doors to me, proud libraries,
For that which was lacking on all your well-fill’d shelves, yet needed most, I bring;
Forth from the army, the war emerging—a book I have made,
The words of my book nothing—the drift of it everything;

So Far and So Far, and on Toward the End.

© Walt Whitman

SO far, and so far, and on toward the end,
Singing what is sung in this book, from the irresistible impulses of me;
But whether I continue beyond this book, to maturity,
Whether I shall dart forth the true rays, the ones that wait unfired,

Salut au Monde.

© Walt Whitman

1
O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!
Such join’d unended links, each hook’d to the next!

States!

© Walt Whitman

STATES!
Were you looking to be held together by the lawyers?
By an agreement on a paper? Or by arms?

Says.

© Walt Whitman

1
I SAY whatever tastes sweet to the most perfect person, that is finally right.
2
I say nourish a great intellect, a great brain;

Souvenirs of Democracy.

© Walt Whitman

THE business man, the acquirer vast,
After assiduous years, surveying results, preparing for departure,
Devises houses and lands to his children—bequeaths stocks, goods—funds for a
school

Song of the Universal.

© Walt Whitman

1
COME, said the Muse,
Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted,
Sing me the Universal.

Singer in the Prison, The.

© Walt Whitman

1
O sight of shame, and pain, and dole!
O fearful thought—a 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 ships—Of waves spreading and spreading, far as the eye can reach;

Sparkles from The Wheel.

© Walt Whitman

1
WHERE the city’s ceaseless crowd moves on, the live-long day,
Withdrawn, I join a group of children watching—I pause aside with them.

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,

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