Time poems
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The Akond of Swat
© Edward Lear
Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or a chair,
or SQUAT,
The Akond of Swat?
The Two Old Bachelors
© Edward Lear
Said he who caught the Mouse to him who caught the Muffin, -
"We might cook this little Mouse, if we only had some Stuffin'!
"If we had but Sage and Onion we could do extremely well,
"But how to get that Stuffin' it is difficult to tell!" -
As Consequent, Etc.
© Walt Whitman
AS consequent from store of summer rains,
Or wayward rivulets in autumn flowing,
Or many a herb-lined brooks reticulations,
Or subterranean sea-rills making for the sea,
From Far Dakotas Cañons.
© Walt Whitman
FROM far Dakotas cañons,
Lands of the wild ravine, the dusky Sioux, the lonesome stretch, the silence,
Haply to-day a mournful wail, haply a trumpet-note for heroes.
In the New Garden in all the Parts.
© Walt Whitman
IN the new garden, in all the parts,
In cities now, modern, I wander,
Though the second or third result, or still further, primitive yet,
Days, places, indifferentthough various, the same,
Not Youth Pertains to Me.
© Walt Whitman
NOT youth pertains to me,
Nor delicatesseI cannot beguile the time with talk;
Awkward in the parlor, neither a dancer nor elegant;
In the learnd coterie sitting constraind and stillfor learning. inures
Centenarians Story, The.
© Walt Whitman
GIVE me your hand, old Revolutionary;
The hill-top is nighbut a few steps, (make room, gentlemen;)
Up the path you have followd me well, spite of your hundred and extra years;
You can walk, old man, though your eyes are almost done;
Prairie States, The.
© Walt Whitman
A NEWER garden of creation, no primal solitude,
Dense, joyous, modern, populous millions, cities and farms,
With iron interlaced, composite, tied, many in one,
By all the world contributedfreedoms and laws and thrifts society,
Artillerymans Vision, The.
© Walt Whitman
WHILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long,
And my head on the pillow rests at home, and the vacant midnight passes,
And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear, the breath of my infant,
There in the room, as I wake from sleep, this vision presses upon me:
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;
As Toilsome I Wanderd.
© Walt Whitman
AS toilsome I wanderd Virginias woods,
To the music of rustling leaves, kickd by my feet, (for twas autumn,)
I markd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier,
Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat, (easily all could I understand;)
Or from that Sea of Time.
© Walt Whitman
1
OR, from that Sea of Time,
Spray, blown by the winda double winrow-drift of weeds and shells;
(O little shells, so curious-convolute! so limpid-cold and voiceless!
Locations and Times.
© Walt Whitman
LOCATIONS and timeswhat is it in me that meets them all, whenever and wherever, and
makes
me at home?
Forms, colors, densities, odorswhat is it in me that corresponds with them?
Eidólons.
© Walt Whitman
I MET a Seer,
Passing the hues and objects of the world,
The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense, To glean Eidólons.
Put in thy chants, said he,
Now List to my Mornings Romanza.
© Walt Whitman
1
NOW list to my mornings romanzaI tell the signs of the Answerer;
To the cities and farms I sing, as they spread in the sunshine before me.
Apostroph.
© Walt Whitman
O MATER! O fils!
O brood continental!
O flowers of the prairies!
O space boundless! O hum of mighty products!
As a Strong Bird on Pinions Free.
© Walt Whitman
1
AS a strong bird on pinions free,
Joyous, the amplest spaces heavenward cleaving,
Such be the thought Id think to-day of thee, America,
Spain 187374.
© Walt Whitman
OUT of the murk of heaviest clouds,
Out of the feudal wrecks, and heapd-up skeletons of kings,
Out of that old entire European debristhe shatterd mummeries,
Ruind cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests,
France, the 18th year of These States.
© Walt Whitman
1
A GREAT year and place;
A harsh, discordant, natal scream out-sounding, to touch the mothers heart closer
than
Mystic Trumpeter, The.
© Walt Whitman
1
HARK! some wild trumpetersome strange musician,
Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night.
