Work poems
/ page 168 of 355 /
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,
Mediums.
© Walt Whitman
THEY shall arise in the States,
They shall report Nature, laws, physiology, and happiness;
They shall illustrate Democracy and the kosmos;
They shall be alimentive, amative, perceptive;
Mystic Trumpeter, The.
© Walt Whitman
1
HARK! some wild trumpetersome strange musician,
Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night.
Dresser, The.
© Walt Whitman
1
AN old man bending, I come, among new faces,
Years looking backward, resuming, in answer to children,
Come tell us, old man, as from young men and maidens that love me;
A Broadway Pageant.
© Walt Whitman
1
OVER the western sea, hither from Niphon come,
Courteous, the swart-cheekd two-sworded envoys,
Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive,
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!
Carol of Words.
© Walt Whitman
1
EARTH, round, rolling, compactsuns, moons, animalsall these are words to be
said;
Watery, vegetable, sauroid advancesbeings, premonitions, lispings of the future,
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,
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,
From Pent-up Aching Rivers.
© Walt Whitman
FROM pent-up, aching rivers;
From that of myself, without which I were nothing;
From what I am determind to make illustrious, even if I stand sole among men;
From my own voice resonantsinging the phallus,
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.
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.
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,
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,
Passage to India.
© Walt Whitman
1
SINGING my days,
Singing the great achievements of the present,
Singing the strong, light works of engineers,
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,
