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I cannot be awake for nothing looks to me as it did before, Or else I am awake for the first time, and all before has been a mean sleep.

Walt Whitman

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Walt Whitman
Age: 72 †
Born: 1819
Born: May 31
Died: 1892
Died: March 26
Editor
Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
Nurse
Poet
Writer
West Hills
New York
Walter Whitman
First
Awareness
Mean
Sleep
Time
Else
Cannot
Dream
Firsts
Nothing
Awake
Looks
Yoga

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We arrange our lives-even the best and boldest men and women that exist, just as much as the most limited-with reference to what society conventionally rules and makes right.
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I dance with the dancers.
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There is no week nor day nor hour when tyranny may not enter upon this country, if the people lose their roughness and spirit of defiance.
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And I or you pocketless of a dime, may purchase the pick of the earth.
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Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.
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You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.
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And I will show that there is no imperfection in the present, and can be none in the future, And I will show that whatever happens to anybody it may be turned to beautiful results.
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There is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth - but all is truth without exception And henceforth I will go celebrate any thing I see or am, And sing and laugh and deny nothing.
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In the confusion we stay with each other, happy to be together, speaking without uttering a single word.
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Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems
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What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.
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In this broad earth of ours, Amid the measureless grossness and the slag, Enclosed and safe within its central heart, Nestles the seed of perfection.
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A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
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I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.
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Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
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Produce great men, the rest follows.
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Youth, large, lusty, loving -- Youth, full of grace, force, fascination. Do you know that Old Age may come after you with equal grace, force, fascination?
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My spirit has pass'd in compassion and determination around the whole earth. I have look'd for equals and lovers an found them ready for me in all lands, I think some divine rapport has equalized me with them
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The city sleeps and the country sleeps, the living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time, the old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife and these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, and such as it is to be of these more or less I am, and of these one and all I weave the song of myself.
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What beauty there is in words what a lurking curious charm in the sound some words.
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