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And your very flesh shall be a great poem.

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
Shall
Great
Fluency
Alms
Poem
Flesh

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So here I sit in the early candle-light of old age-I and my book-casting backward glances over out travel'd road.
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I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.
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I was in the midst of it all - saw war where war is worst - not on the battlefields, no - in the hospitals ... there I mixed with it: and now I say God damn the wars - allw ars: God damn every war: God damn 'em! God damn 'em!
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Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I can bear it.
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Now I see the secret of making the best person: it is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.
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I loafe and invite my soul.
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Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you/ That you may be my poem/ I whisper with my lips close to your ear/ I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you.
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To behold the day-break! The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.
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Man is about the same, in the main, whether with despotism, or whether with freedom.
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That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again and ever again, this soiled world.
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O the joy of my spirit - it is uncaged - it darts like lightning!
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The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.
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And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud.
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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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Those who love each other shall become invincible.
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I hate commas in the wrong places.
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A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.
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A man can be a hero in any profession
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Other lands have their vitality in a few, a class, but we have it in the bulk of our people.
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O joy of suffering! To struggle against great odds! to meet enemies undaunted! To be entirely alone with them! to find how much one can stand! To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, death, face to face! To mount the scaffold! to advance to the muzzles of guns with perfect nonchalance! To be indeed a God!
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