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I celebrate myself, and sing myself.

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
Loneliness
Sing
Singles
Sad
Appreciation
Celebrate

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My ties and ballasts leave me - I travel - I sail - My elbows rest in the sea-gaps. I skirt the sierras. My palms cover continents - I am afoot with my vision.
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The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections.
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Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep for the dead I loved so well.
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I am for those who believe in loose delights, I share the midnight orgies of young men, I dance with the dancers and drink with the drinkers.
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Press close, bare-bosomed Night! Press close, magnetic, nourishing Night! Night of south winds! Night of the large, few stars! Still, nodding Night! Mad, naked, Summer Night!
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He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
Walt Whitman
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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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I know I am deathless. No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before. I laugh at what you call dissolution, and I know the amplitude of time.
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I sing the body that is electric! I celebrate the Self yet to be unveiled!
Walt Whitman
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Day by day and night by night we were together - all else has long been forgotten by me.
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Viewed freely, the English language is the accretion and growth of every dialect, race, and range of time, and is both the free and compacted composition of all.
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Something there is more immortal even than the stars.
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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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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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The powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.
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I henceforth tread the world, chaste, temperate, an early riser, a steady grower.
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All truths wait in all things,/They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it
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What has miserable, inefficient Mexico...to do with the great mission of peopling the New World with a noble race?
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Give me the splendid, silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling.
Walt Whitman
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Strange, (is it not?) that battles, martyrs, blood, even assassination should so condense - perhaps only really lastingly condense - a Nationality.
Walt Whitman