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I will not descend among professors and capitalists.

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
Descend
Professors
Capitalist
Among
Capitalists

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Love, that is day and night - love, that is sun and moon and stars, Love, that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with perfume, no other words but words of love, no other thought but love.
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not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred & fifty are dumb yet at Alamo.
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Nothing endures but personal qualities.
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Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard.
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Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?
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This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people.
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Great is the faith of the flush of knowledge and of the investigation of the depths of qualities and things.
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In all people I see myself - none more, and not one a barleycorn less And the good or bad I say of myself, I say of them.
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There is no God any more divine than Yourself.
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A great city is that which has the greatest men and women.
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I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.
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To have great poets, there must be great audiences.
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The sum of all known value and respect, I add up in you, whoever you are.
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A simple separate person is not contained between his hat and his boots.
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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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But where is what I started for so long ago? And why is it yet unfound?
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And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me.
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The moon gives you light, and the bugles and the drums give you music, and my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, my heart gives you love.
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When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd / And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, / I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
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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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