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This hour I tell things in confidence/ I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

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
Might
Things
Hour
Confidence
Everybody
Hours
Tell

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The smallest sprout shows there is really no death.
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I give you my hand, I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law Will you give me yourself?
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Ah little recks the laborer, How near his work is holding him to God, The loving Laborer through space and time
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The United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem.
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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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Without enough wilderness America will change. Democracy, with its myriad personalities and increasing sophistication, must be fibred and vitalized by regular contact with outdoor growths - animals, trees, sun warmth and free skies - or it will dwindle and pale.
Walt Whitman
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Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems
Walt Whitman
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The words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything.
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
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To drive free, to love free, to court destruction with taunts, to feed the remainder of life with one hour of fullness and freedom - one brief hour of madness and joy.
Walt Whitman
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The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them
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Here is not merely a nation but a teeming nation of nations.
Walt Whitman
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Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later, delicate death.
Walt Whitman
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Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city of this earth ever afterward resumes its liberty.
Walt Whitman
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O captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done. The ship has weather'd every wrack The prize we sought is won The port is near, the bells I hear The people all exulting While follow eyes, the steady keel The vessel grim and daring But Heart! Heart! Heart! O the bleeding drops of red Where on the deck my captain lies Fallen cold and dead.
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The mother condemned for a witch and burnt with dry wood, and her children gazing on The hounded slave that flags in the race and leans by the fence, blowing and covered with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, The murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am.
Walt Whitman
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These are the days that must happen to you.
Walt Whitman
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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.
Walt Whitman
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God is a mean-spirited, pugnacious bully bent on revenge against His children for failing to live up to his impossible standards.
Walt Whitman
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I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.
Walt Whitman