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The question, O me! so sad, recurring - What good amid these, O me, O life? That you are here - that life exists and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

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
Goes
Recurring
Powerful
Amid
Society
Verse
May
Verses
Play
Contribute
Good
Exists
Life
Identity
Question

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I speak the password primeval I give the sign of democracy.
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As soon as histories are properly told there is no more need of romances.
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The real war will never get in the books.
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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.
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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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The best writing has no lace on its sleeves.
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Whoever you are, motion and reflection are especially for you, The divine ship sails the divine sea for you.
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Loafe with me on the grass—loose the stop from your throat Not words, not music or rhyme I want—not custom or lecture, not even the best Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
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Simplicity is the glory of expression.
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All music is is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the instruments.
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Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is Good steadily hastening towards immortality, And the vast all that is called Evil I saw hastening to merge itself and become lost and dead.
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Something there is more immortal even than the stars.
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Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body.
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The words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything.
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O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done, / The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won
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What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and own no superior?
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Peace is always beautiful.
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The beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Walt Whitman
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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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O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be with you As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.
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