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But where is what I started for so long ago? And why is it yet unfound?

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
Started
Long

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I think I will do nothing for a long time but listen, And accrue what I hear into myself...and let sound contribute toward me.
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Re-examine all that you have been told... dismiss that which insults your soul.
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I cannot be awake for nothing looks to me as it did before, Or else I am awake for the first time, and all before has been a mean sleep.
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I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
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Camden was originally an accident, but I shall never be sorry I was left over in Camden. It has brought me blessed returns.
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Old age: The estuary that enlarges and spreads itself grandly as it pours into the Great Sea.
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I will You, in all, Myself, with promise to never desert you, To which I sign my name.
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I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.
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Whatever satisfies the soul is truth.
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I loafe and invite my soul.
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Agonies are one of my changes of garments.
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All music is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the instruments. It is not the violins and the cornets-it is not the oboe nor the beating drums, nor the score of the baritone singer singing his sweet romanza-nor that of the women's chorus it is nearer and farther than they.
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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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this is thy hour o soul, thy free flight into the wordless, away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, night, sleep, death and the stars.
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Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
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The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case, He turns his quid of tobacco, while his eyes blur with the manuscript.
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There is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth - but all is truth without exception And henceforth I will go celebrate any thing I see or am, And sing and laugh and deny nothing.
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I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
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Love the earth and sun and animals, Despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, Stand up for the stupid and crazy, Devote your income and labor to others... And your very flesh shall be a great poem.
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