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From this hour, freedom! Going where I like, my own master.

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
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Master
Hour
Masters
Hours
Freedom
Going

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I swear to you, there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell
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I am the man, I suffered, I was there.
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And I or you pocketless of a dime, may purchase the pick of the earth.
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Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undisturbed.
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Be not ashamed women, ... You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.
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You must not know too much or be too precise or scientific about birds and trees and flowers and watercraft a certain free-margin , or even vagueness - ignorance, credulity - helps your enjoyment of these things.
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I no doubt deserved my enemies, but I don't believe I deserved my friends.
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Will you seek afar off? You surely come back at last, In things best known to you, finding the best, or as good as the best, In folks nearest to you finding the sweetest, strongest, lovingest Happiness, knowledge, not in another place, but this place-not for another hour, but this hour.
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Be not dishearten'd -- Affection shall solve the problems of Freedom yet Those who love each other shall become invincible.
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The beauty of independence, departure, actions that rely on themselves.
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And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud.
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Love-buds, put before you and within you, whoever you are, Buds to be unfolded on the old terms If you bring the warmth of the sun to them, they will open, and bring form, color, perfume, to you If you become the aliment and the wet, they will become flowers, fruits, tall blanches and trees.
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If you want me again look for me under your boot soles.
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Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me, if I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me.
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Give me the splendid, silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling.
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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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