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People who serve you without love get even behind your back.

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
Back
Without
Even
Love
People
Serve
Behinds
Behind

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I Think it is lost.....but nothing is ever lost nor can be lost . The body sluggish, aged, cold, the ember left from earlier fires shall duly flame again.
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I will sleep no more but arise, You oceans that have been calm within me! how I feel you, fathomless, stirring, preparing unprecedented waves and storms.
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I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of a man.
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There is no place like it, no place with an atom of its glory, pride, and exultancy. It lays its hand upon a man's bowels he grows drunk with ecstasy he grows young and full of glory, he feels that he can never die.
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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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Long have you timidly waded Holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, Rise again, nod to me, shout, And laughingly dash with your hair.
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Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
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Each of us inevitable Each of us limitless-each of us with his or her right upon the earth.
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A man is a great thing upon the earth and through eternity but every jot of the greatness of man is unfolded out of woman.
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Manhattan streets with their powerful throbs, with beating drums as now, The endless and noisy chorus, the rustle and clank of muskets, (even the sight of the wounded,) Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus! Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.
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At times it has been doubtful to me if Emerson really knows or feels what Poetry is at its highest, as in the Bible, for instance, or Homer or Shakspeare. I see he covertly or plainly likes best superb verbal polish, or something old or odd
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How beggarly appear arguments before a defiant deed!
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We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak.
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Pointing to another world will never stop vice among us shedding light over this world can alone help us.
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There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.
Walt Whitman
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I speak the password primeval I give the sign of democracy.
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O to be self-balanced for contingencies, to confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.
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I and this mystery, here we stand.
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Nothing endures but personal qualities.
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The smallest sprout shows there is really no death.
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