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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!

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
Wind
Mad
Stars
Presses
Nighttime
Night
Press
Nourishing
Stills
Naked
Nodding
Still
Summer
Summertime
South
Magnetic
Large
Bare
Close
Winds

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The most affluent man is he that confronts all the shows he sees by equivalents out of the stronger wealth of himself.
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I dote on myself. There is a lot of me and all so luscious.
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That's beautiful: the hurrah game! well — it's our game: that's the chief fact in connection with it: America's game: has the snap, go fling, of the American atmosphere — belongs as much to our institutions, fits into them as significantly, as our constitutions, laws: is just as important in the sum total of our historic life.
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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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The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections.
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We convince by our presence.
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I have learned that to be with those I like is enough.
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When the materials are all prepared and ready, the architects shall appear.
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Nothing endures but personal qualities.
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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.
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All the past we leave behind We debouch upon a newer, mightier world, varied world, Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march, Pioneers! O Pioneers!
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Other lands have their vitality in a few, a class, but we have it in the bulk of our people.
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Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood? Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
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And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me.
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Every moment of light and dark is a miracle.
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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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