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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
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
Racks
Prize
Ships
Captain
Done
Captains
Every
Sailing
Sought
Trip
Weathered
Ship
Rack
Fearful
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I think of few heroic actions, which cannot be traced to the artistical impulse. He who does great deeds, does them from his innate sensitiveness to moral beauty.
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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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The truest and greatest Poetry, (while subtly and necessarily always rhythmic, and distinguishable easily enough) can never again, in the English language, be express'd in arbitrary and rhyming metre, any more than the greatest eloquence, or the truest power and passion.
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To have great poets, there must be great audiences.
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Thunder on! Stride on! Democracy. Strike with vengeful stroke!
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O Earth, that hast no voice, confide to me a voice! O harvest of my lands! O boundless summer growths! O lavish, brown, parturient earth! O infinite, teeming womb! A verse to seek, to see, to narrate thee.
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I sing the body electric.
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Behold I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself.
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The United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem.
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Nothing endures but personal qualities.
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I like the scientific spirit-the holding off, the being sure but not too sure, the willingness to surrender ideas when the evidence is against them: this is ultimately fine-it always keeps the way beyond open.
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How beggarly appear arguments before a defiant deed!
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Where the earth is, we are.
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There will soon be no more priests... They may wait awhile, perhaps a generation or two, dropping off by degrees. A superior breed shall take their place. A new order shall arise and they shall be the priests of man, and every man shall be his own priest.
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Silence? What can New York-noisy, roaring, rumbling, tumbling, bustling, story, turbulent New York-have to do with silence? Amid the universal clatter, the incessant din of business, the all swallowing vortex of the great money whirlpool-who has any, even distant, idea of the profound repose......of silence?
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My words itch at your ears till you understand them
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I dreamed in a dream, I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth I dreamed that was the new City of Friends Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust loveāit led the rest It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city, And in all their looks and words.
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Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.
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You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side...The Bending forward and backward of the rowers...
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A great city is that which has the greatest men and women.
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