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THIS dust was once the Man, / Gentle, plain, just and resolute—under whose cautious hand, / Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age, / Was saved the Union of These States.

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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Union
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Gentle
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Dust
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Saved
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Resist much, obey little.
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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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Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking bird's throat, the musical shuttle, . . . . A reminiscence sing.
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Our leading men are not of much account and never have been, but the average of the people is immense, beyond all history. Sometimes I think in all departments, literature and art included, that will be the way our superiority will exhibit itself. We will not have great individuals or great leaders, but a great average bulk, unprecedentedly great.
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To speak in literature with the perfect rectitude and insouciance of the movements of animals and the unimpeachable of the sentiment of trees in the woods and grass by the roadside is the flawless triumph of art.
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Let that which stood in front go behind, let that which was behind advance to the front, let bigots, fools, unclean persons, offer new propositions, let the old propositions be postponed.
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Every hour of every day is an unspeakably perfect miracle.
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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 love—it 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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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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All truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, (What is less or more than a touch).
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I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, All all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems. Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, Outward and outward and forever outward.
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Produce great men, the rest follows.
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But where is what I started for so long ago? And why is it yet unfound?
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This hour I tell things in confidence/ I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.
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The great city is that which has the greatest man or woman: if it be a few ragged huts, it is still the greatest city in the whole world.
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The poet judges not as a judge judges but as the sun falling around a helpless thing.
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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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An electric chain seems to vibrate, as it were, between our brain and him or her preserved there [in a Daguerreotype] so well by the limner's cunning. Time, space, both are annihilated, and we identify the semblance with the reality.
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Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her that it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
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O magnet-South! O glistening perfumed South! My South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me!
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