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Praised be the fathomless universe, for life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious.
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
Objects
Joy
Knowledge
Universe
Life
Fathomless
Praised
Curious
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I think it is lost.....but nothing is ever lost nor can be lost .
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The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night, Ya-honk! he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation: The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen closer, I find its purpose and place up there toward the November sky.
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I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.
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My call is the call of battle- I nourish active rebellion/ He going with me must go well armed.
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The future is no more uncertain than the present.
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Now, dearest comrade, lift me to your face, We must separate awhileHere! take from my lips this kiss. Whoever you are, I give it especially to you So long!And I hope we shall meet again.
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Every cubic inch of space is a miracle.
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I lean and loaf at my ease... observing a spear of summer grass.
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Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
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Day by day and night by night we were together - all else has long been forgotten by me.
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I will write the evangel-poem of comrades and of love.
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I have no mockings or arguments I witness and wait.
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I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.
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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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I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware, I sit content, And if each and all be aware, I sit content.
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A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
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My words itch at your ears till you understand them
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Camerado! This is no book who touches this touches a man.
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It is a beautiful truth that all men contain something of the artist in them. And perhaps it is the case that the greatest artists live and die, the world and themselves alike ignorant what they possess.
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O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done.
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