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There will never be any more perfection than there is now.

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
Never
Perfection

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O the joy of my spirit - it is uncaged - it darts like lightning!
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So here I sit in the early candle-light of old age-I and my book-casting backward glances over out travel'd road.
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I tramp a perpetual journey.
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If you want me again look for me under your boot soles.
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What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and own no superior?
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I know perfectly well my own egotism.
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I think it is lost.....but nothing is ever lost nor can be lost .
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In nothing is there more evolution than the American mind.
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What has miserable, inefficient Mexico...to do with the great mission of peopling the New World with a noble race?
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What a devil art thou, Poverty! How many desires - how many aspirations after goodness and truth - how many noble thoughts, loving wishes toward our fellows, beautiful imaginings thou hast crushed under thy heel, without remorse or pause!
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From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines.
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Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
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this is thy hour o soul, thy free flight into the wordless, away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, night, sleep, death and the stars.
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There's no doubt that I've deserved my enemies, but I don't think I've deserved my friends.
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I sing the body that is electric! I celebrate the Self yet to be unveiled!
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Comerado, this is no book,Who touches this, touches a man,(Is it night? Are we here alone?)It is I you hold, and who holds you,I spring from the pages into your arms-decease calls me forth.
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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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Oh while I live, to be the ruler of life, not a slave, to meet life as a powerful conqueror, and nothing exterior to me will ever take command of me.
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The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them
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Whoever you are, motion and reflection are especially for you, The divine ship sails the divine sea for you.
Walt Whitman