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Whoever degrades another degrades me.

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
Degrade
Degradation
Whoever
Another
Degrades

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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
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How beggarly appear arguments before a defiant deed!
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I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain'd, I stand and look at them long and long.
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The soul is always beautiful, it appears more or it appears less, it comes or it lags behind, It comes from its embowered garden and looks pleasantly on itself and encloses the world.
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I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by death.
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The question, O me! so sad, recurring - What good amid these, O me, O life? That you are here - that life exists and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
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Have you learned the lessons only of those who admired you, and were tender with you, and stood aside for you? Have you not learned great lessons from those who braced themselves against you, and disputed passage with you?
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Of all mankind the great poet is the equable man. Not in him but off from him things are grotesque or eccentric or fail of their sanity.
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Re-examine all that you have been told... dismiss that which insults your soul.
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Ah little recks the laborer, How near his work is holding him to God, The loving Laborer through space and time
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The female that loves unrequited sleeps, And the male that loves unrequited sleeps, The head of the money-maker that plotted all day sleeps, And the enraged and treacherous dispositions, all, all sleep.
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Afoot and lighthearted I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me.
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Dismiss whatever insults your soul.
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O lands! O all so dear to me - what you are, I become part of that, whatever it is.
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I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.
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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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For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers! O pioneers!
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Long and long has the grass been growing, Long and long has the rain been falling, Long has the globe been rolling round.
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You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.
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The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case, He turns his quid of tobacco, while his eyes blur with the manuscript.
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