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The most affluent man is he that confronts all the shows he sees by equivalents out of the stronger wealth of himself.

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
Sees
Stronger
Wealth
Shows
Men
Equivalents
Confronts
Affluent

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A Song of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets A song of farms - a song of the soil of fields. A song with the smell of sun-dried hay, where the nimble pitchers handle the pitch-fork A song tasting of new wheat, and of fresh-husk'd maize.
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To die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
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Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road.
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Will you seek afar off? You surely come back at last, In things best known to you, finding the best, or as good as the best, In folks nearest to you finding the sweetest, strongest, lovingest Happiness, knowledge, not in another place, but this place-not for another hour, but this hour.
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Give me the splendid, silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling.
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O the joy of the strong-brawn'd fighter, towering in the arena in perfect condition, conscious of power, thirsting to meet his opponent.
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When I undertake to tell the best, I find I cannot. My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots, My breath will not be obedient to its organs, I become a dumb man.
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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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Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you/ That you may be my poem/ I whisper with my lips close to your ear/ I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you.
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Unscrew the locks from the doors ! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs !
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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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Manhattan streets with their powerful throbs, with beating drums as now, The endless and noisy chorus, the rustle and clank of muskets, (even the sight of the wounded,) Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus! Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.
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The President eats dirt and excrement for his daily meals, likes it and tries to force it on The States.
Walt Whitman
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Joy, shipmate, joy! (Pleased to my soul at death I cry), Our life is closed, our life begins, The long, long anchorage we leave, The ship is clear at last, she leaps! She swiftly courses from the shore, Joy, shipmate, joy!
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When the materials are all prepared and ready, the architects shall appear.
Walt Whitman
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We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak.
Walt Whitman
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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 process of reading is not a half sleep, but in the highest sense, an exercise, a gymnast's struggle: that the reader is to do something for him or herself, must be on the alert, just construct indeed the poem, argument, history, metaphysical essay--the text furnishing the hints, the clue, the start, the framework.
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Every cubic inch of space is a miracle.
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Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gathered, it is the fourth of Seventh-month, (what salutes of cannon and small arms!
Walt Whitman