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Many a good man I have seen go under.

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
Defeat
Seen
Many
Good
Men

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Here is not merely a nation but a teeming nation of nations.
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Unscrew the locks from the doors ! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs !
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Without enough wilderness America will change. Democracy, with its myriad personalities and increasing sophistication, must be fibred and vitalized by regular contact with outdoor growths - animals, trees, sun warmth and free skies - or it will dwindle and pale.
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Now I see that there is no such thing as love unreturn'd. The pay is certain, one way or another.
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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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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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Camerado! This is no book who touches this touches a man.
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People who serve you without love get even behind your back.
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Strange, (is it not?) that battles, martyrs, blood, even assassination should so condense - perhaps only really lastingly condense - a Nationality.
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Afoot and lighthearted I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me.
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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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The sum of all known value and respect, I add up in you, whoever you are.
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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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I tramp a perpetual journey.
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Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep for the dead I loved so well.
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Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus! Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.
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I announce the great individual, fluid as Nature, chaste, affectionate, compassionate, fully armed I announce a life that shall be copious, vehement, spiritual, bold, And I announce an end that shall lightly and joyfully meet its translation.
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The Past -- the dark unfathomed retrospect! The teeming gulf --the sleepers and the shadows! The past! the infinite greatness of the past! For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past?
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At times it has been doubtful to me if Emerson really knows or feels what Poetry is at its highest, as in the Bible, for instance, or Homer or Shakspeare. I see he covertly or plainly likes best superb verbal polish, or something old or odd
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Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?
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