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Strange, (is it not?) that battles, martyrs, blood, even assassination should so condense - perhaps only really lastingly condense - a Nationality.

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
Even
Nationality
Really
Battles
Battle
Perhaps
Lastingly
Strange
Condense
Blood
Martyrs
War
Assassination
History
Martyr

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I think it is lost.....but nothing is ever lost nor can be lost .
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I lean and loaf at my ease... observing a spear of summer grass.
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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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I loafe and invite my soul.
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The work for giants...to serve well the guns!
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I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.
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O the joy of my spirit--it is uncaged--it darts like lightning! It is not enough to have this globe or a certain time, I will have thousands of globes and all time.
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Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal background, the countless minor scenes and interiors of the secession war and it is best they should not. The real war will never get in the books.
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There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.
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When the materials are all prepared and ready, the architects shall appear.
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I refuse putting from me the best that I am.
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I have no mockings or arguments I witness and wait.
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