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When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd / And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, / I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
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
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West Hills
New York
Walter Whitman
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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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Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I can bear it.
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I know I am deathless. No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before. I laugh at what you call dissolution, and I know the amplitude of time.
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I am an acme of things accomplished, and I an encloser of things to be.
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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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What beauty there is in words what a lurking curious charm in the sound some words.
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The poet judges not as a judge judges but as the sun falling around a helpless thing.
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The words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything.
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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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How beggarly appear arguments before a defiant deed!
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I will not descend among professors and capitalists.
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