Poems by Walt Whitman

Wild, wild the storm, and the sea high running,
Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant ...

Two boats with nets lying off the sea-beach, quite still,
Ten fishermen waiting--they discover...

Pensive and faltering,
The words the Dead I write,
For living are the Dead,
(Haply the only...

Pensive on her dead gazing I heard the Mother of All,
Desperate on the torn bodies, on the for...

For his o'erarching and last lesson the greybeard sufi,
In the fresh scent of the morning in th...

Come my tan-faced children,
Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,
Have you your pist...

Poets to come! Orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me and answer wha...

The prairie-grass dividing, its special odor breathing,
I demand of it the spiritual correspon...

Shot gold, maroon and violet, dazzling silver, emerald, fawn,
The earth's whole amplitude a...

A batter'd, wreck'd old man,
Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home,
Pent by the ...

Heave the anchor short!
Raise main-sail and jib--steer forth,
O little white-hull'd sloop, no...

Thither as I look I see each result and glory retracing itself and
n...

1 O take my hand Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders! Such sights and sounds!
Such join'd unen...

Scented herbage of my breast,
Leaves from you I glean, I write, to be perused best afterwards...

The devilish and the dark, the dying and diseas'd,
The countless (nineteen-twentieths) low and...