Poems by Walt Whitman

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The Unexpressed

How dare one say it?

After the cycles, poems, singers, plays,

Vaunted Ionia's, India's -Homer, Shakespeare -the long, long times, thick

dotted roads, areas,

The shining clusters and the Milky Ways of stars -Nature's pulses reaped,

All retrospective passions, heroes, war, love, adoration,

All ages' plummets dropped to their utmost depths,

All human lives, throats, wishes, brains -all experiences' utterance;

by Walt Whitman

On The Beach At Night

ON the beach, at night,

Stands a child, with her father,

Watching the east, the autumn sky.

Up through the darkness,

While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,

Lower, sullen and fast, athwart and down the sky,

Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,

Ascends, large and calm, the lord-star Jupiter;

by Walt Whitman

As I Ponder'd In Silence

As I ponder'd in silence,

Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long,

A Phantom arose before me, with distrustful aspect,

Terrible in beauty, age, and power,

The genius of poets of old lands,

As to me directing like flame its eyes,

With finger pointing to many immortal songs,

And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said;

by Walt Whitman

I Hear It Was Charged Against Me

I HEAR it was charged against me that I sought to destroy

institutions;

But really I am neither for nor against institutions;

(What indeed have I in common with them?—Or what with the

destruction of them?)

Only I will establish in the Mannahatta, and in every city of These

States, inland and seaboard,

And in the fields and woods, and above every keel, little or large,

by Walt Whitman

From Pent-up Aching Rivers

FROM pent-up, aching rivers;

From that of myself, without which I were nothing;

From what I am determin'd to make illustrious, even if I stand sole

among men;

From my own voice resonant—singing the phallus,

Singing the song of procreation,

Singing the need of superb children, and therein superb grown people,

Singing the muscular urge and the blending,

by Walt Whitman

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd

When lilacs last in the door-yard 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.

ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring;

Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west,

And thought of him I love.

powerful, western, fallen star!

shades of night! O moody, tearful night!

by Walt Whitman

Unfolded Out Of The Folds

UNFOLDED out of the folds of the woman, man comes unfolded, and is

always to come unfolded;

Unfolded only out of the superbest woman of the earth, is to come the

superbest man of the earth;

Unfolded out of the friendliest woman, is to come the friendliest

man;

Unfolded only out of the perfect body of a woman, can a man be form'd

of perfect body;

by Walt Whitman

One Hour To Madness And Joy

ONE hour to madness and joy!

O furious! O confine me not!

(What is this that frees me so in storms?

What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)

O to drink the mystic deliria deeper than any other man!

O savage and tender achings!

(I bequeath them to you, my children,

I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.)

by Walt Whitman

Proud Music Of The Storm

PROUD music of the storm!

Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies!

Strong hum of forest tree-tops! Wind of the mountains!

Personified dim shapes! you hidden orchestras!

You serenades of phantoms, with instruments alert,

Blending, with Nature's rhythmus, all the tongues of nations;

You chords left us by vast composers! you choruses!

You formless, free, religious dances! you from the Orient!

by Walt Whitman

Among The Multitude

AMONG the men and women, the multitude,

I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,

Acknowledging none else—not parent, wife, husband, brother, child,

any nearer than I am;

Some are baffled—But that one is not—that one knows me.

Ah, lover and perfect equal!

I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections;

And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.

by Walt Whitman

Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking

. Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,

Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle,

Out of the Ninth-month midnight,

Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wander'd alone, bareheaded, barefoot,

Down from the shower'd halo,

Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were alive,

Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,

From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,

by Walt Whitman

Are You The New Person, Drawn Toward Me?

ARE you the new person drawn toward me?

To begin with, take warning—I am surely far different from what you

suppose;

Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?

Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?

Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy'd satisfaction?

Do you think I am trusty and faithful?

Do you see no further than this façade—this smooth and tolerant

by Walt Whitman