Poems by Walt Whitman

All Poems Original Poems Translations

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A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim

A sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim,

As from my tent I emerge so early sleepless,

As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the hospital tent,

Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there untended lying,

Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woolen blanket,

Gray and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.

Curious I halt and silent stand,

Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest the first just lift the blanket;

by Walt Whitman

A Leaf For Hand In Hand

A LEAF for hand in hand!

You natural persons old and young!

You on the Mississippi, and on all the branches and bayous of the

Mississippi!

You friendly boatmen and mechanics! You roughs!

You twain! And all processions moving along the streets!

I wish to infuse myself among you till I see it common for you to

walk hand in hand!

by Walt Whitman

Had I the Choice

Had I the choice to tally greatest bards,

To limn their portraits, stately, beautiful, and emulate at will,

Homer with all his wars and warriors—Hector, Achilles, Ajax,

Or Shakespeare's woe-entangled Hamlet, Lear, Othello—Tennyson's fair ladies,

Meter or wit the best, or choice conceit to wield in perfect rhyme, delight of singers;

These, these, O sea, all these I'd gladly barter,

Would you the undulation of one wave, its trick to me transfer,

Or breathe one breath of yours upon my verse,

by Walt Whitman

A Noiseless Patient Spider

A NOISELESS, patient spider,

I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;

Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,

It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;

Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you, O my Soul, where you stand,

Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,

Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,—seeking the spheres, to

by Walt Whitman

I Am He That Aches With Love

I AM he that aches with amorous love;

Does the earth gravitate? Does not all matter, aching, attract all

matter?

So the Body of me, to all I meet, or know.

by Walt Whitman

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer

WHEN I heard the learn'd astronomer;

When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;

When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and

measure them;

When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much

applause in the lecture-room,

How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;

Till rising and gliding out, I wander'd off by myself,

by Walt Whitman

O Hymen! O Hymenee!

O HYMEN! O hymenee!

Why do you tantalize me thus?

O why sting me for a swift moment only?

Why can you not continue? O why do you now cease?

Is it because, if you continued beyond the swift moment, you would

soon certainly kill me?

by Walt Whitman

A child said, What is the grass?

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full

hands;

How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it

is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful

green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,

A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,

by Walt Whitman

A Clear Midnight

THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,

Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,

Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou

lovest best.

Night, sleep, death and the stars.

by Walt Whitman

Facing West From California's Shores

FACING west, from California's shores,

Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,

I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity, the

land of migrations, look afar,

Look off the shores of my Western Sea—the circle almost circled;

For, starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kashmere,

From Asia—from the north—from the God, the sage, and the hero,

From the south—from the flowery peninsulas, and the spice islands;

by Walt Whitman

I Hear America Singing

I HEAR America singing, the varied carols I hear;

Those of mechanics—each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and

strong;

The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off

work;

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat—the deckhand

singing on the steamboat deck;

by Walt Whitman

O Captain! My Captain!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

by Walt Whitman