Leaves of Grass (Legend Classics)

By Walt Whitman

“I am large, I contain multitudes”

Walt Whitman published his first collection of poetry, Leaves of Grass, in 1855. Whitman spent most of his professional life writing and revising it multiple times until his death.

It was highly controversial during its time for its explicit sexual imagery, and Whitman was subject to derision by many contemporary critics. Over time, however, the collection has infiltrated popular culture and been recognised as one of the central works of American poetry.

The Legend Classics series:
Around the World in Eighty Days
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
The Importance of Being Earnest
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
The Metamorphosis
The Railway Children
The Hound of the Baskervilles
Frankenstein
Wuthering Heights
Three Men in a Boat
The Time Machine
Little Women
Anne of Green Gables
The Jungle Book
The Yellow Wallpaper and Other Stories
Dracula
A Study in Scarlet
Leaves of Grass
The Secret Garden
The War of the Worlds
A Christmas Carol
Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
Heart of Darkness
The Scarlet Letter
This Side of Paradise
Oliver Twist
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Treasure Island
The Turn of the Screw
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
Emma
The Trial
A Selection of Short Stories by Edgar Allan Poe
Grimm Fairy Tales
The Awakening
Mrs Dalloway
Gulliver’s Travels
The Castle of Otranto
Silas Marner
Hard Times

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legend Press
• Release date: Jul 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781789550665

Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman (1819–92) was an influential American poet and essayist, and is credited with being the founding father of free verse. He first published his culturally significant poetry collection ‘Leaves of Grass’ in 1855 from his own pocket, and revised and expanded it over thirty years. It is an essential element of America’s literary tradition, much taught in schools and universities around the world.

Book preview

MYTHS

PREFACE

America does not repel the past or what it has produced under its forms or amid other politics or the idea of castes or the old religions.... accepts the lesson with calmness.... is not so impatient as has been supposed that the slough still sticks to opinions and manners and literature while the life which served its requirements has passed into the new life of the new forms perceives that the corpse is slowly borne from the eating and sleeping rooms of the house.... perceives that it waits a little while in the door.... that it was fittest for its days.... that its action has descended to the stalwart and wellshaped heir who approaches.... and that he shall be fittest for his days.

The Americans of all nations at any time upon the earth have probably the fullest poetical nature. The United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem. In the history of the earth hitherto the largest and most stirring appear tame and orderly to their ampler largeness and stir. Here at last is something in the doings of man that corresponds with the broadcast doings of the day and night. Here is not merely a nation but a teeming nation of nations. Here is action untied from strings necessarily blind to particulars and details magnificently moving in vast masses. Here is the hospitality which forever indicates heroes.... Here are the roughs and beards and space and ruggedness and nonchalance that the soul loves. Here the performance disdaining the trivial unapproached in the tremendous audacity of its crowds and groupings and the push of its perspective spreads with crampless and flowing breadth and showers its prolific and splendid extravagance. One sees it must indeed own the riches of the summer and winter, and need never be bankrupt while corn grows from the ground or the orchards drop apples or the bays contain fish or men beget children upon women.

Other states indicate themselves in their deputies.... but the genius of the United States is not best or most in its executives or legislatures, nor in its ambassadors or authors or colleges or churches or parlors, nor even in its newspapers or inventors.... but always most in the common people. Their manners, speech, dress, friendships.... the freshness and candor of their physiognomy.... the picturesque looseness of their carriage.... their deathless attachment to freedom.... their aversion to anything indecorous or soft or mean.... the practical acknowledgment of the citizens of one state by the citizens of all other states.... the fierceness of their roused resentment.... their Curiosity and welcome of novelty.... their self-esteem and wonderful sympathy.... their susceptibility to a slight.... the air they have of persons who never knew how it felt to stand in the presence of superiors.... the fluency of their speech their delight in music, the sure symptom of manly tenderness and native elegance of soul.... their good temper and openhandedness.... the terrible significance of their elections.... the President’s taking off his hat to them not they to him.... these too are unrhymed poetry. It awaits the gigantic and generous treatment worthy of it.

The largeness of nature or the nation were monstrous without a corresponding largeness and generosity of the spirit of the citizen. Not nature nor swarming states nor streets and steamships nor prosperous business nor farms nor capital nor learning may suffice for the ideal of man.... nor suffice the poet. No reminiscences may suffice either. A live nation can always cut a deep mark and can have the best authority the cheapest.... namely from its own soul. This is the sum of the profitable uses of individuals or states and of present action and grandeur and of the subjects of poets.... As if it were necessary to trot back generation after generation to the eastern records! As if the beauty and sacredness of the demonstrable must fall behind that of the mythical! As if men do not make their mark out of any times! As if the opening of the western continent by discovery and what has transpired since in North and South America were less than the small theatre of the antique or the aimless sleepwalking of the middle ages! The pride of the United States leaves the wealth and finesse of the cities and all returns of commerce and agriculture and all the magnitude of geography or shows of exterior victory to enjoy the breed of full-sized men or one full-sized man unconquerable and simple.

The American poets are to enclose old and new for America is the race of races. Of them a bard is to be commensurate with a people. To him the other continents arrive as contributions.... he gives them reception for their sake and his own sake. His spirit responds to his country’s spirit.... he incarnates its geography and natural life and rivers and lakes. Mississippi with annual freshets and changing chutes, Missouri and Columbia and Ohio and Saint Lawrence with the falls and beautiful masculine Hudson, do not embouchure where they spend themselves more than they embouchure into him. The blue breadth over the inland sea of Virginia and Maryland and the sea off Massachusetts and Maine and over Manhattan bay and over Champlain and Erie and over Ontario and Huron and Michigan and Superior, and over the Texan and Mexican and Floridian and Cuban seas and over the seas off California and Oregon, is not tallied by the blue breadth of the waters below more than the breadth of above and below is tallied by him. When the long Atlantic coast stretches longer and the Pacific coast stretches longer he easily stretches with them north or south. He spans between them also from east to west and reflects what is between them. On him rise solid growths that offset the growths of pine and cedar and hemlock and liveoak and locust and chestnut and cypress and hickory and limetree and cottonwood and tuliptree and cactus and wildvine and tamarind and persimmon.... and tangles as tangled as any canebrake or swamp.... and forests coated with transparent ice and icicles hanging from the boughs and crackling in the wind.... and sides and peaks of mountains.... and pasturage sweet and free as savannah or upland or prairie.... with flights and songs and screams that answer those of the wildpigeon and highhold and orchard-oriole and coot and surf-duck and redshouldered-hawk and fish-hawk and white-ibis and indian-hen and cat-owl and water-pheasant and qua-bird and pied-sheldrake and blackbird and mockingbird and buzzard and condor and night-heron and eagle. To him the hereditary countenance descends both mother’s and father’s. To him enter the essences of the real things and past and present events.... of the enormous diversity of temperature and agriculture and mines.... the tribes of red aborigines.... the weather-beaten vessels entering new ports or making landings on rocky coasts.... the first settlements north or south.... the rapid stature and muscle.... the haughty defiance of ’76, and the war and peace and formation of the constitution.... the union always surrounded by blatherers and always calm and impregnable.... the perpetual coming of immigrants.... the wharfhem’d cities and superior marine.... the unsurveyed interior.... the loghouses and clearings and wild animals and hunters and trappers.... the free commerce.... the fisheries and whaling and gold-digging.... the endless gestation of new states.... the convening of Congress every December, the members duly coming up from all climates and the uttermost parts.... the noble character of the young mechanics and of all free American workmen and workwomen.... the general ardor and friendliness and enterprise.... the perfect equality of the female with the male.... the large amativeness.... the fluid movement of the population.... the factories and mercantile life and laborsaving machinery.... the Yankee swap.... the New-York firemen and the target excursion.... the southern plantation life.... the character of the northeast and of the northwest and south-west.... slavery and the tremulous spreading of hands to protect it, and the stern opposition to it which shall never cease till it ceases or the speaking of tongues and the moving of lips cease. For such the expression of the American poet is to be transcendant and new. It is to be indirect and not direct or descriptive or epic. Its quality goes through these to much more. Let the age and wars of other nations be chanted and their eras and characters be illustrated and that finish the verse. Not so the great psalm of the republic. Here the theme is creative and has vista. Here comes one among the wellbeloved stonecutters and plans with decision and science and sees the solid and beautiful forms of the future where there are now no solid forms.

Of all nations the United States with veins full of poetical stuff most need poets and will doubtless have the greatest and use them the greatest. Their Presidents shall not be their common referee so much as their poets shall. Of all mankind the great poet is the equable man. Not in him but off from him things are grotesque or eccentric or fail of their sanity. Nothing out of its place is good and nothing in its place is bad. He bestows on every object or quality its fit proportions neither more nor less. He is the arbiter of the diverse and he is the key. He is the equalizer of his age and land.... he supplies what wants supplying and checks what wants checking. If peace is the routine out of him speaks the spirit of peace, large, rich, thrifty, building vast and populous cities, encouraging agriculture and the arts and commerce.... lighting the study of man, the soul, immortality.... federal, state or municipal government, marriage, health, freetrade, intertravel by land and sea.... nothing too close, nothing too far off.... the stars not too far off. In war he is the most deadly force of the war. Who recruits him recruits horse and foot.... he fetches parks of artillery the best that engineer ever knew. If the time becomes slothful and heavy he knows how to arouse it.... he can make every word he speaks draw blood. Whatever stagnates in the flat of custom or obedience or legislation he never stagnates. Obedience does not master him, he masters it. High up out of reach he stands turning a concentrated light.... he turns the pivot with his finger.... he baffles the swiftest runners as he stands and easily overtakes and envelops them. The time straying toward infidelity and confections and persiflage he withholds by his steady faith.... he spreads out his dishes.... he offers the sweet firmfibred meat that grows men and women. His brain is the ultimate brain. He is no arguer.... he is judgment. He judges not as the judge judges but as the sun falling around a helpless thing. As he sees the farthest he has the most faith. His thoughts are the hymns of the praise of things. In the talk on the soul and eternity and God off of his equal plane he is silent. He sees eternity less like a play with a prologue and denouement.... he sees eternity in men and women.... he does not see men and women as dreams or dots. Faith is the antiseptic of the soul.... it pervades the common people and preserves them.... they never give up believing and expecting and trusting. There is that indescribable freshness and unconsciousness about an illiterate person that humbles and mocks the power of the noblest expressive genius. The poet sees for a certainty how one not a great artist may be just as sacred and perfect as the greatest artist.... The power to destroy or remould is freely used by him but never the power of attack. What is past is past. If he does not expose superior models and prove himself by every step he takes he is not what is wanted. The presence of the greatest poet conquers.... not parleying

Reviews for Leaves of Grass (Legend Classics)

[sublunarie · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

My favorite Whitman piece is "To You, Whoever You Are". This poem is not included in the 1855 edition of Leaves Of Grass. This is the only reason I am not giving it 5 stars. And it's no fault of Walt's. Not even my own, I just felt I needed to own this edition. Surely I will procure the deathbed edition in due time and while some more hours away in the sunshine reading his genius.I love Walt Whitman, period.

[alexanme-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

yes, its beautiful and inspiring and whatnot

i suppose i dont feel like walt's radical equanimity and universal love have much to offer the present moment in the US. like, ya i get that it must have been super subversive for the time, thats rad and all, but walt only gets as far as "mb... criminals and poor ppl r not bad," never quite reaching "mb... police and rich ppl r bad"

yes im being reductive but frankly idgaf. like, this sort of even-handedness can only do so much, can only go so far. at least nietzsche transforms his ultra-individualism into a clarion call for action and vibrant life. i certainly like walt's sort of existentialism better than nietzsche's, but damn walt just makes it so fucking BORING, so content w the world as it is! nietzsche, in his refutation of schopenhauer and the dharmic traditions, attempted to find a role for striving, for desire, for ego within the physical world of direct unmediated sensation. when this centered direction is taken out of existentialism, we're left w a bland acceptance of the world of illusions, a sad refusal to acknowledge to reality of suffering that suffuses all, in its horrifying depth

several passages reminded me of this famous dril tweet:

the wise man bowed his head solemnly and spoke: "theres actually zero difference between good and bad things. you imbecile. you fucking moron." (June 1, 2014)

[sixteendays · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

My favorite Whitman piece is "To You, Whoever You Are". This poem is not included in the 1855 edition of Leaves Of Grass. This is the only reason I am not giving it 5 stars. And it's no fault of Walt's. Not even my own, I just felt I needed to own this edition. Surely I will procure the deathbed edition in due time and while some more hours away in the sunshine reading his genius.I love Walt Whitman, period.

[pingobarg · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

a literary find. read with different understanding each decade of my life so far. still have my original copy - a gift at age 16 of a 1921 edition... can't even see the title on the cover anymore. all my reading has been measured against this volume. everyone should read it - at least once.

[jayceebee_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

For some reason, Walt Whitman and Brahms are tied up in my mind as the same person...kinda like God and Santa Claus were when I was a kid. Regardless, Whitman (like Brahms) is obviously a genius!

[rizeandshine · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

While I appreciate the beautiful language used by Walt Whitman and free verse poetry in general, I am not really a fan. I much prefer the rhyming verse of Tennyson, Longfellow, Browning, etc. In fact, the one poem by Whitman that I really enjoy is O Captain! My Captain!, with conventional meter and rhyme. I am glad that I read this book and familiarized myself with Whitman's style, but it's not really for me.

[tors_7 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Honestly my favorite collection of poems. The open road is my favorite. Walt Whitman discusses the connectedness of nature, democracy, and subtler, prettier things.

[enamoredsoul_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Walt Whitman is a genius of a poet. He takes what seems like existential ramblings, and turns them into beautiful and self-reflective pieces of art. This is not just poetry, it’s literally a thesis on life, a philosophical treasure, a song that celebrates being alive, a picture depicting the cycles of life, an ode to the SOUL – simple thoughts, taken to extraordinary levels by an extraordinary man.Although to some, the poems may be too open-ended, long, tedious or verbose to appear enjoyable - but, when you lay bare the meaning behind Whitman's words, you cannot help but feel empowered, aware, introspective, a believer in life, the lover of a human body, and a worshiper of the human soul. What more can you ask from a poet, and his poetry? Read it, live it, and love it!

[yvonnek7 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The book that started it all. I would never have gone back to college if I hadn't read this--carried it with me everywhere for months! Walt Whitman is my "great uncle."

[haikupatriot · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

a Classic The greatness of the USA and those She welcomes from other countries

[engpunk77 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I actually did have to read this entire collection of poems. I actually did hate that fact. I happened to enjoy some of it, and much of it made me what to stab my eyes out with knitting needles. Professors, please do not make your students read this entire collection in 1 week in a mandatory survey course for English majors--you are killing Whitman again, and again, and again. Perhaps, if this were an elective course and I had been given the time to enjoy it, I wouldn't shudder when my eyes pass over the spine of this book on my shelf.

My memory of this experience boils down to this: "The red marauder." Wouldn't Whitman want to be remembered for more?

[sharamassey2014 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I love Walt Whitman! He is my favorite poet. He saw things in a simplicity that had to divine in nature. He looked at the world through a childlike love. He wrote with his heart wide open.

[zumbanista · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I'm not a huge fan of poetry normally but I do like history, so thought I'd give Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman a try. I downloaded my copy from Project Gutenberg after doing a bit of research. I decided to read the "Deathbed Version" of the original 12 poems, which were untitled when originally published in 1855. Whitman continuously revised his work for the remainder of his life with nearly 400 poems making up the 1892 Deathbed version. I found it difficult to sit and read more than a couple of poems in one sitting. Whitman's stunning volume of words wore me down. I would say I somewhat enjoyed the poems I read and that my 3 star rating reflects this. I acknowledge Whitman's innovation, creativity and place in history. I'd like to think I'd come back to read other selected poems in Leaves of Grass, such as the ones dealing with Lincoln and the patriotic ones pre-Civil War. What I really need is a proper guide and analysis plus a comparison of the poems during their evolution over the years. But that all begins to sound like a lot of study and effort that I'm not keen to undertake. The poems I read were:Song of MyselfA Song for OccupationsTo Think of TimeThe Sleepers I Sing the Body ElectricFacesSong of the AnswererEurope: The 72d and 73d Years of These StatesA Boston BalladThere Was a Child Went ForthWho Learns My Lesson Complete?Great Are the Myths

[zissou54 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Probably my favorite poet of all time or at least right up there. This collection was basically the one work Whitman did throughout his life and with each edition new poems or changes to previous poems would happen. I cannot say that I am much of an authority on poetry but I thoroughly enjoy Whitman's works and believe they should be read by all!

[bookomaniac-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Hier vertaling van de oorspronkelijke editie van 1855, 12 gedichten, eerste beslaat de helft. Klaroenstoot, vitalisme puur sang, sterk lichamelijk ingekleurd. Diep geloof in het leven, de dood, het zijn.Gevoel van verbondenheid met alles: transcendentalisme. Tegelijk onbelemmerde vrijheid centraal. Gras als symbool van het leven: hardnekkig, wild meebuigend met de wind, overal aanwezig. Vormelijk: taalorgie

[elisabethzguta · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Walt Whitman was a visionary, a tolerant and kind man, who spoke out about injustices and did not allow himself to conform. Looking into the soul of human motivation and reaction, he purposefully chose everyday people to demonstrate his loftiest ideas. He had deep feelings about humanity's return to the earth, completing the cycle of life. The war greatly influenced his ideals, and probably was a trigger for him to create updated editions of this poem, and with each he honed the lines and the placement. In many ways, this self educated and self published author was also a book maker - taking into account everything about the physical book as well as the content. He rejected censorship and joined in with other bohemian writers of the day. I read this poem slowly with a class over a period of weeks, and we discussed a lot of the background, and how his words were influenced by the events of the day. Walt Whitman's vision and words are relevant still today.
Excerpt from section Full Of Life Now
"When you read these I that was visible am become invisible,
Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me,
Fancying how happy you were if I could be with you and become your comrade;
Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now with you.)"

[benjamin.duffy · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

2011 will go down, for me, as The Year Ben Caught Up On His Classics. Partly due to shame at continually seeing "Top 100" lists (B&N, Modern Library, etc.) of which I had invariably only read about 10, partly due to increased reading time thanks to becoming a train commuter, but mostly due to buying an e-reader and suddenly having easy, free access to public domain material, I've spent a good chunk of this year reading famous old books. Some of them were great; others, mediocre. Some of them have aged beautifully; others now seem quaint, silly, or merely boring.

In any event, whether I've enjoyed the books or not, when I sit down to review them, I do so knowing that my better-read friends have probably already read them, often decades ago. And thus it is with Leaves of Grass. There's nothing I'm going to be able to say to shed any new light on a work that's been loved, hated, studied and scrutinized for over a century, and has had numerous critical works written about it. So I won't even try. But here are a few personal observations, in lazy man's bullet points, because I write paragraphs for a living and I'm on vacation right now:

- This is a warm, beautiful collection of writings. Whitman makes constant references to throwing his arm around you, the reader, and the tone of the writing bears that out. Walt is the drunk guy at the party who really loves you, maaaaaannnnn, and keeps giving you hugs.
- I love how he manages to give structure to his poems. "Free verse" is really a misnomer, I think, because the verse is musical and wonderfully well-crafted. Shorn of the restrictions of meter or rhyme, Whitman makes amazing use of alliteration and psalm-like repetition to impart rhythm. These are lovely poems to read out loud.
- This stuff must have been scandalously graphic for the time period. There's a lot of throbbing and sliding going on. I can see why Emily Dickinson hated it.
- It's interesting how Whitman's persona and point of view subtly shift: from omnipotent and omniscient, to solipsistic; from being above all, to being one with everything. One moment he's a silent, ghostly observer, separate from the observed, and the next moment he's just one more microscopic cell in the sweaty body of humanity.

Leaves of Grass is so intense that it actually started to burn a bit by the end, an overstimulated, almost snowblind feeling. I suppose that's to be expected when you read in a few dozen hours what took a lifetime to write. I feel as though this is a book I will come back to for small doses, re-savoring favorite passages when the occasion and mood call for it. Wise, kind, funny, sexy, generous, and passionate. I'm sorry I waited 38 years to let Walt sound his barbarian yawp across the screen of my Kindle.

[varwenea · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This delightful Illustrated Leaves of Grass, with introduction by William Carlos Williams (also a poet) and edited by Howard Chapnick, provides clarity and adds dimension to 14 complete poems and 6 excerpts of his longer works. The photos, lay side-by-side with the text, made Whitman’s words pop and dance. His message is so clear, strong, and timeless when presented in this format. Considering Leaves of Grass was written between 1855 to 1892 and these photos are from 1960 to 1970, it certainly has withstood the test of time. I can even visualize what a version with current events may look.In the introduction by Williams, he wrote, “Whitman came from a rhetorical and long-winded age.” I laughed and didn’t feel so bad that I had said Whitman word-puked in my recent Leaves of Grass review. He also wrote, “Never to my knowledge had the subjects of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass been so presented! The poem came alive for me as if for the first time.” Well said. I uploaded a few pictures in my gallery to share.More Quotes:On Equality from “Song of Myself”:“I am the poet of the womanthe same as the man;And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man;And I say there is nothinggreater than the motherof men.”On Celebration of the Body and the Relationship between Men and Women, from “I Sing the Body Electric”:“I sing the Body electric;The armies of those I love engirth me,and I engirth them;They will not let me off till I go with them,respond to them,And discorrupt them, and charge them fullwith the charge of the Soul.Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?And if those who defile the livingare as bad as they who defile the dead?And if the body does not do as muchas the Soul?And if the body were not the Soul,what is the Soul?The love of the Body of man or womanbalks account – the body itself balks account;That of the male is perfect, and thatof the female is perfect.”On Aging, from “To Old Age”:“I see in you the estuary thatenlarges and spreads itself grandlyas it pours in the great Sea.” ----- I love this lineOn Adventure and the Journey of Life, from “Song of the Open Road”: “Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road,Healthy, free, the world before me,The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothingHenceforth I ask not good-fortune – I myself am good-fortune;Strong and content, I travel the open road.”And“Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spaciousclouds, and along the landscape and flowing currents.”And“Mon enfant! I give you my hand!I give you my love, more precious than money,I give you myself, before preaching or law;Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?”On President Lincoln’s Assassination – one of his most moving pieces:"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.O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; 10For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead.My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead."On Whitman’s Acceptance of Death:“I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,If you want me again look for me under your boot soles.You will hardly know who I am or what I am,But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,And filter and fibre your blood.Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,Missing me one place search another,I stop somewhere waiting for you.”

[juliaboechat · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Song of Myself

1
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

[soireb · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Read this book as a requirement for an Major American Writers class and found it to incredible. I rarely like the books that are assigned in class, but this one is one of the few exceptions.

[ajbraithwaite_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A lot of the poems didn't speak to me. Particularly the war and patriotism ones. But in amongst those are some absolute gems on the topic of love and looks, work and life. And compost! How can I not approve of a man who writes a poem about compost?