Leaves of Grass. Walt Whitman

To a Certain Cantatrice

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      Here, take this gift,

       I was reserving it for some hero, speaker, or general,

       One who should serve the good old cause, the great idea, the

       progress and freedom of the race,

       Some brave confronter of despots, some daring rebel;

       But I see that what I was reserving belongs to you just as much as to any.

Me Imperturbe

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      Me imperturbe, standing at ease in Nature,

       Master of all or mistress of all, aplomb in the midst of irrational things,

       Imbued as they, passive, receptive, silent as they,

       Finding my occupation, poverty, notoriety, foibles, crimes, less

       important than I thought,

       Me toward the Mexican sea, or in the Mannahatta or the Tennessee,

       or far north or inland,

       A river man, or a man of the woods or of any farm-life of these

       States or of the coast, or the lakes or Kanada,

       Me wherever my life is lived, O to be self-balanced for contingencies,

       To confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as

       the trees and animals do.

Savantism

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

       nestling close, always obligated,

       Thither hours, months, years—thither trades, compacts,

       establishments, even the most minute,

       Thither every-day life, speech, utensils, politics, persons, estates;

       Thither we also, I with my leaves and songs, trustful, admirant,

       As a father to his father going takes his children along with him.

The Ship Starting

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      Lo, the unbounded sea,

       On its breast a ship starting, spreading all sails, carrying even

       her moonsails.

       The pennant is flying aloft as she speeds she speeds so stately—

       below emulous waves press forward,

       They surround the ship with shining curving motions and foam.

I Hear America Singing

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      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,

       The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as

       he stands,

       The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning,

       or at noon intermission or at sundown,

       The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work,

       or of the girl sewing or washing,

       Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

       The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young

       fellows, robust, friendly,

       Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

What Place Is Besieged?

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      What place is besieged, and vainly tries to raise the siege?

       Lo, I send to that place a commander, swift, brave, immortal,

       And with him horse and foot, and parks of artillery,

       And artillery-men, the deadliest that ever fired gun.

Still Though the One I Sing

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      Still though the one I sing,

       (One, yet of contradictions made,) I dedicate to Nationality,

       I leave in him revolt, (O latent right of insurrection! O

       quenchless, indispensable fire!)

Shut Not Your Doors

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      Shut not your doors to me proud libraries,

       For that which was lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet

       needed most, I bring,

       Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made,

       The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing,

       A book separate, not link'd with the rest nor felt by the intellect,

       But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page.

Poets to Come

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      Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!

       Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for,

       But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than

       before known,

       Arouse! for you must justify me.

       I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,

       I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.

       I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a

       casual look upon you and then averts