Still, Though The One I Sing

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!)

poem by Walt Whitman
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After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, and so on - have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wear - what remains? Nature remains.

quote by Walt Whitman
Added by Lucian Velea
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Let that which stood in front go behind, let that which was behind advance to the front, let bigots, fools, unclean persons, offer new propositions, let the old propositions be postponed.

quote by Walt Whitman
Added by Lucian Velea
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Visor'd

A MASK--a perpetual natural disguiser of herself,
Concealing her face, concealing her form,
Changes and transformations every hour, every moment,
Falling upon her even when she sleeps.

poem by Walt Whitman
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Solid, Ironical, Rolling Orb

SOLID, ironical, rolling orb!
Master of all, and matter of fact!--at last I accept your terms;
Bringing to practical, vulgar tests, of all my ideal dreams,
And of me, as lover and hero.

poem by Walt Whitman
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Thought

OF obedience, faith, adhesiveness;
As I stand aloof and look, there is to me something profoundly
affecting in large masses of men, following the lead of those
who do not believe in men.

poem by Walt Whitman
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This Dust Was Once The Man

THIS dust was once the Man,
Gentle, plain, just and resolute--under whose cautious hand,
Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age,
Was saved the Union of These States.

poem by Walt Whitman
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To The Reader At Parting

NOW, dearest comrade, lift me to your face,
We must separate awhile--Here! take from my lips this kiss.
Whoever you are, I give it especially to you;
So long!--And I hope we shall meet again.

poem by Walt Whitman
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The Runner

ON a flat road runs the well-train'd runner;
He is lean and sinewy, with muscular legs;
He is thinly clothed--he leans forward as he runs,
With lightly closed fists, and arms partially rais'd.

poem by Walt Whitman
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To Foreign Lands

I HEARD that you ask'd for something to prove this puzzle, the New
World,
And to define America, her athletic Democracy;
Therefore I send you my poems, that you behold in them what you
wanted.

poem by Walt Whitman
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