Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman HOME
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. 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. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung— for you the bugle trills, For 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; Exult O shores, and ring O bells! But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. (excerpt from the beginning Song of Myself 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

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.

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.

O Captain! my Captain!
rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—
for you the bugle trills,
For 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;

Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

(excerpt from the beginning

Song of Myself

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