Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back ; If nothing lay more developd, the quahaug in its callous shell were enough. All truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, What is less or more than a touch? Have you outstript the rest? It is a triflethey will more than arrive there, every one, and still pass on. Whitman worked as a printer in New York City until a devastating fire in the printing district demolished the industry. Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back awhile 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. The poet is tempted to let himself be submerged by other individual selves, but he is determined to maintain his individuality.
It cannot fail the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peeped in at the door and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with bitterness worse than gall, Nor him in the poorhouse tubercled by rum and the bad disorder, Nor the numberless slaughtered and wrecked. He accepts all of life, the sensual and the sublime, the hellish and the heavenly as exhuberant expressions of the Divine. The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill; I peeringly view them from the top. I do not give lectures, or a little charity; When I give, I give. I am not the poet of goodness onlyI do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also.
I ascend from the moon. I am an old artilleristI tell of my forts bombardment; I am there again. Why should I wish to see God better than this day? After his death on March 26, 1892, Whitman was buried in a tomb he designed and had built on a lot in Harleigh Cemetery. The young men float on their backstheir white bellies bulge to the sunthey do not ask who seizes fast to them; They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch; They do not think whom they souse with spray. On the simplest level, he is celebrating the life-affirming sensuality of his very body, in direct opposition to the prudish, numb religiosity of the era. Oxen that rattle the yoke and , or halt in the leafy shade! The poem also has several references to the American Civil War; and political and social issues of the time. I do not say these things for a dollar, or to fill up the time while I wait for a boat; It is you talking just as much as myselfI act as the tongue of you; in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosend.
This person has a duty to a nation he loves and belongs to. Stretched and still lay the midnight, Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness, Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking. Manhood balanced and florid and full! No one had ever read anything quite like it before, and it wielded a heavy influence on 20th century poets like T. Overcome by the suffering of the many wounded in Washington, Whitman decided to stay and work in the hospitals. It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life. Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! One world is aware, and by far the largest to me, and that is myself; And whether I come to my own to-day, or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.
I mind how we lay, such a transparent summer morning; you settled your head athwart my hips, and gently turnd over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reachd till you felt my beard, and reachd till you held my feet. If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip, And in due time you shall repay the same service to me; For after we start we never lie by again. In the poem there is a line that could explain this idea. We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers; There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them. Chapin, 1867 Drum Taps William E. Whitman is, of course, interested in universality and democracy, and he acknowledges that women have sexual desires just like men do. He explains how much he loves the world, especially nature, and how everything fits together just as it should.
The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and for me; I tuckd my trowser-ends in my boots, and went and had a good time: You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle. A word of the faith that never balks; Here or henceforward, it is all the same to meI accept Time,. Showing the best and dividing it from the worst, age vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. You sweaty brooks and dews, it shall be you! I am given up by traitors; I talk wildlyI have lost my witsI and nobody else am the greatest traitor; I went myself first to the headlandmy own hands carried me there. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me; The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full. Other times, Whitman backs away from the teacherly voice to tell us a story or set a scene. Not a moments cease; The leaks gain fast on the pumpsthe fire eats toward the powder-magazine.
Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings, They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. Through me forbidden voices; Voice of sexes and lustsvoices veild, and I remove the veil; Voices indecent, by me clarified and transfigurd. Do you take it I would astonish? Our foe was no skulk in his ship, I tell you, His was the English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be; Along the lowered eve he came, horribly raking us. Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it. They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with a horse, a rifle, a song, a supper or a courtship, Large, turbulent, brave, handsome, generous, proud and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, dressed in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age. He imagined a democratic nation as a unified whole composed of unique but equal individuals.
Every condition promulges not only itselfit promulges what grows after and out of itself, And the dark hush promulges as much as any. To walk up my stoop is unaccountable. The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother condemned for a witch and burnt with dry wood, and her children gazing on; The hounded slave that flags in the race and leans by the fence, blowing and covered with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, The murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am. This union brings him peace and joy. I do not know it. Let's start off with the basics: our speaker, who is actually named Walt Whitman, declares that he's going to celebrate himself in this poem.