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No shutter'd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they.
Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister?
The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair, Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.
The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his.Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas slot maskine gaver apk of bright juice suffuse heaven.Do you see O my brothers and sisters?A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek.From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.Smile, for your lover comes.The saints and sages in history-but you yourself?Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender.It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me-mind-the entrenchments.You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.Somehow I have been stunn'd.And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass, I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one.
O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days!




Click here to learn more about how you can keep DayPoems on the Web.Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening.24 Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest.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.Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; This printed and bound book-but the printer and the printing-office boy?
By the city's quadrangular houses-in log huts, camping with lumber-men, Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Weeding my onion-patch or hosing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, trailing in forests, Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees.
Hurrah for positive science!