All music is what awakes within uswhen we are reminded by the instruments;It is not the violins or the clarinets -It is not the beating of the drums -Nor the score of the baritone singinghis sweet rom...
O to be self-balanced for contingencies, to confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,You shall possess the good of the earth and sun.... there are millions of suns left,You shall no longer take things at sec...
Long have you timidly waded Holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, Rise again, nod to me, shout, And laughingly dash with your hair.
Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the lightand of every moment of your life
I will sleep no more but arise, You oceans that have been calm within me! how I feel you, fathomless, stirring, preparing unprecedented waves and storms.
I think I will do nothing for a long time but listen,And accrue what I hear into myself...and let sound contribute toward me.
I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content. One world is aware, and by the far the largest to me, and that is myself,
I am larger, better than I thought; I did not know I held so much goodness.
Give me the splendid, silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling.
And I will show that there is no imperfection in the present, and can be none in the future,And I will show that whatever happens to anybody it may be turn'd to beautiful results,And I will show that...
All beauty comes from beautiful blood and a beautiful brain. If the greatnesses are in conjunction in a man or woman it is enough...the fact will prevail through the universe...but the gaggery and gil...
What shall I give? and which are my miracles?2. Realism is mine--my miracles--Take freely,Take without end--I offer them to you wherever your feet can carry you or your eyes reach.3. Why! who makes mu...
Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.To YouWHOEVER you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams, I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet and hands; Even no...
The question, O me! so sad, recurring -What good amid these, O me, O life?That you are here - that lifeexists and identity,that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good help to you nevertheless And filter and fiber your blood.Failing to fetch me at...
I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate
I accept Time absolutely. It alone is without flaw, It alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder.
When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd And the great star early droop'd in the western sky the night I mourn'd - and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,And filter and fibre your blood.Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,Missing me one place search ano...