written by Walt WhitmanI HEARD you, solemn-sweet pipes of the organ, as last Sunday morn I
pass'd the church;
Winds of autumn!--as I walk'd the woods at dusk, I heard your long-
stretch'd sighs, up above, so mournful;
I heard the perfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera--I heard the
soprano in the midst of the quartet singing;
... Heart of my love!--you too I heard, murmuring low, through one of
the wrists around my head;
Heard the pulse of you, when all was still, ringing little bells last
night under my ear.
Walt Whitman
written by Walt Whitman, published on Tue 05.12.2009 at 09:30
COME, I will make the continent indissoluble;
I will make the most splendid race the sun ever yet shone upon;
written by Walt Whitman, published on Sun 05.10.2009 at 12:55
ADIEU, O soldier!
You of the rude campaigning, (which we shared,)
The rapid march, the life of the camp,
written by Walt Whitman, published on Wed 04.29.2009 at 20:22
THEY shall arise in the States,
They shall report Nature, laws, physiology, and happiness;
written by Walt Whitman, published on Wed 04.22.2009 at 12:48
Had I the choice to tally greatest bards,
To limn their portraits, stately, beautiful, and emulate at will,
written by Walt Whitman, published on Mon 04.20.2009 at 02:20
A GREAT year and place;
A harsh, discordant, natal scream out-sounding, to touch the mother's
heart closer than any yet.
written by Walt Whitman, published on Mon 04.13.2009 at 08:20
THROUGH the ample open door of the peaceful country barn,
A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding;