Walt Whitman Quotes

I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all oppression and shame,
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. I Sit and Look Out (l. 1). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. (15) (1)
At the last, tenderly, From the walls of the powerful fortress'd house, From the clasp of the knitted locks, from the keep of the well-closed doors, Let me be wafted. Let me glide noiselessly forth; With the key of softness unlock the locks—with a whisper, Set ope the doors O soul.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. The Last Invocation (l. 1-8). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. (7) (1)
Joy, shipmate, joy! (Pleas'd to my soul at death I cry,) Our life is closed, our life begins,
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Joy, Shipmate, Joy! (L. 1-3). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. (5) (2)
On a flat road runs the well-trained runner, He is lean and sinewy with muscular legs, He is thinly clothed, he leans forward as he runs, With lightly closed fists and arms partially raised.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. The Runner (l. 1-4). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. (4) (1)
The proof of a poet is that his country absorbs him as affectionately as he has absorbed it.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Leaves of Grass, preface (1855). (315) (201)
The world below the brine, Forests at the bottom of the sea, the branches and leaves,
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. The World below the Brine (l. 1-2). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. (6) (3)
Their manners, speech, dress, friendships,—the freshness and candor of their physiognomy—the picturesque looseness of their carriage—their deathless attachment to freedom—their aversion to anything indecorous or soft or mean—the practical acknowledgment of the citizens of one state by the citizens of all other states—the fierceness of their roused resentment—their curiosity and welcome of novelty—their self-esteem and wonderful sympathy—their susceptibility to a slight—the air they have of persons who never knew how it felt to stand in the presence of superiors—the fluency of their speech—their delight in music, a sure symptom of manly tenderness and native elegance of soul—their good temper and open-handedness—the terrible significance of their elections, the President's taking off his hat to them, not they to him—these too are unrhymed poetry. It awaits the gigantic and generous treatment worthy of it.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Leaves of Grass, preface (1855). (4) (1)
What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics, Of hard-fought engagements or sieges tremendous what deepest remains?
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. The Wound-Dresser (l. 11-12). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. (12) (1)
The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Leaves of Grass, preface (1855). (60) (13)
I sit by the restless all the dark night, some are so young, Some suffer so much, I recall the experience sweet and sad, (Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested, Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. The Wound-Dresser (l. 62-65). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books. (4) (1)