Walt Whitman Quotes

Two feathered guests from Alabama, two together, And their nest, and four light-green eggs spotted with brown, And every day the he-bird to and fro near at hand, And every day the she-bird crouched on her nest, silent, with bright eyes, And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing them, Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking (l. 26-31). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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My own songs awakened from that hour, And with them the key, the word up from the waves, The word of the sweetest song and all songs, That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet, (Or like some old crone rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet garments, bending aside) The sea whispered me.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking (l. 176-181). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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A man, yet by these tears a little boy again, Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves, I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter, Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them, A reminiscence sing.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking (l. 18-22). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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O past! O happy life! O songs of joy! In the air, in the woods, over fields, Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved! But my mate no more, no more with me! We two together no more.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking (l. 125-129). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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O you singers solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me, O solitary me listening, never more shall I cease perpetuating you Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations, Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me, Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there in the night, By the sea under the yellow and sagging moon, The messenger there aroused, the fire, the sweet hell within, The unknown want, the destiny of me.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking (l. 150-157). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle, Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wandered alone, bareheaded, barefoot
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking (l. 1-4). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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Pour down your warmth, great sun! While we bask, we two together. Two together! Winds blow south, or winds blow north, Day come white, or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains from home, Singing all time, minding no time, While we two keep together.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking (l. 33-40). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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The Past—the dark unfathom'd retrospect! The teeming gulf—the sleepers and the shadows! The past! the infinite greatness of the past! For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past?
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Passage to India, verse 1.
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For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead, I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin—I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Reconciliation (l. 4-6). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.
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Let that which stood in front go behind, Let that which was behind advance to the front, Let bigots, fools, unclean persons, offer new propositions, Let the old propositions be postponed.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. "Reversals."
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