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Walt Whitman: I Heard You Solemn-Sweet Pipes of the Organ
I Heard You Solemn-Sweet Pipes of the OrganI 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…Walt Whitman: Facing West from California's Shores
Facing West from California's ShoresFacing west from California's shores, Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound, I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity…Walt Whitman: Scented Herbage of My Breast
Scented Herbage of My BreastScented herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I glean, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves, body-leaves growing up above me above death, Perennial…Walt Whitman: Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand
Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in HandWhoever you are holding me now in hand, Without one thing all will be useless, I give you fair warning before you attempt me further, I am not what you…Walt Whitman: Not Heaving from My Ribb'd Breast Only
Not Heaving from My Ribb'd Breast OnlyNot heaving from my ribb'd breast only, Not in sighs at night in rage dissatisfied with myself, Not in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs, Not in many…Walt Whitman: When I Heard at the Close of the Day
When I Heard at the Close of the DayWhen I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that follow'…Walt Whitman: Are You the New Person Drawn Toward Me?
Are You the New Person Drawn Toward Me?Are you the new person drawn toward me? To begin with take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose; Do you suppose you will find in me…Walt Whitman: Roots and Leaves Themselves Alone
Roots and Leaves Themselves AloneRoots and leaves themselves alone are these, Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods and pond-side, Breast-sorrel and pinks of love, fingers that…Walt Whitman: Not Heat Flames Up and Consumes
Not Heat Flames Up and ConsumesNot heat flames up and consumes, Not sea-waves hurry in and out, Not the air delicious and dry, the air of ripe summer, bears lightly along white down-balls…Walt Whitman: I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing
I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak GrowingI saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing, All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches, Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous of…Trending
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