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Poems By Poet Walt Whitman  10/24/2014 3:27:02 AM
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Walt Whitman   Best Poems From
  WALT WHITMAN (31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
 
 
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  237.     

Out From Behind His Mask


OUT from behind this bending, rough-cut Mask,
(All straighter, liker Masks rejected--this preferr'd,)
This common curtain of the face, contain'd in me for me, in you for
you, in each for each,
(Tragedies, sorrows, laughter, tears--O heaven!
The passionate, teeming plays this curtain hid!)
This glaze of God's serenest, purest sky,
This film of Satan's seething pit,
This heart's geography's map--this limitless small continent--this
soundless sea;
Out from the convolutions of this globe,
This subtler astronomic orb than sun or moon--than Jupiter, Venus,
Mars; 10
This condensation of the Universe--(nay, here the only Universe,
Here the IDEA--all in this mystic handful wrapt;)
These burin'd eyes, flashing to you, to pass to future time,
To launch and spin through space revolving, sideling--from these to
emanate,
To You, whoe'er you are--a Look.


A Traveler of thoughts and years--of peace and war,
Of youth long sped, and middle age declining,
(As the first volume of a tale perused and laid away, and this the
second,
Songs, ventures, speculations, presently to close,)
Lingering a moment, here and now, to You I opposite turn, 20
As on the road, or at some crevice door, by chance, or open'd window,
Pausing, inclining, baring my head, You specially I greet,
To draw and clench your Soul, for once, inseparably with mine,
Then travel, travel on.
 
Walt Whitman

Read more: travel poems, laughter poems, future poems, war poems, moon poems, peace poems, heaven poems, sea poems, sky poems, sun poems, god poems
   
 

   
   
 

  238.     

Spirit Whose Work Is Done


SPIRIT whose work is done! spirit of dreadful hours!
Ere, departing, fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets;
Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet onward ever unfaltering
pressing;)
Spirit of many a solemn day, and many a savage scene! Electric
spirit!
That with muttering voice, through the war now closed, like a
tireless phantom flitted,
Rousing the land with breath of flame, while you beat and beat the
drum;
--Now, as the sound of the drum, hollow and harsh to the last,
reverberates round me;
As your ranks, your immortal ranks, return, return from the battles;
While the muskets of the young men yet lean over their shoulders; 10
While I look on the bayonets bristling over their shoulders;
While those slanted bayonets, whole forests of them, appearing in the
distance, approach and pass on, returning homeward,
Moving with steady motion, swaying to and fro, to the right and left,
Evenly, lightly rising and falling, as the steps keep time;
--Spirit of hours I knew, all hectic red one day, but pale as death
next day;
Touch my mouth, ere you depart--press my lips close!
Leave me your pulses of rage! bequeath them to me! fill me with
currents convulsive!
Let them scorch and blister out of my chants, when you are gone;
Let them identify you to the future, in these songs.
 
Walt Whitman

Read more: future poems, war poems, work poems, red poems, death poems, fear poems, rose poems
   
 

   
   
 

  239.     

That Shadow, My Likeness


THAT shadow, my likeness, that goes to and fro, seeking a livelihood,
chattering, chaffering;
How often I find myself standing and looking at it where it flits;
How often I question and doubt whether that is really me;
--But in these, and among my lovers, and caroling my songs,
O I never doubt whether that is really me.
 
Walt Whitman

Read more: song poems
   
 

   
   
 

  240.     

The Dalliance Of The Eagles

SKIRTING the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,)
Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles,
The rushing amorous contact high in space together,
The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel,
Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,
In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,
Till o'er the river pois'd, the twain yet one, a moment's lull,
A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing,
Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse
flight,
She hers, he his, pursuing. 10
 
Walt Whitman

Read more: river poems, together poems
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Walt Whitman