Have you reckonโd a thousand acres much? have you reckonโd the earth much? Have you practisโd so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
Walt WhitmanThe past, the future, majesty, love - if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.
Walt WhitmanA Song of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets; A song of farms - a song of the soil of fields. A song with the smell of sun-dried hay, where the nimble pitchers handle the pitch-fork; A song tasting of new wheat, and of fresh-husk'd maize.
Walt WhitmanO captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done. The ship has weather'd every wrack The prize we sought is won The port is near, the bells I hear The people all exulting While follow eyes, the steady keel The vessel grim and daring But Heart! Heart! Heart! O the bleeding drops of red Where on the deck my captain lies Fallen cold and dead.
Walt Whitman