Walt Whitman Poems

FACING west, from California's shores,
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,
I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity, the
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ONLY themselves understand themselves, and the like of themselves,
As Souls only understand Souls.
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As toilsome I wander'd Virginia's woods,
To the music of rustling leaves kick'd by my feet, (for 'twas autumn,)
I mark'd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier;
Mortally wounded he and buried on the retreat, (easily all I could understand,)
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SINGING my days,
Singing the great achievements of the present,
Singing the strong, light works of engineers,
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ONE song, America, before I go,
I'd sing, o'er all the rest, with trumpet sound,
For thee--the Future.
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ELEMENTAL drifts!
How I wish I could impress others as you have just been impressing
me!
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IN paths untrodden,
In the growth by margins of pond-waters,
Escaped from the life that exhibits itself,
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SPLENDOR of ended day, floating and filling me!
Hour prophetic--hour resuming the past!
Inflating my throat--you, divine average!
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WHEN 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'd;
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WORLD, take good notice, silver stars fading,
Milky hue ript, weft of white detaching,
Coals thirty-eight, baleful and burning,
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