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Walt Whitman

3 poems

O Captain! My Captain!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, 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 O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead!

O Captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up -for you the flag is flung -for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths -for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain, dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won:
Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells!
But I with mournful tread
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing

I 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 leaves of dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,
But I wondered how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without
its friend near, for I knew I could not,
And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined
around it a little moss,
And brought it away, and I have placed in in sight, in my room,
It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,
(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)
Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly love;
For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary in
a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend or lover near,
I know very well I could not.

Unfolded Out of the Folds

Unfolded out of the folds of the woman man comes unfolded, and is always to
come unfolded,
Unfolded only out of the superbest woman of the earth is to come the
superbest man of the earth,
Unfolded out of the friendliest woman is to come the friendliest man,
Unfolded only out of the perfect body of woman can a man be formed of
perfect body,
Unfolded only out of the inimitable poems of woman can come the poems of
man,
(only thence have my poems come;)
Unfolded out of the strong and arrogant woman I love, only thence can appear
the strong and arrogant man I love,
Unfolded by brawny embraces from the well-muscled woman I love, only
thence come the brawny embraces of the man,
Unfolded out of the folds of the woman's brain come all the folds of the man's
brain, duly obedient,
Unfolded out of the justice of the woman all justice is unfolded,
Unfolded out of the sympathy of the woman is all sympathy;
A man is a great thing upon the earth and through eternity, but every jot of the greatness of man is unfolded out of woman;
First the man is shaped in the woman, he can then be shaped himself.

Walt Whitman, 1819-1892, was the first American poet to achieve a truly international reputation. Whitman was a voracious reader, reading everything from the Bible to Shakespeare, all of which would influence his later work either in rhyme or thought. Whitman's poetry collection "Leaves of Grass" (revised numerous times) was so radical, it made him into a revolutionary figure. At its centre lies a democratic desire for equality and brotherhood, with movement forward rather than a dependence on the corrupted past.