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I will sleep no more but arise, You oceans that have been calm within me! how I feel you, fathomless, stirring, preparing unprecedented waves and storms.
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I was thinking the day most splendid, till I saw what the not-day exhibited;I was thinking this globe enough, till there sprang out so noiseless around me myriads of other globes.
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I am large, I contain multitudes.
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In this broad earth of ours,Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,Enclosed and safe within its central heart,Nestles the seed perfection.
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I cannot too often repeat that Democracy is a word the real gist of which still sleeps, quite unawakened, notwithstanding the resonance and the many angry tempests out of which its syllables have come, from pen or tongue. It is a great word, whose history, I suppose, remains unwritten because that history has yet to be enacted.
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Thunder on! Stride on! Democracy. Strike with vengeful stroke!
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Joy, shipmate, joy! Pleased to my soul at death I cry, Our life is closed, our life begins, The long, long anchorage we leave, The ship is clear at last, she leaps! She swiftly courses from the shore, Joy, shipmate, joy!
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With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums, I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquer'd and slain persons. Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won. I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.
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The most affluent man is he that confronts all the shows he sees by equivalents out of the stronger wealth of himself.
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Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let him know he has enough.
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The fruition of beauty is no chance of hit or miss... it is inevitable as life.
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Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body.
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I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise, Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man, Stuffed with the stuff that is course, and stuffed with the stuff that is fine.
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Over all the sky-the sky! far, far out of reach, studded with the eternal stars.
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Happiness, not in another place but this place...not for another hour, but this hour.
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There's a man in the world who is never turned down, whatever he chances to stray; he gets the glad hand in the populous town, or out where the farmers makes hay; he's greeted with pleasure on deserts of sand, and deep in the aisles of the woods; wherever he goes there's a welcoming hand-he's the man who delivers the goods.
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To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, every inch of space is a miracle, every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, every cubic foot of the interior swarms with the same; every spear of grass-the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all that concerns them, all these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
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The question, O me! so sad, recurring - What good amid these, O me, O life? That you are here - that life exists and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
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I loafe and invite my soul.
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I give you my hand, I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law; Will you give me yourself?
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The process of reading is not a half sleep, but in the highest sense, an exercise, a gymnast's struggle: that the reader is to do something for him or herself, must be on the alert, just construct indeed the poem, argument, history, metaphysical essay--the text furnishing the hints, the clue, the start, the framework.
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Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred & fifty are dumb yet at Alamo.
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All is procession; the universe is a procession with measured and beautiful motion.
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Dismiss whatever insults your soul.