Sortes Whitmanae

[sorteswhitmanae]

A batter'd wrecke'd old man, Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home, Pent by the sea and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months, - Prayer of Columbus

[sorteswhitmanae]

Low-hanging moon! What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow? O it is the shape, the shape of my mate! O moon do not keep her from me any longer

Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking

[sorteswhitmanae]

Victory, union, faith, identity, time, The indissoluble compacts, riches, mystery, Eternal progress, the kosmos, and the modern reports

Starting from Paumanok

[sorteswhitmanae]

As I wend to the shores I know not, As I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women wreck'd,

As I Ebb'd with the Ocean of Life

[sorteswhitmanae]

I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer swimming naked through the eddies of the sea,

The Sleepers

[sorteswhitmanae]

How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the centuries?

I Sing the Body Electric 

[sorteswhitmanae]

The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case, He turns his quid of tobacco while his eyes blurr with the manuscript;

Song of Myself 

[sorteswhitmanae]

For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance,

Song of Myself 

[sorteswhitmanae]

The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset,

Crossing Brooklyn Ferry 

[sorteswhitmanae]

Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning, backing and filling, appearing and disappearing, I tread day and night such roads.

Song of Myself 

[sorteswhitmanae]

Lo soul, the retrospect brought forward the old, most populous, wealthiest of earth's lands

Passage to India 

[sorteswhitmanae]

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me,

Song of the Open Road

[sorteswhitmanae]

My lovers suffocate me, Crowding my lips thick in the pores of my skin,

Song of Myself 

[sorteswhitmanae]

Cutters down of wood and haulers of it to the Penobscot or Kennebec,

Song of the Broad Axe 

[sorteswhitmanae]

The barbarians of Africa and Asia are not nothing, The perpetual successions of shallow people are not nothing as they go.

To Think of Time 

[sorteswhitmanae]

I saw an old general at bay, (Old as he was, his gray eyes yet shone out in battle like stars,)

I Saw an Old General at Bay

[sorteswhitmanae]

Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister? I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me,

Song of Myself