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“This is what you shall do: love the earth and sun, and animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence towards the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown, or to any man or number of men; go freely with the powerful uneducated persons, and with the young, and mothers, of families: read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life: re-examine all you have been told at school or church, or in any books, and dismiss whatever insults your soul.”
Walt Whitman

To a Stranger



PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,  
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,)  
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,  
All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,  
You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,          5
I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,  
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,  
I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,  
I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,  
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.  

Walt Whitman (1819–1892).  Leaves of Grass.  1900.

Here's another ignorant. Thanks for these poems.

Salu2.

Lili

Miracles

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in the bed at night with anyone
I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright

Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.

To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships with the
men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

Walt Whitman

After the Dazzle of Day.

After the dazzle of day is gone
Only the dark night shows to my eyes the stars;
After the clangor of organ majestic or chorus or
      perfect band
Silent athwart my soul moves the symphony
      true.

WALT WHITMAN

Only by looking his eyes in this photo, Whitman's peace of mind can be perceived. I've read that spiritually intelligent people -soul self-centered humans- feel the world like once they felt it as children. This poem reflects how he perceives his universe. No doubt about it. He's a child in his soul.

Thanks for sharing, Au and Tess. I should buy myself something to read from this author... what I'm waiting for?

Alicia