Walt Whitman - Song Of Myself

My extra favorite parts of my favorite poem are in a larger font.  Enjoy!

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not til death.

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems

You shall not look through my eyes either, not take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.

I believe in you my soul

Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands,
How could I answer the child?  I do not know what it is any more than he.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me.

And of these one and all I weave the song of myself.

This hour I tell things in confidence,
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own

I wear my hat as I please indoors or out.

I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.

In all people I see myself;.....
And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.

I know I am solid and sound,
To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow,
All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.

I know I am deathless

I exist as I am, that is enough,
If not other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.

One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself,
And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.

I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,
The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,
The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a new tongue.

I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

I am he that walks with the tender and growing night

(Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them?)

I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also.

I accept Reality and dare not question it,
Materialism first and last imbuing.

If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it,
Translucent mould of me it shall be you!

My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach,
With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds

Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?

At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles,
And that we call Being.

I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy,
To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand.

I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake

When I give I give myself.

I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare,
And any thing I have I bestow.

I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me,
You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you.

Sleep-I and they keep guard all night,
Not doubt, not disease shall dare to lay finger upon you,
I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself,
And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so.

It is time to explain myself.....
What is known I strip away,
I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.

The clock indicates the moment-but what does eternity indicate?

I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things to be.

Long I was hugg'd close-long and long.

Immense have been the preparations for me,
Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me.

They sent influences to look after what was to hold me.

I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured.

Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.

It is not far, it is within reach,
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,
Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.

You are also asking me questions and I hear you,
I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.

I have said that the soul is not more than the body,
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul.
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud

And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes.

And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God,
For I who am curious about each am not curious about God,
(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and about death.)

I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.

Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then,
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass,
I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd by God's name,
And I leave them where they are, for I know that whereso'er I go
Others will punctually come for ever and ever.

And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me.

There is that in me-I do not know what it is-but I know it is in me.

Wrench'd and sweaty-calm and cool then my body becomes,
I sleep-I sleep long.

I do not know it-it is without name-it is a word unsaid,
It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.

Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on,
To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me.

Perhaps I might tell more.  Outlines!  I plead for my brothers and sisters.

Do you see O my brothers and sisters?
It is not chaos or death-it is form, union, plan-it is eternal life-it is Happiness.

The past and the present wilt-I have fill'd them, emptied them,
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

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