Old War-Dreams
In midnight sleep of many a face of anguish, / Of the look at first of the mortally wounded, (of that indescribable look,)
To a Historian
❦
You who celebrate bygones,
Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races, the life
that has exhibited itself,
Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates,
rulers and priests,
I, habitan of the Alleghanies, treating of him as he is in himself
in his own rights,
Pressing the pulse of the life that has seldom exhibited itself,
(the great pride of man in himself,)
Chanter of Personality, outlining what is yet to be,
I project the history of the future.
More poems by Walt Whitman
You Tides with Ceaseless Swell
You tides with ceaseless swell! you power that does this work! / You unseen force, centripetal, centrifugal, through space's spread,
After the Sea-Ship
After the sea-ship, after the whistling winds, / After the white-gray sails taut to their spars and ropes,
I Hear America Singing
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, / Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,