One's-Self I Sing
One's-self I sing, a simple separate person, / Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse.
Beginners
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How they are provided for upon the earth, (appearing at intervals,)
How dear and dreadful they are to the earth,
How they inure to themselves as much as to any--what a paradox
appears their age,
How people respond to them, yet know them not,
How there is something relentless in their fate all times,
How all times mischoose the objects of their adulation and reward,
And how the same inexorable price must still be paid for the same
great purchase.
More poems by Walt Whitman
The Ship Starting
Lo, the unbounded sea, / On its breast a ship starting, spreading all sails, carrying even
Sounds of the Winter
Sounds of the winter too, / Sunshine upon the mountains--many a distant strain
When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer
When I heard the learn'd astronomer, / When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,