One's-Self I Sing
One's-self I sing, a simple separate person, / Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse.
Out of May's Shows Selected
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Apple orchards, the trees all cover'd with blossoms;
Wheat fields carpeted far and near in vital emerald green;
The eternal, exhaustless freshness of each early morning;
The yellow, golden, transparent haze of the warm afternoon sun;
The aspiring lilac bushes with profuse purple or white flowers.
More poems by Walt Whitman
After the Supper and Talk
After the supper and talk--after the day is done, / As a friend from friends his final withdrawal prolonging,
For You, O Democracy
Come, I will make the continent indissoluble, / I will make the most splendid race the sun ever shone upon,
To Thee Old Cause
To thee old cause! / Thou peerless, passionate, good cause,