SONG OF MYSELF - WALT WHITMAN

Song of Myself - Pg 54

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 some where waiting for you

Song of Myself - Pg 52

Toss, sparkles of day and dusk . . . . toss on the black stems that decay
        in the muck,
Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.

Song of Myself - Pg 52

And as to you life, I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths,
No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.

Song of Myself - Pg 52

I find letters from God dropped in the street, and every one is signed
        by God's name,
And I leave them where they are, for I know that others will
        punctually come forever and ever

Song of Myself - Pg 51

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 I understand God not in
        the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.

Song of Myself - Pg 51

And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the earth,
And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the
        learning of all times

Song of Myself - Pg 50

I swear I will never mention love or death inside a house,
And I swear I never will translate myself at all, only to him or her who
        privately stays with me in the open air.

Song of Myself - Pg 50

First rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a skiff, to sing a
        song or play on the bajo,
Preferring scars and faces pitted with smallpox over all latherers and
        those that keep out of the sun.

Song of Myself - Pg 49

Sit awhile wayfarer,
Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink,
But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes I will
        certainly kiss you with my goodbye kiss and open the gate for
        your egress hence.

Song of Myself - Pg 49

If you tire, give be both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on
        my hip,
And in due time you shall repay the same service to me;

Song of Myself - Pg 49

My left hand hooks you round the waist,
My right hand points to landscapes of continents, and a plain public
        road.

Song of Myself - Pg 48

I tramp a perpetual journey.

Song of Myself - Pg 47

All forces have been steadily employed to complete and delight me,
Now I stand on this spot with my soul.

Song of Myself - Pg 46

Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me,
Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, the vapor from the nostrils
        of death

Song of Myself - Pg 45

The past is the push of you and me and all precisely the same,
And the day and night are for you and me and all

Song of Myself - Pg 44

The panorama of the sea. . . . but the sea itself?

Song of Myself - Pg 43

They who piddle and patter here in collars and tailed coats . . . . I am
        aware who they are . . . . and that they are not worms or fleas,
I acknowledge the duplicates of myself under all the scrape-lipped
        and pipe-legged concealments.

Song of Myself - Pg 43

Ever love . . . . ever the sobbing liquid of life,
Ever the bandage under the chin . . . . ever the trestles of death.

Song of Myself - Pg 43

Ever the eaters and drinkers . . . . ever the upward and downward
        sun . . . . ever the air and the ceaseless tides