>Walt Whitman


The past and present wilt–I have fill’d them, emptied them.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.
Listener up there! what have you to confide to me?
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.)
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab.
Who has done his day’s work? who will soonest be through with his supper?
Who wishes to walk with me?
Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too late?

3 thoughts on “>Walt Whitman

  1. Anonymous

    >like the ending better

    I bequeath myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love;
    If you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles
    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.
    Among the men and women the multitude,
    I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
    Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I am,
    Some are baffled, but that one is not–that one knows me.
    Ah lover and perfect equal,
    I meant that you should discover me so by faint indirections,
    And I when I meet you mean to discover you by the like in you.
    "AMONG THE MULTITUDE" by Walt Whitman


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