walt whitman essay

Poems & Poets

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d

1 When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d, And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night, I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, And thought of him I love. 2 O powerful western fallen star! O shades of night—O moody, tearful night! O great star disappear’d—O the black murk that hides the star! O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me! O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul. 3 In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash’d palings, Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love, With every leaf a miracle—and from this bush in the dooryard, With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, A sprig with its flower I break. 4 In the swamp in secluded recesses, A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. Solitary the thrush, The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, Sings by himself a song. Song of the bleeding throat, Death’s outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know, If thou wast not granted to sing thou would’st surely die.) 5 Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities, Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep’d from the ground, spotting the gray debris, Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass, Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen, Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards, Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave, Night and day journeys a coffin. 6 Coffin that passes through lanes and streets, Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land, With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in black, With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil’d women standing, With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night, With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads, With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces, With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn, With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour’d around the coffin, The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—where amid these you journey, With the tolling tolling bells’ perpetual clang, Here, coffin that slowly passes, I give you my sprig of lilac. 7 (Nor for you, for one alone, Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring, For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane and sacred death. All over bouquets of roses, O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies, But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first, Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes, With loaded arms I come, pouring for you, For you and the coffins all of you O death.) 8 O western orb sailing the heaven, Now I know what you must have meant as a month since I walk’d, As I walk’d in silence the transparent shadowy night, As I saw you had something to tell as you bent to me night after night, As you droop’d from the sky low down as if to my side, (while the other stars all look’d on,) As we wander’d together the solemn night, (for something I know not what kept me from sleep,) As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west how full you were of woe, As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze in the cool transparent night, As I watch’d where you pass’d and was lost in the netherward black of the night, As my soul in its trouble dissatisfied sank, as where you sad orb, Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone. 9 Sing on there in the swamp, O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call, I hear, I come presently, I understand you, But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain’d me, The star my departing comrade holds and detains me. 10 O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved? And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone? And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love? Sea-winds blown from east and west, Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till there on the prairies meeting, These and with these and the breath of my chant, I’ll perfume the grave of him I love. 11 O what shall I hang on the chamber walls? And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls, To adorn the burial-house of him I love? Pictures of growing spring and farms and homes, With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright, With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air, With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific, In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there, With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows, And the city at hand with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys, And all the scenes of life and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning. 12 Lo, body and soul—this land, My own Manhattan with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships, The varied and ample land, the South and the North in the light, Ohio’s shores and flashing Missouri, And ever the far-spreading prairies cover’d with grass and corn. Lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty, The violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes, The gentle soft-born measureless light, The miracle spreading bathing all, the fulfill’d noon, The coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars, Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land. 13 Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird, Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes, Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines. Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song, Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe. O liquid and free and tender! O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer! You only I hear—yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,) Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me. 14 Now while I sat in the day and look’d forth, In the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and the farmers preparing their crops, In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests, In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds and the storms,) Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women, The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail’d, And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor, And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages, And the streets how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent—lo, then and there, Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest, Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail, And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death. Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me, And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me, And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions, I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not, Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness, To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still. And the singer so shy to the rest receiv’d me, The gray-brown bird I know receiv’d us comrades three, And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I love. From deep secluded recesses, From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still, Came the carol of the bird. And the charm of the carol rapt me, As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night, And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird. Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later delicate death. Prais’d be the fathomless universe, For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, And for love, sweet love—but praise! praise! praise! For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly. Approach strong deliveress, When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead, Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee, Laved in the flood of thy bliss O death. From me to thee glad serenades, Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee, And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting, And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. The night in silence under many a star, The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know, And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil’d death, And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. Over the tree-tops I float thee a song, Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide, Over the dense-pack’d cities all and the teeming wharves and ways, I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee O death. 15 To the tally of my soul, Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night. Loud in the pines and cedars dim, Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume, And I with my comrades there in the night. While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, As to long panoramas of visions. And I saw askant the armies, I saw as in noiseless dreams hundreds of battle-flags, Borne through the smoke of the battles and pierc’d with missiles I saw them, And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody, And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,) And the staffs all splinter’d and broken. I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them, And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them, I saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of the war, But I saw they were not as was thought, They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer’d not, The living remain’d and suffer’d, the mother suffer’d, And the wife and the child and the musing comrade suffer’d, And the armies that remain’d suffer’d. 16 Passing the visions, passing the night, Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades’ hands, Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my soul, Victorious song, death’s outlet song, yet varying ever-altering song, As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night, Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy, Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven, As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses, Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves, I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring. I cease from my song for thee, From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee, O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night. Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night, The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird, And the tallying chant, the echo arous’d in my soul, With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe, With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird, Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, for the dead I loved so well, For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands—and this for his dear sake, Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul, There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.

Walt Whitman: Life of an American Poet Essay (Biography)

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Walt Whitman was an American poet born on May 31 1819 to Walter Whitman and Louisa Van Velsor in Long Island. He had a rough childhood due to economic hardships and finished his formal education at eleven years. He found a job after school to supplement his family’s income as an office boy. Later he got a job as an apprentice for a printing firm and began his interest in writing.

However, he began to teach after a fire destroyed the printing district in New York in 1836 at seventeen years. He also started his own newspaper. His work raised a lot of controversy when he wrote it but he often considered as the “father of free verse” (Reynolds 314).

The aim of writing was to reach the common person whom he felt had been ignored by the literature of his time. Whitman was interested in politics and used his works to address political and democracy issues in the society.

His major work was his collection of poems called titled Leaves of Grass in 1855. The collection attracted negative criticism from many critics as they called the work obscene due to its sexual themes, which they found offensive. Consequently, he was sacked from his job at Brooklyn Eagle (Jason 87-91).

However, one man by the name of Ralph Waldo Emerson gave Whitman’s poetry collection an approval and praised the work to his friends. The approval raised an interest in the book. Emerson gave the book his approval when he wrote Whitman a letter praising the book.

Thus, Emerson contributed greatly to Whitman’s career as the letter which written by Emerson was printed in the subsequent edition and helped to mitigate the negative criticism his first edition had attracted and made a positive statement about Whitman’s collection of poems.

The environment also influenced Whitman’s work. His milieu was one of mortality as he had encountered death when his infant sister when he was six years old. He also lost member of his family and other relatives. In addition while working as a printer he encountered stories about people that impacted his poetry for instance the poem Song of Myself, in which he shows violent ends.

Whitman encountered wounded and dying soldiers as he served as volunteer nurse and thus had a direct contact with the blood bath as shown in the poem A March in the Ranks Hard-Prest in which he expressed his disdain for the war (Scheick 173).

Whitman faced challenges throughout his life such as loss of employment and at times he just got by life through the help of his friends who would send him money from England and America. However, that did not deter him as he sought to help those in need. He was very interested in the lives of the people and the civil war changed him as he started taking care often people wounded in the war.

He volunteered as a nurse as army hospitals and used his money and donations from friends to buy supplies for the wounded (Callow 293). He also took care of his mother and brother and thus did not neglect his family.

Finally, Whitman passed on in March 26, 1892 from pneumonia. He left a lasting legacy because his works reflected the American society. He highlighted the plight of the oppressed such as the slaves thus his works championed for democracy in the society to give all people a fair chance. Thus, one cannot deny the fact that Whitman is one of the most influential American poets and the interest in his works today is proof.

Works Cited

Callow, Philip. From Noon to Starry Night: A Life of Walt Whitman . Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 1992.

Jason, Stacy. Walt Whitman’s Multitudes: Labor Reform and Persona in Whitman’s Journalism and the First Leaves of Grass, 1840-1855 . New York: Peter Lang Publishing, 2008.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America: A Cultural Biography . New York: Vintage Books, 1995.

Scheick, William J. “Aspiz Harod. So Long! L Walt Whitman’s poetry of death.” Walt Whitman Quarterly Review , 21. 3 (2004): 173-175.

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Walt Whitman on How Literature Bolsters Democracy and Why a Robust Society Is a Feminist Society

By maria popova.

In 1855, Walt Whitman (May 31, 1819–March 26, 1892) made his debut as a poet and self-published Leaves of Grass . Amid the disheartening initial reception of pervasive indifference pierced by a few shrieks of criticism, the young poet received an extraordinary letter of praise and encouragement from his idol — Ralph Waldo Emerson , the era’s most powerful literary tastemaker. This gesture of tremendous generosity was a creative life-straw for the dispirited artist, who soon became one of the nation’s most celebrated writers and went on to be remembered as America’s greatest poet.

In the late 1860s, working as a federal clerk and approaching his fiftieth birthday, Whitman grew increasingly concerned that America’s then-young democracy had grown in danger of belying the existential essentials of the human spirit. He voiced his preoccupations in a masterful and lengthy essay titled Democratic Vistas , later included in the indispensable Library of America volume Walt Whitman: Poetry and Prose ( free ebook | public library ).

Both Whitman’s spirited critique of American democracy and his proposed solution — which calls for an original and ennobling national body of literature as the means to cultivating the people’s mentality, character, and ideals — ring remarkably true today, perhaps even truer amid our modern disenchantment and dearth of idealism, accentuated by the spectacle of an election season.

Literature, Whitman argues, constructs the scaffolding of society’s values and “has become the only general means of morally influencing the world” — its archetypal characters shape the moral character and political ideals of a culture. Long after the political structures of the ancient world have crumbled, he reminds us, what remains of Ancient Greece and Rome and the other great civilizations is their literature. He writes:

At all times, perhaps, the central point in any nation, and that whence it is itself really sway’d the most, and whence it sways others, is its national literature, especially its archetypal poems. Above all previous lands, a great original literature is surely to become the justification and reliance, (in some respects the sole reliance,) of American democracy. Few are aware how the great literature penetrates all, gives hue to all, shapes aggregates and individuals, and, after subtle ways, with irresistible power, constructs, sustains, demolishes at will. […] In the civilization of to-day it is undeniable that, over all the arts, literature dominates, serves beyond all — shapes the character of church and school — or, at any rate, is capable of doing so. Including the literature of science, its scope is indeed unparallel’d.

Lamenting the vacant materialism of consumer society, Whitman writes:

We had best look our times and lands searchingly in the face, like a physician diagnosing some deep disease. Never was there, perhaps, more hollowness at heart than at present, and here in the United States. Genuine belief seems to have left us. The underlying principles of the States are not honestly believ’d in, (for all this hectic glow, and these melodramatic screamings,) nor is humanity itself believ’d in. […] Our New World democracy, however great a success in uplifting the masses out of their sloughs, in materialistic development, products, and in a certain highly-deceptive superficial popular intellectuality, is, so far, an almost complete failure in its social aspects, and in really grand religious, moral, literary, and esthetic results… In vain have we annex’d Texas, California, Alaska, and reach north for Canada and south for Cuba. It is as if we were somehow being endow’d with a vast and more and more thoroughly-appointed body, and then left with little or no soul. […] To take expression, to incarnate, to endow a literature with grand and archetypal models — to fill with pride and love the utmost capacity, and to achieve spiritual meanings, and suggest the future — these, and these only, satisfy the soul. We must not say one word against real materials; but the wise know that they do not become real till touched by emotions, the mind.

The savior of the nation’s soul, Whitman insists, is not the politician but the artist:

Should some two or three really original American poets, (perhaps artists or lecturers,) arise, mounting the horizon like planets, stars of the first magnitude, that, from their eminence, fusing contributions, races, far localities, &c., together they would give more compaction and more moral identity, (the quality to-day most needed,) to these States, than all its Constitutions, legislative and judicial ties, and all its hitherto political, warlike, or materialistic experiences.

In a sentiment that makes one shudder imagining what the poet would’ve made of Donald Trump’s presidential candidacy, Whitman writes:

I know nothing grander, better exercise, better digestion, more positive proof of the past, the triumphant result of faith in human kind, than a well-contested American national election. […] America, it may be, is doing very well upon the whole, notwithstanding these antics of the parties and their leaders, these half-brain’d nominees, the many ignorant ballots, and many elected failures and blatherers. It is the dilettantes, and all who shirk their duty, who are not doing well… America, if eligible at all to downfall and ruin, is eligible within herself, not without.

The sole antidote, Whitman reminds us, lies in our own hands and the ballots they hold — in not shirking our duty as voters. He shares his advice to the young:

Enter more strongly yet into politics… Always inform yourself; always do the best you can; always vote.

The role of government and those in power, he argues, is not to rule by authority alone — the mark of dictatorship rather than democracy — but “to train communities … beginning with individuals and ending there again, to rule themselves.” Above all, the task of democratic leadership is to bind “all nations, all men, of however various and distant lands, into a brotherhood, a family.” Many decades before women won the right to vote and long before Nikola Tesla’s feminist vision for humanity , Whitman argues that a robust democracy is one in which women are fully empowered and included in that “brotherhood” on equal terms:

I have sometimes thought … that the sole avenue and means of a reconstructed sociology depended, primarily, on a new birth, elevation, expansion, invigoration of woman… Great, great, indeed, far greater than they know, is the sphere of women.

Reflecting on the perils of inequality in any guise, for any group, he adds:

Of all dangers to a nation, as things exist in our day, there can be no greater one than having certain portions of the people set off from the rest by a line drawn — they not privileged as others, but degraded, humiliated, made of no account.

The supreme tool of reconstructing a more equal society, Whitman asserts, is literature — a body of literature that gives voice to the underrepresented, that elevates and expands and invigorates their spirits by mirroring them back to themselves as indelibly worthy of belonging to society. (I’m reminded of a contemporary counterpart: Jacqueline Woodson on why she writes characters of color .)

Whitman writes:

A new founded literature, not merely to copy and reflect existing surfaces, or pander to what is called taste … but a literature underlying life, religious, consistent with science, handling the elements and forces with competent power, teaching and training men — and, as perhaps the most precious of its results, achieving the entire redemption of woman … and thus insuring to the States a strong and sweet Female Race… — is what is needed.

But Whitman’s most pertinent point is that true dedication to democracy isn’t a mere fleeting fixture of election season. Rather, it permeates the very fabric of society and must be upheld in every aspect of our lives, at every moment — something best effected by literature:

Far, far, indeed, stretch, in distance, our Vistas! How much is still to be disentangled, freed! How long it takes to make this American world see that it is, in itself, the final authority and reliance! Did you, too, O friend, suppose democracy was only for elections, for politics, and for a party name? I say democracy is only of use there that it may pass on and come to its flower and fruits in manners, in the highest forms of interaction between men, and their beliefs — in religion, literature, colleges, and schools — democracy in all public and private life. […] The literature, songs, esthetics, &c., of a country are of importance principally because they furnish the materials and suggestions of personality for the women and men of that country, and enforce them in a thousand effective ways.

Democratic Vistas is a stirring and magnificently timely read in its entirety, as is all of Whitman’s Poetry and Prose . Complement it with James Baldwin and Margaret Mead on reimagining democracy for a post-consumerist culture , Carl Sagan on science as a tool of democracy , and Adrienne Rich on capitalism and freedom , then revisit Whitman’s raunchy ode to New York City and this beautiful illustrated tribute to his “Song of Myself.”

— Published February 24, 2016 — https://www.themarginalian.org/2016/02/24/walt-whitman-democratic-vistas/ —

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Biography of Walt Whitman, American Poet

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Walt Whitman (May 31, 1819–March 26, 1892) is one of the most significant American writers of the 19th century, and many critics consider him the nation's greatest poet. His book "Leaves of Grass," which he edited and expanded over the course of his life, is a masterpiece of American literature. In addition to writing poetry, Whitman worked as a journalist and volunteered in military hospitals .

Fast Facts: Walt Whitman

• Known For : Whitman is one of the most famous American poets of the 19th century.
• Born : May 31, 1819 in West Hills, New York
• Died : March 26, 1892 in Camden, New Jersey
• Published Works : Leaves of Grass, Drum-Taps, Democratic Vistas

Walt Whitman was born on May 31, 1819, in the village of West Hills on Long Island, New York, approximately 50 miles east of New York City. He was the second of eight children. Whitman’s father was of English descent, and his mother was Dutch. In later life, he would refer to his ancestors as having been early settlers of Long Island.

In 1822, when Walt was 2 years old, the Whitman family moved to Brooklyn, which was still a small town. Whitman would spend most of the next 40 years of his life in Brooklyn, which grew into a thriving city during that time.

After finishing public school in Brooklyn, Whitman began working at the age of 11. He was an office boy for a law office before becoming an apprentice printer at a newspaper. In his late teens, Whitman worked for several years as a schoolteacher in rural Long Island. In 1838, he founded a weekly newspaper on Long Island. He reported and wrote stories, printed the paper, and even delivered it on horseback. By the early 1840s, he had broken into professional journalism , writing articles for magazines and newspapers in New York.

Early Writings

Early writing efforts by Whitman were fairly conventional. He wrote about popular trends and contributed sketches about city life. In 1842, he wrote the temperance novel "Franklin Evans," which depicted the horrors of alcoholism. In later life, Whitman would denounce the novel as “rot,” but at the time it was a commercial success.

In the mid-1840s, Whitman became the editor of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle , but his political views, which were aligned with the upstart  Free Soil Party , eventually got him fired. He then took a job working at a newspaper in New Orleans. While he seemed to enjoy the exotic nature of the city, he was apparently homesick for Brooklyn. The job only lasted a few months.

By the early  1850s  he was still writing for newspapers, but his focus had turned to poetry. He often jotted down notes for poems inspired by the busy city life around him.

'Leaves of Grass'

In 1855, Whitman published the first edition of "Leaves of Grass." The book was unusual, as the 12 poems it included were untitled and were set in type (partly by Whitman himself) that looked more like prose than poetry.

Whitman had written a lengthy and remarkable preface, essentially introducing himself as an "American bard." For the frontispiece, he selected an engraving of himself dressed as a common worker. The green covers of the book were embossed with the title “Leaves of Grass.” Curiously, the title page of the book, perhaps because of an oversight, did not contain the author's name.

The poems in the original edition were inspired by the things Whitman found fascinating: the crowds of New York, the modern inventions the public marveled over, and the raucous politics of the 1850s. While Whitman apparently hoped to become the poet of the common man, his book went largely unnoticed.

However, "Leaves of Grass" did attract one major fan. Whitman admired the writer and speaker Ralph Waldo Emerson and sent him a copy of his book. Emerson read it, was greatly impressed, and wrote a letter to Whitman: "I greet you at the beginning of a great career."

Whitman produced approximately 800 copies of the first edition of "Leaves of Grass," and the following year he published a second edition, which contained 20 additional poems.

Evolution of 'Leaves of Grass'

Whitman saw "Leaves of Grass" as his life’s work. Rather than publishing new books of poems, he began a practice of revising the poems in the book and adding new ones in successive editions.

The third edition of the book was issued by a Boston publishing house, Thayer and Eldridge. Whitman traveled to Boston to spend three months in 1860 preparing the book, which contained more than 400 pages of poetry. Some of the poems in the 1860 edition referred to homosexuality, and while the poems were not explicit, they were nonetheless controversial.

In 1861 during the beginning of the Civil War, Whitman’s brother George enlisted in a New York infantry regiment. In December 1862, Walt, believing his brother may have been wounded at the  Battle of Fredericksburg , traveled to the front in Virginia.

The proximity to the war, to soldiers, and especially to the wounded had a profound effect on Whitman. He became deeply interested in helping the wounded and began volunteering in military hospitals in Washington. His visits with wounded soldiers would inspire a number of Civil War poems, which he would eventually collect in a book called "Drum-Taps."

As he traveled around Washington, Whitman would often see Abraham Lincoln passing by in his carriage. He had a deep respect for Lincoln and attended the president's second inauguration on March 4, 1865.

Whitman wrote an essay about the inauguration, which was published in The New York Times on Sunday, March 12, 1865. In his dispatch, Whitman noted, as others had, that the day had been stormy up until noon, when Lincoln was scheduled to take the oath of office for the second time. But Whitman added a poetic touch, noting that a peculiar cloud had appeared over Lincoln that day:

"As the President came out on the Capitol portico, a curious little white cloud, the only one in that part of the sky, appeared like a hovering bird, right over him."

Whitman saw significance in the odd weather and speculated that it was a profound omen of some sort. Within weeks, Lincoln would be dead, killed by an assassin (who also happened to be in the crowd at the second inauguration).

By the end of the Civil War, Whitman had found a comfortable job working as a clerk in a government office in Washington. That came to an end when the newly installed secretary of the interior, James Harlan, discovered that his office employed the author of "Leaves of Grass."

With the intercession of friends, Whitman got another federal job, this time serving as a clerk in the Department of Justice. He remained in government work until 1874, when ill health led him to resign.

Whitman’s problems with Harlan actually may have helped him in the long run, as some critics came to his defense. As later editions of "Leaves of Grass" appeared, Whitman became known as “America’s good gray poet.”

Plagued by health problems, Whitman moved to Camden, New Jersey, in the mid-1870s. When he died on March 26, 1892, the news of his death was widely reported. The San Francisco Call , in an obituary published on the front page of the March 27, 1892, paper, wrote:

“Early in life he decided that his mission should be to 'preach the gospel of democracy and of the natural man,' and he schooled himself for the work by passing all his available time among men and women and in the open air, absorbing into himself nature, character, art and indeed all that makes up the eternal universe.”

Whitman was interred in a tomb of his own design in Harleigh Cemetery in Camden, New Jersey.

Whitman’s poetry was revolutionary, both in subject and style. Though considered eccentric and controversial, he eventually became known as “America’s good gray poet.” When he died in 1892 at the age of 72, his death was front-page news across America. Whitman is now celebrated as one of the country's greatest poets, and selections from "Leaves of Grass" are widely taught in schools and universities.

• Kaplan, Justin. "Walt Whitman, a Life." Perennial Classics, 2003.
• Whitman, Walt. "The Portable Walt Whitman." Edited by Michael Warner, Penguin, 2004.
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Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman was born on May 31, 1819, in West Hills, on Long Island, New York. He was the second son of Walter Whitman, a house-builder, and Louisa Van Velsor. In the 1820s and 1830s, the family, which consisted of nine children, lived in Long Island and Brooklyn, where Whitman attended the Brooklyn public schools.

At the age of twelve, Whitman began to learn the printer’s trade and fell in love with the written word. Largely self-taught, he read voraciously, becoming acquainted with the works of  Homer ,  Dante ,  Shakespeare , and the Bible.

Whitman worked as a printer in New York City until a devastating fire in the printing district demolished the industry. In 1836, at the age of seventeen, he began his career as teacher in the one-room schoolhouses of Long Island. He continued to teach until 1841, when he turned to journalism as a full-time career. He founded a weekly newspaper, The Long-Islander , and later edited a number of Brooklyn and New York papers, including the Brooklyn Daily Eagle . In 1848, Whitman left the Brooklyn Daily Eagle to become editor of the New Orleans Crescent for three months. After witnessing the auctions of enslaved individuals in New Orleans, he returned to Brooklyn in the fall of 1848 and co-founded a “free soil” newspaper, the Brooklyn Freeman , which he edited through the next fall. Whitman’s attitudes about race have been described as “ unstable and inconsistent .” He did not always side with the abolitionists , yet he celebrated human dignity.

In Brooklyn, Whitman continued to develop the unique style of poetry that later so astonished Ralph Waldo Emerson . In 1855, Whitman took out a copyright on the first edition of Leaves of Grass , which consisted of twelve untitled poems and a preface. He published the volume himself, and sent a copy to Emerson in July of 1855. Whitman released a second edition of the book in 1856, containing thirty-two poems, a letter from Emerson praising the first edition, and a long open letter by Whitman in response. During his lifetime, Whitman continued to refine the volume, publishing several more editions of the book. Noted Whitman scholar, M. Jimmie Killingsworth writes that “the ‘merge,’ as Whitman conceived it, is the tendency of the individual self to overcome moral, psychological, and political boundaries. Thematically and poetically, the notion dominates the three major poems of 1855: ‘ I Sing the Body Electric ,’ ‘ The Sleepers ,’ and ‘Song of Myself,’ all of which were merged in the first edition under the single title ‘Leaves of Grass’ but were demarcated by clear breaks in the text and the repetition of the title.”

At the outbreak of the Civil War, Whitman vowed to live a “purged” and “cleansed” life. He worked as a freelance journalist and visited the wounded at New York City–area hospitals. He then traveled to Washington, D.C. in December 1862 to care for his brother, who had been wounded in the war.

Overcome by the suffering of the many wounded in Washington, Whitman decided to stay and work in the hospitals; he ended up staying in the city for eleven years. He took a job as a clerk for the Bureau of Indian Affairs within the Department of the Interior, which ended when the Secretary of the Interior, James Harlan, discovered that Whitman was the author of  Leaves of Grass , which Harlan found offensive. After Harlan fired him, he went on to work in the attorney general's office.

In 1873, Whitman suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed. A few months later he travelled to Camden, New Jersey, to visit his dying mother at his brother’s house. He ended up staying with his brother until the 1882 publication of  Leaves of Grass  (James R. Osgood), which brought him enough money to buy a home in Camden.

In the simple two-story clapboard house, Whitman spent his declining years working on additions and revisions to his deathbed edition of  Leaves of Grass  (David McKay, 1891–92) and preparing his final volume of poems and prose,  Good-Bye My Fancy  (David McKay, 1891). After his death on March 26, 1892, Whitman was buried in a tomb he designed and had built on a lot in Harleigh Cemetery.

Along with  Emily Dickinson , he is considered one of America’s most important poets.

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Walt Whitman summary

Walt Whitman , (born May 31, 1819, West Hills, Long Island, N.Y., U.S.—died March 26, 1892, Camden, N.J.), U.S. poet, journalist, and essayist. Whitman lived in Brooklyn as a boy and left school at age 12. He went on to hold a great variety of jobs, including writing and editing for periodicals. His revolutionary poetry dealt with extremely private experiences (including sexuality) while celebrating the collective experience of an idealized democratic American life. His Leaves of Grass (1st ed., 1855), revised and much expanded in successive editions that incorporated his subsequent poetry, was too frank and unconventional to win wide acceptance in its day, but it was hailed by figures such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and exerted a strong influence on American and foreign literature. Written without rhyme or traditional metre, poems such as “I Sing the Body Electric” and “Song of Myself” assert the beauty of the human body, physical health, and sexuality; later editions included “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking,” and the elegies on Abraham Lincoln “O Captain! My Captain!” and “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d.” Whitman served as a volunteer in Washington hospitals during the Civil War. The prose Democratic Vistas (1871) and Specimen Days & Collect (1882–83) drew on his wartime experiences and subsequent reflections. His powerful influence in the 20th century can be seen in the work of poets as diverse as Pablo Neruda , Fernando Pessoa, and Allen Ginsberg.

Walt Whitman: Poems

By walt whitman, walt whitman: poems essay questions.

Discuss the role of the human body in Whitman's poetry and its significance in his portrayal of the soul.

Whitman believed that the human body was the physical manifestation of the soul. According to him, the soul used the body as a tool for experiencing the world, so the two are inextricably linked. Because of this, the body is just as sacred as the soul in Whitman's poetry. Unlike many poets of his time, Whitman wrote freely about all aspects of the human body, including sexual desire. In poems like "I Sing the Body Electric," Whitman openly addresses human sensuality, which was uncommon during this time. Whitman also describes the male and female form as equal. Gender equality was also a radical idea in Whitman's time.

Describe the role of patriotism in Whitman's poetry.

Patriotism, American pride, and democracy all figure very prominently into Whitman's poetry. Whitman harbored extremely democratic ideals, and believed that the democratic approach to anything was the best method. He also loved America, as evidenced through patriotic poems such as "Pioneers! O Pioneers!" and "I Hear America Singing." Whitman is widely considered one of the first truly American poets because of the subject matter of his poems, in which he paints a diverse American landscape and celebrates the common man. In his poems about wartime, he reminds his readers to remember the individual soldiers who gave their lives during the Civil War.

How are Whitman's poems typically structured? Was poetic structure important to Whitman?

"O Captain! My Captain!" is the only Walt Whitman poem that follows a regular meter and rhyme scheme. The rest of them are in free verse - with content presiding over structure. Whitman writes from his heart, not trimming or tailoring his lines. As a result, some lines in his poems are so long that they continue on to the following line. Whitman's style is prose-like because he meant for his poetry to be read aloud. He did not believe in limiting the flow of his poetry, instead expressing his thoughts, ideas, and postulations freely and honestly.

Describe Whitman's use of imagery in his poetry.

Walt Whitman was a very visual poet; he chose each word carefully in order to paint a picture in the reader's mind. His poetry focuses very heavily on nature and the physical world. Whitman believed that the physical world was a source of connection between humans, and he harnesses that power in his poems, like "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry" and "A child said, 'what is grass?'" Whitman's use of imagery in his poetry reveals his own connection to his environment, and shows how receptive he was to sensory information. He inspires all the senses in his work because he wanted it to be experiential and impactful - beyond words on a page.

How does Whitman incorporate the Civil War into his poetry, and what does his work say about his opinion of war overall?

The Civil War was raging for a good portion of Whitman's career, so many of his poems focus on the conflict, its beginnings, and its bloody aftermath. Whitman viewed war as utterly unnecessary and regrettably catastrophic; he composed poems such as "Ashes of Soldiers" that lamented the human losses that resulted from even a victorious outcome. In addition, Whitman incorporates prominent themes of unity into his poetry; this was especially relevant at this point in history, when America was deeply divided and feelings of national unity were at an all-time low.

What is the significance of Whitman referring to his poems as "songs" and calling what he does "singing" instead of writing?

By likening his poetry to music, Whitman indicates how he wants his readers to experience it. He saw his poems as more than words on a page; he intended his reader to hear them musically - flowing and melodic, just like a song. To him, poetry was akin to music in that it should be heard and not just read. This is evident in "The Voice of the Rain," in which Whitman describes his poems as water that evaporates into the atmosphere when he releases them to the public, and the rain represents the love of his readers and listeners returning to him. It is fitting that Walt Whitman's poetry has been set to music more times than the work of nearly any other contemporary poet.

Discuss critical reception of Walt Whitman and the reasons behind the differing opinions.

Whitman gained a great deal of attention during his career, as his poetry was unconventional during that time period. Some critics and other poets found Whitman's work to be unkempt, rugged, and unruly because he always wrote in free verse without any regard to structure. Another major topic of public debate was the unveiled eroticism in Whitman's work. Whitman believed very strongly in the sanctity of the human body, so he wrote about it explicitly and elicited negative responses from conservative readers and critics. Since then, Whitman's poetry has since been lauded for the very things that readers condemned during Whitman's time. Over time, Whitman has been celebrated for his innovation and courage to break out of the established conventions of poetry.

Describe Whitman's relationship with his readers throughout Leaves of Grass .

Throughout this collection of poems, Whitman often addresses his reader directly. One example of this is "Thou Reader," which appears at the very end of the "Inscriptions" section. In it, Whitman dedicates his poetry to his readers. Because of their shared human experiences, Whitman felt that his readers would relate to many of his feelings and thoughts. As a poet, he did not feel that is his work somehow transcended the masses - he wrote for the common man. Whitman believed his readers were his equals, and often counted himself among them. This stems from Whitman's overarching viewpoint that all humans are connected and bonded - even though superficial differences may often overshadow these inherent similarities.

Discuss the significance of the all-encompassing "I" in Whitman's poetry.

The protagonist in most of Whitman's poems is the all-encompassing "I," which illustrates his belief in the collective self. Whitman supported the expression of individual opinions, but he also emphasized the shared responsibility of all individuals to participate in a democratic collectivity. The "I" allows Whitman to speak for a nation of people in the singular, and present national and collective ideals in a cohesive and unified manner. The "I" represents Whitman's frequent call for unity during a time when his beloved nation was deeply and violently divided.

How does Whitman's work express the poet's opinions on the purpose of life?

According to Whitman, the purpose of life is simply to be alive and to experience living. He explicitly states this belief in the poem "O Me! O Life!". His poetry often describes the simple joys of life. In "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry" he describes watching a beautiful sunset during his daily commute. Whitman encourages his readers to live in the present, experience the world, and enjoy existence. He likes to draw his reader's attention to the minute natural details that many tend to ignore - like the water beneath the ferry on a frequent commute or the grass surrounding our feet. Whitman wanted his poetry to forge connections across time and space - between strangers and generations.

Walt Whitman: Poems Questions and Answers

The Question and Answer section for Walt Whitman: Poems is a great resource to ask questions, find answers, and discuss the novel.

The Wound Dresser

D. empathetic

Why do you think Walt Whitman chose a spider to symbolize his soul?

Whitman chose the spider because like the spider, his soul is always trying to make connections to the world.

“Pioneers! O Pioneers!” why the repetition in the last lines?

Each stanza ends with the title line, "Pioneers! O Pioneers!" The repetition of this line accentuates the speaker's respect for the pioneers, as well as mimicking a rallying cry that brings them together and inspires them for the difficult journey...

Study Guide for Walt Whitman: Poems

Walt Whitman: Poems study guide contains a biography of Walt Whitman, literature essays, a complete e-text, quiz questions, major themes, characters, and a full summary and analysis.

• About Walt Whitman: Poems
• Walt Whitman: Poems Summary
• Walt Whitman: Poems Video
• Character List

Essays for Walt Whitman: Poems

Walt Whitman: Poems essays are academic essays for citation. These papers were written primarily by students and provide critical analysis of the poetry of Walt Whitman.

• An Analysis and Interpretation of Allen Ginsberg's America
• The Metaphor of Light in Whitman's Civil War Poems
• The Resposibilities of Creation
• An Explication of Walt Whitman's "Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun"
• The Deconstruction of Self in Walt Whitman's Song of Myself

Lesson Plan for Walt Whitman: Poems

• About the Author
• Study Objectives
• Common Core Standards
• Introduction to Walt Whitman: Poems
• Relationship to Other Books
• Bringing in Technology
• Notes to the Teacher
• Related Links
• Walt Whitman: Poems Bibliography

E-Text of Walt Whitman: Poems

Walt Whitman: Poems e-text contains the full text of select poems by Walt Whitman.

• Table of Contents
• Prefatory Notice
• Preface to Leaves of Grass
• Chants Democratic: Starting From Paumanok
• Chants Democratic: American Feuillage

Wikipedia Entries for Walt Whitman: Poems

• Introduction