Walt Whitman: "I Hear America Singing"

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,

Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,

The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deck-hand singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,

The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

The day what belongs to the day --- at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

From Walt Whitman's "Miracles"

Why, who makes much of a miracle?

As to me I know of nothing else but miracles.

Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,

Or dart my sight over the roof of houses toward the sky,

Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,

Or stand under trees in the woods,

Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in the bed at night with anyone I love

Or sit at table with the rest,

Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car

Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,

Or animals feeding in the fields,

Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,

Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of the stars shining so quiet and bright,

Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;

These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles

The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place ...

Project Gutenberg - Walt Whitman

The Walt Whitman Archive