Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.

(Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself, sect. 18, Leaves of Grass (1855).)

Sex contains all, bodies, souls,
Meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal milk,
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves, beauties,
delights of the earth.

(Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. "A Woman Waits for Me.")

Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight?
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to
me.

(Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself (Fr. XXXV, l. 897-899). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.)

Beat! beat! drums!?blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows?through doors?burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;
Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet?no happiness must he have now with his bride;
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plough his field or gathering his
grain;
So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums?so shrill you bugles blow.

(Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Beat! Beat! Drums! (L. 1-7). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.)

Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gathered, it is the fourth of Seventh-month, (what salutes of cannon and small arms!)

(Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Song of Myself, sct. 15, Leaves of Grass (1855).)

O how can it be that the ground itself does not sicken?
How can you be alive you growths of spring?
How can you furnish health you blood of herbs, roots, orchards, grain?
Are they not continually putting distemper'd corpses within you?
Is not every continent work'd over and over with sour dead?

(Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. This Compost (l. 6-10). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.)

Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself,
It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically,
Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?

(Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. "Song of Myself," sct. 25, Leaves of Grass (1855).)

Open the envelope quickly,
O this is not our son's writing, yet his name is sign'd,
O a strange hand writes for our dear son, O stricken mother's soul!
All swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she catches the main
words only,
Sentences broken, gunshot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish, taken to hospital,
At present low, but will soon be better.

(Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Come Up from the Fields, Father (l. 16-21). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.)

Mind not the old man beseeching the young man;
Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties;
Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting
the hearses,
So strong you thump, O terrible drums?so loud you bugles blow.

(Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. Beat! Beat! Drums! (L. 18-21). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.)

I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all
oppression and shame,

(Walt Whitman (1819-1892), U.S. poet. I Sit and Look Out (l. 1). . . The Complete Poems [Walt Whitman]. Francis Murphy, ed. (1975; repr. 1986) Penguin Books.)