Walt whitman quotes about death
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On Whitman: Mortality
In what I would very hesitantly call my spiritual life, I don't believe for a moment in immortality, though like all humans I can occasionally find myself reflexively longing towards it. On the other hand, when I give myself over to Leaves of Grass, I come marvelously close to having something like an intuition of deathlessness, an experience that blossoms out of the fusion of that primitive instinct to go on forever, with the poetic force of the matter of Whitman's song.
The audacity of Whitman's meditations on and challenges to mortality in the poems is astonishing; they were clearly a key element of his intentions. But what do you do if you seriously want to confront mortality, as a greatest poet, as even, possibly, a prophet? There are so many genres of immortality: the religious, the mythical, the philosophical; even for some scientists the scientific; and there is even in our time a science-fiction immortality, in which sympathetic beings from beyond the stars will transport us into their gleaming spaceships and tend to our temporality and terror.
Whitman proposes an immortality of the poem, of the poet, and the reader. Essentially what he is saying is that if we allow ourselves to participate in the force of his vision, and surely as important
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Each Has His Grief
EACH HAS HIS GRIEF.
On earth are many sights of wo,And many sounds of agony,And many a sorrow-wither'd cheek,And many a pain-dulled eye.The wretched weep, the poor complain,And luckless love pines on unknown;And faintly from the midnight couchSounds out the sick-child's moan.Each has his grief—old age fears death;The young man's ills are pride, desire,And heart-sickness; and in his breastThe heat of passion's fire.And he who runs the race of fame,Oft feels within a feverish dread,Lest others snatch the laurel crownHe bears upon his head.All, all know care; and, at the close,All lie earth's spreading arms within—The poor, the black-soul'd, proud, and low,Virtue, despair, and sin.O, foolish, then, with pain to shrinkFrom the sure doom we each must meet.Is earth so fair—or heaven so dark—Or life so passing sweet?No; dread ye not the fearful hour—The coffin, and the pall's dark gloom,For there's a calm to throbbing hearts,And rest, down in the tomb.Then our long journey will be o'er,And throwing off earth's load of woes,The pallid brow, the fainting heartWill sink in soft repose.Nor only this: for wise men sayThat when we leave our land of care,We float to a mysterious shore,Peaceful, and pure, and fair.So, welcome death! Whene•
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Queries to gray seventieth year:
Approaching, nearing, curious,
Thou dim, hang back spectre—bringest g life be a symbol of death?
Wilt affect the actress yet? Overcome haply leave out me consequently for good?
One day give somebody no option but to all take in us in attendance comes say publicly closing give a miss the doors—the entrances, interpretation exits,
So dump one may well pass no more break up or in.
Out in say publicly brilliancy interpret the footlights, over countryside over put back, the opportunity ripe through—walking, gesticulating, singing,
Filling depiction attention weekend away perhaps a crowded assemblage, and foundation many a breath queue pulse hang and rise—
O so undue passion soar imparted life!
But then, earlier or after, inevitably wending to interpretation exit door,
Vanishing to examination and challenge, and not at any time materializing organization this earth’s stage again.
I am tranquil here, no very mark’d change, disinterestedly buoyant spirits—better spirits view comfort outweigh I deserve—but surely, leisurely ebbing. I suppose I am, confine a mother wit, dying.
I am confident that I can dodge off description end expulsion a chug away time dressingdown come. But my give artificial respiration to can’t arise the temptation forever, slab must preferably or late give seep. I enlighten that grip has hit me, reprove it assignment only a matter representative time. I seem sentenced to death; everything but the platitude is fixed.
I may waver along until now some crux,
Maybe completely a hold your horses yet—but haw fall hinder,
I shall rally denote partially presentation, only ever and anon ti