Poem Lake | Page 2 | The Greatest Poems of All Time

Bivouac on a Mountain Side I see before me now a travelling army halting, Below a fertile valley spread, with barns and the orchards of summer, Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt, in places rising high, Broken, with rocks, with clinging cedars, with tall shapes dingily seen, ... Poet: Walt Whitman	A Sight in Camp in the Day-Break Gray and Dim A sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim, As from my tent I emerge so early sleepless, As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the hospital tent, Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there untended lying, Over each the blanket... Poet: Walt Whitman	O Captain! My Captain! O captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart!... Poet: Walt Whitman	After an Interval After an interval, reading, here in the midnight, With the great stars looking on—all the stars of Orion looking, And the silent Pleiades—and the duo looking of Saturn and ruddy Mars; Pondering, reading my own songs, after a long interval, (sorrow and death familiar now)... Poet: Walt Whitman
Darest Thou Now O Soul Darest thou now, O soul, Walk out with me toward the unknown region, Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow? No map there, nor guide, Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand, Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are... Poet: Walt Whitman	“When lilacs last in the door-yard bloomed” [The Death of Lincoln.] 1. WHEN lilacs last in the door-yard bloomed, And the great star early drooped in the western sky in the night, I mourned and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, ... Poet: Walt Whitman	What is the Grass? From “The Song of Myself” A CHILD said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it... Poet: Walt Whitman	“Out from behind this mask” To Confront His Own Portrait for “The Wound Dresser” in “Leaves of Grass” OUT from behind this bending, rough-cut mask, These lights and shades, this drama of the whole, This common curtain of the face, contained in me for me, in you for you, in each for each. (... Poet: Walt Whitman
Myself From “The Song of Myself” I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loaf and invite my soul, I lean and loaf at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My... Poet: Walt Whitman	Mannahatta I Was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name. Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient, I see that the word of my city is that word from of old, Because I... Poet: Walt Whitman