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Walt Whitman - These, I, Singing in Spring.

THESE, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers, 
(For who but I should understand lovers, and all their sorrow and joy? 
And who but I should be the poet of comrades?) 
Collecting, I traverse the garden, the world—but soon I pass the gates, 
Now along the pond-side—now wading in a little, fearing not the wet,
Now by the post-and-rail fences, where the old stones thrown there, pick’d from the
	fields,
	have accumulated, 
(Wild-flowers and vines and weeds come up through the stones, and partly cover
    them—Beyond
	these I pass,) 
Far, far in the forest, before I think where I go, 
Solitary, smelling the earthy smell, stopping now and then in the silence, 
Alone I had thought—yet soon a troop gathers around me,
Some walk by my side, and some behind, and some embrace my arms or neck, 
They, the spirits of dear friends, dead or alive—thicker they come, a great crowd,
    and I
	in the
	middle, 
Collecting, dispensing, singing in spring, there I wander with them, 
Plucking something for tokens—tossing toward whoever is near me; 
Here! lilac, with a branch of pine,
Here, out of my pocket, some moss which I pull’d off a live-oak in Florida, as it
    hung
	trailing
	down, 
Here, some pinks and laurel leaves, and a handful of sage, 
And here what I now draw from the water, wading in the pondside, 
(O here I last saw him that tenderly loves me—and returns again, never to separate
    from
	me, 
And this, O this shall henceforth be the token of comrades—this Calamus-root shall,
Interchange it, youths, with each other! Let none render it back!) 
And twigs of maple, and a bunch of wild orange, and chestnut, 
And stems of currants, and plum-blows, and the aromatic cedar: 
These, I, compass’d around by a thick cloud of spirits, 
Wandering, point to, or touch as I pass, or throw them loosely from me,
Indicating to each one what he shall have—giving something to each; 
But what I drew from the water by the pond-side, that I reserve, 
I will give of it—but only to them that love, as I myself am capable of loving.

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Added: Feb 7 2004 | Viewed: 6021 times | Comments and analysis of These, I, Singing in Spring. by Walt Whitman Comments (34)

These, I, Singing in Spring. - Comments and Information

Poet: Walt Whitman
Poem: 4. These, I, Singing in Spring.
Volume: Leaves of Grass
- 3. Calamus
Year: Published/Written in 1900

Comment 34 of 34, added on August 1st, 2014 at 1:15 PM.
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Comment 33 of 34, added on November 21st, 2013 at 3:22 AM.
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Comment 32 of 34, added on October 31st, 2013 at 7:31 PM.
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xrmSSC Great, thanks for sharing this article.Thanks Again. Cool.

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