Walt Whitman (May 31, 1819 – March 26, 1892) was an American poet, essayist, and journalist. Whitman is among the most influential poets in the American canon. In 1855, Whitman self-published the poetry collection Leaves of Grass, now a landmark in American literature.
In Whitman’s Song of Myself, he described his mystical experience:
“I believe in you my soul…
Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,
And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet.
Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love…”
Quoted from Song of Myself by Walt Whitman.
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