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Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
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- Commercial Poetry
10 de jun. de 2017 · 1. ‘ Song of Myself ’. Where better to begin our pick of Whitman’s best poems than here, with the poem which seems best to embody his call for literary independence and self-expression? 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 loafe and invite my soul,
By Walt Whitman. 1. As I ebb’d with the ocean of life, As I wended the shores I know, As I walk’d where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok, Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant, Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways, I musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward,
Walt Whitman (1819-1892) first published "O Me! O Life!" in the 1867 edition of his famous collection Leaves of Grass. The poem's speaker wonders what the point of living is, when the world is so ugly and broken and nothing ever seems to get better.
O Life! by Walt Whitman is a poem where being capable of boosting the quality of “life” is presented through juxtaposed ideas. Specifically, the negatives of “life” are discussed as the forefront thoughts of the poem in striking juxtaposition to the “good” elements of “life” that are offered afterward for a strong contrast.
1 As I ebb’d with the ocean of life, As I wended the shores I know, As I walk’d where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok, Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant, Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways, I musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward, Held by this electric self out of the pride of which I utt...
Walt Whitman. 1819 –. 1892. O Me! O life! of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
