Walt Whitman: Всі вірші поета

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I SIT and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all

oppression and shame;

I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at anguish with

themselves, remorseful after deeds done;

I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying,

neglected, gaunt, desperate;

I see the wife misused by her husband—I see the treacherous seducer

of young women;

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,

I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,

Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,

I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,