THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou
lovest best.
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
More verses by Walt Whitman
- O Captain! My Captain!
- Song Of Myself, VIII
- Song Of Myself, IX
- Song Of Myself, XV
- Song Of Myself, XVII