PENSIVE and faltering,
The words, the dead, I write;
For living are the Dead;
(Haply the only living, only real,
And I the apparition--I the spectre.)
More verses by Walt Whitman
- Once I Pass'D Through A Populous City
- My Picture-Callery
- World, Take Good Notice
- Night On The Prairies
- Spirit Whose Work Is Done