Leaves Of Grass : Walt Whitman

I CELEBRATE 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.


Houses and rooms are full of perfumes—the shelves are crowded with perfumes;
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it;
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.


The atmosphere is not a perfume—it has no taste of the distillation—it is odorless;
It is for my mouth forever—I am in love with it;
I will go to the bank by the wood, and become undisguised and naked;

I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

'I Celebrate myself ' These lines from the book Leaves Of Grass makes stand Walt whitman tall in comparison to all the poets.

Today, more than a century after the publication of the final edition of Leaves Of Grass, Whitman's place in American literary history often seems as nebulous and enigmatic as the ideas upon which America was founded. Numerous poets since Whitman have consciously either placed themselves in the wake of his tradition or reacted violently against him, and the aesthetic value of Whitman's poetry continues to be a controversial subject. The intention of this exhibit is not to make a critical appraisal of Whitman's work; instead, it is hoped that the materials assembled here will help explain the phenomenon which was Walt Whitman. While the subject matter and themes present in Whitman's poetry reflect the historical attitudes and concerns of his day, the books themselves are also artifacts of a fascination and extremely dynamic period of American publishing history.

This book, I love a lot.