Walt whitman prose works. Walt Whitman Archive 2022-11-02
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My best player is a person who has always stood out to me for their exceptional skills and dedication to their sport. This person is a talented athlete who consistently puts in the hard work and effort required to improve their game and reach their full potential. They are also a humble and gracious individual who is always willing to lend a helping hand to their teammates and opponents.
One of the things that sets this person apart as my best player is their natural talent and athleticism. From a young age, they have always excelled in their chosen sport, consistently outperforming their peers and rising to the top of their league. However, they have not relied solely on their natural abilities to succeed. They have worked tirelessly to hone their skills, attending countless practices and putting in extra time on their own to perfect their technique.
In addition to their exceptional athletic abilities, my best player is also a team player. They understand that success in sports is not just about individual achievement, but about working together with their teammates to achieve a common goal. They are always willing to put the needs of the team before their own, and their leadership and support have been invaluable to the success of the team.
My best player is also a role model for their positive attitude and sportsmanship. They are gracious in victory and defeat, and they always show respect for their opponents and the rules of the game. They understand that sports are meant to be fun and enjoyable, and they approach every game with a positive and enthusiastic attitude.
In conclusion, my best player is a truly exceptional individual who has made a lasting impact on me and my appreciation for sports. Their natural talent, dedication, teamwork, and sportsmanship make them a role model for all aspiring athletes to look up to.
Complete Prose Works by Walt Whitman
Off Hempstead beach for example, was the loss of the ship "Mexico" in 1840, alluded to in "the Sleepers" in L. A lieutenant, with yellow straps, rides at his left, and following behind, two by two, come the cavalry men, in their yellow-striped jackets. It is quite certain that from that beginning, and from Joseph, the West Hill Whitmans, and all others in Suffolk county, have since radiated, myself among the number. Poe, and having a short interview with him, it must have been in 1845 or '6, in his office, second story of a corner building, Duane or Pearl street. Probably another point, too, how we give long preparations for some object, planning and delving and fashioning, and then, when the actual hour for doing arrives, find ourselves still quite unprepared, and tumble the thing together, letting hurry and crudeness tell the story better than fine work. These two were dragg'd out on the ground on their backs, and were now surrounded by the guerillas, a demoniac crowd, each member of which was stabbing them in different parts of their bodies. It is, indeed, the best lesson of the century, or of America, and it is a mighty privilege to have been part of it.
One scene at his bedside will suffice for the agonies of nearly two years. To-day, as I write, hundreds more are expected, and to-morrow and the next day more, and so on for many days. For the benefit of some who had no papers, one of us read the telegram aloud, while all listen'd silently and attentively. And how full of breadth the scenery, everywhere distant mountains, everywhere convenient rivers. A SECESH BRAVE The grand soldiers are not comprised in those of one side, any more than the other. Here is the scene, or a sample of it, ten minutes after. About this Item Title: Complete Prose Works Author s : Walt Whitman Date: 1892 Whitman Archive ID: ppp.
Numerous children arriving on the ground, where a huge irregular excavation for the building was already dug, surrounded with heaps of rough stone, several gentlemen assisted in lifting the children to safe or convenient spots to see the ceremony. The men lying up and down the hospital, in their cots, some badly wounded—some never to rise thence, the cots themselves, with their drapery of white curtains, and the shadows down the lower and upper parts of the ward; then the silence of the men, and the attitudes they took—the whole was a sight to look around upon again and again. Sometimes one of his sons, a boy of ten or twelve, accompanies him, riding at his right on a pony. Where are the vaunts, and the proud boasts with which you went forth? The equipage is of the plainest kind, only two horses, and they nothing extra. I like to stand and look at the sight of one of these immense droves—a little way off— as the dust is great. And the men specially identified with them, and giving vitality and meaning to them—the drivers—a strange, natural, quick-eyed and wondrous race— not only Rabelais and Cervantes would have gloated upon them, but Homer and Shakspere would —how well I remember them, and must here give a word about them.
They put wash-kettles on the fire, for soup, for coffee. A Visit at the Last to R. I commenced at the close of 1862, and continued steadily through '63, '64 and '65, to visit the sick and wounded of the army, both on the field and in the hospitals in and around Washington city. Often I notice as he goes out evenings—and sometimes in the morning, when he returns early—he turns off and halts at the large and handsome residence of the Secretary of War, on K street, and holds conference there. The men, whatever their condition, lie there, and patiently wait till their turn comes to be taken up. At any rate I obey my happy hour's command, which seems curiously imperative.
He died soon after she came MY PREPARATIONS FOR VISITS. He dug with his heel in the ground during that time a hole big enough to put in a couple of ordinary knapsacks. He was editor and owner or part owner of "the Broadway Journal. The old Park theatre—what names, reminiscences, the words bring back! I read very slowly, for Oscar was feeble. America beauty better character clear close comes common crowded death democracy democratic entirely especially eyes face fact feel field friends future give ground half hand head hospital hour human hundred idea land late leave less light lines literature living look means miles mind moral Nature nearly never night officers pass past perfect perhaps poems poetry poets political present rest river scene seems seen sense side sight soldiers sometimes soul sound spirit stand street strong sure talk things thought thousand tion to-day trees true United whole wild wounded write York young There is scarcely any earthly object gives me more — I do not know if I should call it pleasure — but something which exalts me, something which enraptures me — than to walk in the sheltered side of a wood, or high plantation, in a cloudy winter day, and hear the stormy wind howling among the trees, and raving over the plain. The existence of slavery in New York at that time, and the possession by the family of some twelve or fifteen slaves, house and field servants, gave things quite a patriarchial look.
The Complete Prose Works of Walt Whitman, Vol. 5 (Classic Reprint)
In the stockade, containing the 11,000 men, there was a partial show of tents, not enough for 2000. My grandfather Cornelius and my grandmother Amy Naomi and numerous relatives nearer or remoter, on my mother's side, lie buried here. Several light-houses on the shores east; a long history of wrecks tragedies, some even of late years. The equipage is of the plainest kind, only two horses, and they nothing extra. I afterwards saw Meade's despatch, very modest, and a sort of order of the day from the President himself, quite religious, giving thanks to the Supreme, and calling on the people to do the same.
A NEW YORK SOLDIER This afternoon, July 22d, I have spent a long time with Oscar F. In his essay On Liberty, Mill says that in an age of conformity "exceptional individuals, instead of being deterred, should be encouraged in acting differently from the mass. There's a sense of individualism, of assertiveness - of masculinity, if you will - that evokes a moment of sympathy for men, or causes sanity to immediately prove unworthy. Little he knew, poor death-stricken boy, the heart of the stranger that hover'd near. I demand races of orbic bards, with unconditional uncompromising away. The vehicles still I write this paragraph in 1881 give a portion of the character of Broadway—the Fifth avenue, Madison avenue, and Twenty-third street lines yet running.
Yesterday was perhaps worse than usual. But on top of that" frischPhysiology" is far from being such a symbol, nor is Walt Whitman from taking such a position. But many a good day or half-day did I have, wandering through those solitary cross-roads, inhaling the peculiar and wild aroma. Delaware River—Days and Nights. He spent a few years teaching, but most of his work was either in journalism or politics. She smoked tobacco, rode on horseback like a man, managed the most vicious horse, and, becoming a widow in later life, went forth every day over her farm-lands, frequently in the saddle, directing the labor of her slaves, with language in which, on exciting occasions, oaths were not spared.
On the boat I had my hands full. Not a voice was rais'd against this judgment, amid that large crowd of officers and gentlemen. Unnamed Remains the Bravest Soldier. I write this paragraph on the burial hill of the Van Velsors, near Cold Spring, the most significant depository of the dead that could be imagin'd, without the slightest help from art, but far ahead of it, soil sterile, a mostly bare plateau-flat of half an acre, the top of a hill, brush and well grown trees and dense woods bordering all around, very primitive, secluded, no visitors, no road you cannot drive here, you have to bring the dead on foot, and follow on foot. He was now going home, and by the way he talk'd I inferr'd that his time was nearly out. Even all these are but a portion.
Meanwhile the Washington bells are ringing their sundown peals for Fourth of July, and the usual fusilades of boys' pistols, crackers, and guns. DEATH OF A WISCONSIN OFFICER Another characteristic scene of that dark and bloody 1863, from notes of my visit to Armory-square hospital, one hot but pleasant summer day. As you pass by, you must be on your guard where you look. But many a good day or half-day did I have, wandering through those solitary crossroads, inhaling the peculiar and wild aroma. By a fiction, or series of fictions, the national forces at the last moment exploded in a panic and fled from the field. Subsequent to October, '64, there were about 11,000 Union prisoners in the stockade; about 100 of them southern unionists, 200 U.
