Not the Pilot
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Jump to navigationJump to searchby Walt Whitman.
Not the pilot has charged himself to bring his ship into port,
though beaten back and many times baffled;
Not the pathfinder penetrating inland weary and long,
By deserts parch’d, snows chill’d, rivers wet, perseveres till he
reaches his destination,
More than I have charged myself, heeded or unheeded, to compose
march for these States,
For a battle-call, rousing to arms if need be, years, centuries hence.
| from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman | |
| As Toilsome I Wander’d Virginia’s Woods | Year That Trembled and Reel’d Beneath Me 
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