Shut Not Your Doors
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Jump to navigationJump to searchby Walt Whitman.
Shut not your doors to me proud libraries,
For that which was lacking on all your well-fill’d shelves, yet
needed most, I bring,
Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made,
The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing,
A book separate, not link’d with the rest nor felt by the intellect,
But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page.
| from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman | |
| Still Though the One I Sing | Poets to Come 
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