Walt Whitman

LEAVES OF GRASS
(1891-92 issue)
complete book, e-book

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47

 I am the teacher of athletes,
 He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own,
 He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
 
 The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power,
 but in his own right,
 Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear,
 Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak,
 Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel cuts,
 First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a
 skiff, to sing a song or play on the banjo,
 Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox over
 all latherers,
 And those well-tann'd to those that keep out of the sun.
 
 I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me?
 I follow you whoever you are from the present hour,
 My words itch at your ears till you understand them.
 
 I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while
 I wait for a boat,
 (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you,
 Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd.)
 
 I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a house,
 And I swear I will never (...)
(......)