Poem: Walt Whitman, Miracles

“As for me, I know nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under the trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love,
Or sleep in bed at night with any one I love,
Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon…
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown,
Or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring…
What stranger miracles are there?”
– Walt Whitman

6 thoughts on “Poem: Walt Whitman, Miracles”

  1. Reblogged this on Teacher as Transformer and commented:
    There is a Thich Nhat Hanh quality in this Walt Whitman poem. We find the extraordinary in the ordinary, what we often overlook and take-for-granted in our daily lives. When we open our senses more fully, we take in the world we live in in more intimate and sensous ways.

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