Poet’s Corner


I Hear America Singing


Walt Whitman

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,

Those of mechanic, each one singing his,

as it should be, blithe and strong,

The carpenter singing his, as he measures his

plank or beam,

The mason singing his, as he makes read for work,

or leaves off work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat

The deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench,

the hatter singing as he stands,

The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way

in the morning, or at the noon intermission,

or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife

at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and no one else,

The day what belongs to the day –

at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

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