I Hear America Singing by Walt Whitman

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, 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 ready for work, or leaves off
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 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 to none 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.


This poem can be found in the volume, Leaves of Grass: The Complete Deathbed Edition.

Think about how the poem made you feel. Could you hear the singing and feel thir joy? Or did you find yourself wondering if they found themselves wishing for an out to their current station and vocation – one perhaps in the arts?

May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *