Everything that is alive and breathing is a miracle to him, and the beauty and majesty of the stars shining in the heavens is yet another miraculous mystery. When the poet is finished with his descriptions, he expresses his belief that all of creation- every inch of the space speaks of the Mighty Creator and is, therefore, a miracle.
He testifies that each of these things is, in its own way, a miracle to him, like the way that day, night, space, and time seem to work together in harmony. What does Walt Whitman think about miracles? To Whitman, miracles do happen all the time, in every cubic-inch of the space. He draws out the theme of miracles from every-day life.
To him, human affection is a miracle, the setting of the sun, the rising of the moon and the shining of the stars are miracles. A thing of joy and all the man-made and natural wonders are miracles to the poet. Make lists of these. Notice how Whitman moves from one to another. He sees miracles in the streets of Manhattan.
He is amazed by the architecture of men. When he mentions dining together he alludes to the miracle of human emotion and ability to love another human being. He wonders about the oceanic worlds.
Everything that is alive and breathing is a miracle to him, and the beauty and majesty of the sun, the moon and the stars shining in the heavens is yet another miraculous mystery.
The poet loves people from all walks of life, belonging to the different social strata. Question: In Walt Whitman's poem "Miracles" the line, "Or wade with naked feet along the beach," appears. Does this imply the poet can feel the sand on his feet? Answer: In the first six lines of Whitman's "Miracles," the speaker of the poem demonstrates that he considers all natural and even man-made phenomena around him to be miracles.
At first, he bemoans the fact that so many of his fellows fail to take that view but nevertheless, he does. He, in fact, knows "of nothing else but miracles. Question: Is there anything that the speaker in the poem "Miracles" finds not to be a miracle? Answer: If there is, he does not bother to mention it or even hint that such a thing exists. For this speaker, everything is, indeed, a miracle and thus everything is holy.
This is a pantheistic view, akin to the Eastern religious tenets of Hinduism and Buddhism. Question: Does Walt Whitman think only supernatural things are holy miracles in his poem, "Miracles"? Answer: No, not at all. The speaker asserts and defends the idea that all aspects of creation are miracles, not just the so-called "supernatural.
Answer: Almost as an afterthought, the speaker asserts that to him the sea is a continual miracle with swimming fish, its rocks, the waves, and the ships that have men in them. Question: What literary device is used in the line, "the sea is a continual miracle" in W.
Davies' poem "Leisure"? Question: What do the lines about Manhattan and the subway car tell us about Whitman's feelings for the people? Answer: Walt Whitman died in ; the New York subway system did not open until Therefore, the poet could not have rendered any lines about "the subway car" in his poem, "Miracles. Whitman loved people; thus any of his lines, in any of his poems that refer to people, are filled with that love for his fellow citizens.
The following lines from "Miracles" show Whitman's love of people as he demonstrates that the folks are included in his catalog of miracles:. Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best—mechanics, boatmen, farmers,. Marine Biology. Electrical Engineering. Computer Science. Medical Science. Writing Tutorials. Performing Arts. Visual Arts. Student Life. Vocational Training.
The living look upon the corpse with their eye-sight, But without eye-sight lingers a different living, and looks curiously on the corpse. To think that the rivers will flow, and the snow fall, and fruits ripen, and act upon others as upon us now—yet not act upon us! To think of all these wonders of city and country, and others taking great interest in them—and we taking no interest in them! To think how eager we are in building our houses!
To think others shall be just as eager, and we quite indifferent! I see one building the house that serves him a few years, or seventy or eighty years at most, I see one building the house that serves him longer than that. Slow-moving and black lines creep over the whole earth—they never cease—they are the burial lines, He that was President was buried, and he that is now President shall surely be buried.
Steady the trot to the cemetery, duly rattles the death-bell, the gate is pass'd, the new-dug grave is halted at, the living alight, the hearse uncloses, The coffin is pass'd out, lower'd and settled, the whip is laid on the coffin, the earth is swiftly shovel'd in, The mound above is flatted with the spades—silence, A minute—no one moves or speaks—it is done, He is decently put away—is there anything more?
He was a good fellow, free-mouth'd, quick-temper'd, not bad-looking, able to take his own part, witty, sensitive to a slight, ready with life or death for a friend, fond of women, gambled, ate hearty, drank hearty, had known what it was to be flush, grew low-spirited toward the last, sicken'd, was help'd by a contribution, died, aged forty-one years—and that was his funeral. Thumb extended, finger uplifted, apron, cape, gloves, strap, wet-weather clothes, whip carefully chosen, boss, spotter, starter, hostler, somebody loafing on you, you loafing on somebody, headway, man before and man behind, good day's work, bad day's work, pet stock, mean stock, first out, last out, turning-in at night; To think that these are so much and so nigh to other drivers—and he there takes no interest in them!
To think that other working-men will make just as great account of them—yet we make little or no account! The vulgar and the refined—what you call sin, and what you call goodness—to think how wide a difference!
To think the difference will still continue to others, yet we lie beyond the difference. To think how much pleasure there is! Have you pleasure from looking at the sky? Do you enjoy yourself in the city? Or with your mother and sisters? Your farm, profits, crops,—to think how engross'd you are! To think there will still be farms, profits, crops—yet for you, of what avail? The sky continues beautiful, The pleasure of men with women shall never be sated, nor the pleasure of women with men, nor the pleasure from poems, The domestic joys, the daily housework or business, the building of houses—these are not phantasms—they have weight, form, location; Farms, profits, crops, markets, wages, government, are none of them phantasms, The difference between sin and goodness is no delusion, The earth is not an echo—man and his life, and all the things of his life, are well-consider'd.
You are not thrown to the winds—you gather certainly and safely around yourself; Yourself! Yourself, forever and ever! The threads that were spun are gather'd, the weft crosses the warp, the pattern is systematic. The preparations have every one been justified, The orchestra have sufficiently tuned their instruments—the baton has given the signal. The guest that was coming—he waited long, for reasons—he is now housed, He is one of those who are beautiful and happy—he is one of those that to look upon and be with is enough.
The law of the past cannot be eluded, The law of the present and future cannot be eluded, The law of the living cannot be eluded—it is eternal, The law of promotion and transformation cannot be eluded, The law of heroes and good-doers cannot be eluded, The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons—not one iota thereof can be eluded. The great masters and kosmos are well as they go—the heroes and good-doers are well, The known leaders and inventors, and the rich owners and pious and distinguish'd, may be well, But there is more account than that—there is strict account of all.
The interminable hordes of the ignorant and wicked are not nothing, The barbarians of Africa and Asia are not nothing, The common people of Europe are not nothing—the American aborigines are not nothing, The infected in the immigrant hospital are not nothing—the murderer or mean person is not nothing, The perpetual successions of shallow people are not nothing as they go, The lowest prostitute is not nothing—the mocker of religion is not nothing as he goes.
If otherwise, all came but to ashes of dung, If maggots and rats ended us, then Alarum! Then indeed suspicion of death. Do you suspect death? If I were to suspect death, I should die now, Do you think I could walk pleasantly and well-suited toward annihilation? How beautiful and perfect are the animals! How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon it! What is called good is perfect, and what is called bad is just as perfect, The vegetables and minerals are all perfect, and the imponderable fluids are perfect; Slowly and surely they have pass'd on to this, and slowly and surely they yet pass on.
The trees have, rooted in the ground! I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!
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