Walter+Whitman

Alexandra Tunkel, 7-3 Walter Whitman! **Born: May 31, 1819** **Died: March 26, 1892 ( 1892-03-26 ) (age 72)**

Biography:

Walter, called Walt, Whitman was born on May 31, 1819. He was born in Long Island, New York, where he lived for most of his life. His father, Walter Whitman Sr., was English and his mother, Louisa Van Velsor Whitman,was Dutch. He went to school until he was eleven, but moved frequently. While living in a small apartment in Brooklyn, NY, he worked as an apprentice to the editor of //Patriot// (a Long Island Newspaper), Samuel Clements. He also worked as an office boy for two lawyers.

At an older age, Walt founded his own Newspaper in Huntington, NY, called //The Long Islander.// He continued to work on newspapers during his early career.

Walter was not known for his newspaper work, but for his many amazing poems. One of Walter's most famous book of poems was called,"Leaves of Grass." This book included poems such as "O Captain! My Captain!" and "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd." There were at least five editions to this book of poems, because they never made much money. His mother was illiterate and never read any of his poems. Walt's main inspirations were Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War. He was even a volunteer nurse for the Union army.

Walt died on March 26, 1892 in Camden, New Jersey. Today, he is a famous poet who reminds us of our past.

Pictures:

Some of his most famous poems are listed below:


 * O Captain! My Captain! **

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

** This Dust Was Once the Man: ** This dust was once the man, Gentle, plain, just and resolute, under whose cautious hand, Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age, Was saved the Union of these States.

Credits: http://www.notablebiographies.com/We-Z/Whitman-Walt.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walt_Whitman