ENG223

Miracles by Walt Whitman

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of 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 trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
     with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
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;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

This particular poem stands out to me, I think, simply because I am a fan of Walt Whitman's writing. Back when I was a freshman in high school my father gave me a copy of Whitman's book Leaves of Grass. Because I didn't see my father often, and because he had given it to me, it became an instant favorite. This particular poem for me seems to discuss the beauty and miraculous events and occurrences that happen in everyday life that we often take for granted or don't even notice. We're often consumed and busy with our own lives that we forget to watch what nature is doing around us, clearly this is the case or global warming wouldn't have reached the severity that it is today. I actually believe that selfishness is a part of human nature, maybe the instinct to look out for yourself, but in much of the western world self obsession is often front and center. As I read this poem I felt as though Whitman was saying "stop, look around you, because what is happening on it's own, every minute and second of the day, is a miracle in itself."

Other poems I chose were:
Tears, Idle Tears by Lord Alfred Tennyson
The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Good-Morrow by John Donne