My Picture-callery

Walt Whitman

   IN a little house keep I pictures suspended, it is not a fix'd house,
   It is round, it is only a few inches from one side to the other;
   Yet behold, it has room for all the shows of the world, all memories?
   Here the tableaus of life, and here the groupings of death;
   Here, do you know this? this is cicerone himself,
   With finger rais'd he points to the prodigal pictures.

Next 10 Poems

• Walt Whitman : Myself And Mine
• Walt Whitman : Native Moments
• Walt Whitman : Night On The Prairies
• Walt Whitman : No Labor-saving Machine
• Walt Whitman : Not Heat Flames Up And Consumes
• Walt Whitman : Not Heaving From My Ribb'd Breast Only
• Walt Whitman : Not My Enemies Ever Invade Me
• Walt Whitman : Not The Pilot
• Walt Whitman : Not Youth Pertains To Me
• Walt Whitman : Now Finale To The Shore

Previous 10 Poems

• Walt Whitman : Mother And Babe
• Walt Whitman : Miracles
• Walt Whitman : Mediums
• Walt Whitman : Me Imperturbe
• Walt Whitman : Mannahatta
• Walt Whitman : Manhattan Streets I Saunter'd, Pondering
• Walt Whitman : Look Down, Fair Moon
• Walt Whitman : Long, Too Long, O Land!
• Walt Whitman : Long I Thought That Knowledge
• Walt Whitman : Locations And Times