Topic: Compassion

The Wound-Dresser

3On, on I go, (open doors of time! open hospital doors!) The crush’d head I dress (poor crazed hand tear not the bandage away), The neck of the cavalry-man with the bullet through and through I examine, Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life...

By Walt Whitman
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13 September

“O Christ! My fit is mastering me!”

O Christ! My fit is mastering me! What the rebel said gaily adjusting his throat to the rope-noose, What the savage at the stump, his eye-sockets empty, his mouth spirting whoops and defiance, What stills the traveler come to the vault at Mount Vernon, What sobers the Brooklyn boy...

By Walt Whitman
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16 January

To Any One Dying

Flaunt of the sunshine I need not your bask - lie over! You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also.Earth! you seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want?Man or woman, I might tell how I like you,...

By Walt Whitman
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10 November