“I Sing the Body Electric” [in Full] by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

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1

I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me
and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them,
respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full
with the charge of the soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt
their own bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad
as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do fully
as much as the soul?
And if the body were not the soul,
what is the soul?

2

The love of the body of man or woman
balks account, the body itself balks,
account,
That of the male is perfect, and that of
the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account,
But the expression of a well-made man
appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is
curiously in the joints of his hips and
wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the
flex of his waist and knees, dress does not
hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes
through the cotton and broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best
poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of
his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms
and heads of women, the folds of their
dress, their style as we pass in the street,
the contour of their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath,
seen as he swims through the transparent
green-shine, or lies with his face up and
rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the
water,
The bending forward and backward of
rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his
saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their
performances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time
with their open dinner-kettles, and their
wives waiting,
The female soothing a child, the farmer's
daughter in the garden or cow-yard,
The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-
driver driving his six horses through the
crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-
boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured,
native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-
down after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the
embrace of love and resistance,
The upper-hold and the under-hold, the hair
rumpled over and blinding their eyes;
The march of firemen in their own
costumes, the play of masculine muscle
through clean-setting trowsers and waist-
straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause
when the bell strikes suddenly again, and
the listening on the alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the
bent head, the curv'd neck and the
counting;
Such-like I love -- I loosen myself, pass
freely, am at the mother's breast with the
little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with
wrestlers, march in line with the firemen,
and pause, listen, count.

3

I knew a man, a common farmer, the father 
of five sons,
And in them the fathers of sons, and in
them the fathers of sons.

This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness,
beauty of person,
The shape of his head, the pale yellow and
white of his hair and beard, the
immeasurable meaning of his black eyes,
the richness and breadth of his manners,
These I used to go and visit him to see, he
was wise also,
He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years
old, his sons were massive, clean,
bearded, tan-faced, handsome,
They and his daughters loved him, all who
saw him loved him,
They did not love him by allowance, they
loved him with personal love,
He drank water only, the blood show'd like
scarlet through the clear-brown skin of
his face,
He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he
sail'd his boat himself, he had a fine one
presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had
fowling-pieces presented to him by men
that loved him,
When he went with his five sons and many
grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would
pick him out as the most beautiful and
vigorous of the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with
him, you would wish to sit by him in the
boat that you and he might touch each
other.

4

I have perceiv'd that to be with those l like
is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening
is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious,
breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them or touch any one, or
rest my arm ever so lightly round his or
her neck for a moment, what is this then?
I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it
as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men
and women and looking on them, and in
the contact and odor of them, that
pleases the soul well,
All things please the soul, but these please
the soul well.

5

This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head
to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no
more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside
but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and
solid earth, and what was expected of
heaven or fear'd of hell, are now
consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play
out of it, the response likewise
ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent
falling hands all diffused, mine too
diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the
ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously
aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and
enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-
blow and delirious juice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely
and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding
day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-
flesh'd day.

This the nucleus -- after the child is born of
woman, man is born of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of
small and large, and the outlet again.

Be not ashamed women, your privilege
encloses the rest, and is the exit of the
rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are
the gates of the soul.

The female contains all qualities and
tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect
balance,
She is all things duly veil'd, she is both
passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons,
and sons as well as daughters.

As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with
inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the
breast, the Female I see.

6

The male is not less the soul nor more, he
too is in his place,
He too is all qualities, he is action and
power,
The flush of the known universe is in him,
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and
defiance become him well,
The wildest largest passions, bliss that is
utmost, sorrow that is utmost become
him well, pride is for him,
The full-spread pride of man is calming and
excellent to the soul,
Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always,
he brings every thing to the test of
himself,
Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and
the sail he strikes soundings at last only
here,
(Where else does he strike soundings except
here?)

The man's body is sacred and the woman's
body is sacred,
No matter who it is, it is sacred -- is it the
meanest one in the laborers' gang?
Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just
landed on the wharf?
Each belongs here or anywhere just as much
as the well-off, just as much as you,
Each has his or her place in the procession.

(All is a procession,
The universe is a procession with measured
and perfect motion.)

Do you know so much yourself that you call
the meanest ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good
sight, and he or she has no right to a
sight?
Do you think matter has cohered together
from its diffuse float, and the soil is on
the surface, and water runs and
vegetation sprouts,
For you only, and not for him and her?

7

A man's body at auction,
(For before the war I often go to the slave-
mart and watch the sale,)
I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not
half know his business.

Gentlemen look on this wonder,
Whatever the bids of the bidders they
cannot be high enough for it,
For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of
years without one animal or plant,
For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily
roll'd.

In this head the all-baffling brain,
In it and below it the makings of heroes.

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white,
they are cunning in tendon and nerve,
They shall be stript that you may see them.

Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone
and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized
arms and legs,
And wonders within there yet.

Within there runs blood,
The same old blood! the same red-running
blood!
There swells and jets a heart, there all
passions, desires, reachings, aspirations,
(Do you think they are not there because
they are not express'd in parlors and
lecture-rooms?)

This is not only one man, this the father of
those who shall be fathers in their turns,
In him the start of populous states and rich
republics,
Of him countless immortal lives with
countless embodiments and enjoyments.

How do you know who shall come from the
offspring of his offspring through the
centuries?
(Who might you find you have come from
yourself, if you could trace back through
the centuries?)

8

A woman's body at auction,
She too is not only herself, she is the
teeming mother of mothers,
She is the bearer of them that shall grow
and be mates to the mothers.

Have you ever loved the body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the body of a man?
Do you not see that these are exactly the
same to all in all nations and times all
over the earth?

If any thing is sacred the human body is
sacred,
And the glory and sweet of a man is the
token of manhood untainted,
And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-
fibered body, is more beautiful than the
most beautiful face.

Have you seen the fool that corrupted his
own live body? or the fool that corrupted
her own live body?
For they do not conceal themselves, and
cannot conceal themselves.

9

O my body! I dare not desert the likes of
you in other men and women, nor the
likes of the parts of you,
I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall
with the likes of the soul, (and that they
are the soul,)
I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall
with my poems, and that they are my
poems,
Man's, woman's, child's, youth's, wife's,
husband's, mother's, father's, young
man's, young woman's poems,
Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of
the ears,
Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows,
and the waking or sleeping of the lids,
Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the
mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges,
Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,
Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat,
back of the neck, neck-slue,
Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula,
hind-shoulders, and the ample side-
round of the chest,
Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-
arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,
Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm,
knuckles, thumb, forefinger, finger-joints,
finger-nails,
Broad breast-front, curling hair of the
breast, breast-bone, breast-side,
Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the
backbone,
Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and
outward round, man-balls, man-root,
Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk
above,
Leg fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg,
under-leg,
Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the
heel;
All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the
belongings of my or your body or of any
one's body, male or female,
The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the
bowels sweet and clean,
The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,
Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves,
sexuality, maternity,
Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and
the man that comes from woman,
The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk,
tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-
perturbations and risings,
The voice, articulation, language,
whispering, shouting aloud,
Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep,
walking, swimming,
Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining,
embracing, arm-curving and tightening,
The continual changes of the flex of the
mouth, and around the eyes,
The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,
The curious sympathy one feels when
feeling with the hand the naked meat of
the body,
The circling rivers the breath, and breathing
it in and out,
The beauty of the waist, and thence of the
hips, and thence downward toward the
knees,
The thin red jellies within you or within
me, the bones and the morrow in the
bones,
The exquisite realization of health;
O I say these are not the parts and poems of
the body only, but of the soul,
O I say now these are the soul!

“I Sing the Body Electric” [9 of 9] by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

O my body! I dare not desert the likes of
you in other men and women, nor the
likes of the parts of you,
I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall
with the likes of the soul, (and that they
are the soul,)
I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall
with my poems, and that they are my
poems,
Man's, woman's, child's, youth's, wife's,
husband's, mother's, father's, young
man's, young woman's poems,
Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of
the ears,
Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows,
and the waking or sleeping of the lids,
Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the
mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges,
Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,
Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat,
back of the neck, neck-slue,
Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula,
hind-shoulders, and the ample side-
round of the chest,
Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-
arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,
Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm,
knuckles, thumb, forefinger, finger-joints,
finger-nails,
Broad breast-front, curling hair of the
breast, breast-bone, breast-side,
Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the
backbone,
Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and
outward round, man-balls, man-root,
Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk
above,
Leg fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg,
under-leg,
Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the
heel;
All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the
belongings of my or your body or of any
one's body, male or female,
The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the
bowels sweet and clean,
The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,
Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves,
sexuality, maternity,
Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and
the man that comes from woman,
The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk,
tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-
perturbations and risings,
The voice, articulation, language,
whispering, shouting aloud,
Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep,
walking, swimming,
Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining,
embracing, arm-curving and tightening,
The continual changes of the flex of the
mouth, and around the eyes,
The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,
The curious sympathy one feels when
feeling with the hand the naked meat of
the body,
The circling rivers the breath, and breathing
it in and out,
The beauty of the waist, and thence of the
hips, and thence downward toward the
knees,
The thin red jellies within you or within
me, the bones and the morrow in the
bones,
The exquisite realization of health;
O I say these are not the parts and poems of
the body only, but of the soul,
O I say now these are the soul!

“I Sing the Body Electric” [8 of 9] by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

A woman's body at auction,
She too is not only herself, she is the
teeming mother of mothers,
She is the bearer of them that shall grow
and be mates to the mothers.

Have you ever loved the body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the body of a man?
Do you not see that these are exactly the
same to all in all nations and times all
over the earth?

If any thing is sacred the human body is
sacred,
And the glory and sweet of a man is the
token of manhood untainted,
And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-
fibered body, is more beautiful than the
most beautiful face.

Have you seen the fool that corrupted his
own live body? or the fool that corrupted
her own live body?
For they do not conceal themselves, and
cannot conceal themselves.

“I Sing the Body Electric” [7 of 9] by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

A man's body at auction,
(For before the war I often go to the slave-
mart and watch the sale,)
I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not
half know his business.

Gentlemen look on this wonder,
Whatever the bids of the bidders they
cannot be high enough for it,
For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of
years without one animal or plant,
For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily
roll'd.

In this head the all-baffling brain,
In it and below it the makings of heroes.

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white,
they are cunning in tendon and nerve,
They shall be stript that you may see them.

Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone
and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized
arms and legs,
And wonders within there yet.

Within there runs blood,
The same old blood! the same red-running
blood!
There swells and jets a heart, there all
passions, desires, reachings, aspirations,
(Do you think they are not there because
they are not express'd in parlors and
lecture-rooms?)

This is not only one man, this the father of
those who shall be fathers in their turns,
In him the start of populous states and rich
republics,
Of him countless immortal lives with
countless embodiments and enjoyments.

How do you know who shall come from the
offspring of his offspring through the
centuries?
(Who might you find you have come from
yourself, if you could trace back through
the centuries?)

“I Sing the Body Electric” [6 of 9] by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

The male is not less the soul nor more, he
too is in his place,
He too is all qualities, he is action and
power,
The flush of the known universe is in him,
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and
defiance become him well,
The wildest largest passions, bliss that is
utmost, sorrow that is utmost become
him well, pride is for him,
The full-spread pride of man is calming and
excellent to the soul,
Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always,
he brings every thing to the test of
himself,
Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and
the sail he strikes soundings at last only
here,
(Where else does he strike soundings except
here?)

The man's body is sacred and the woman's
body is sacred,
No matter who it is, it is sacred -- is it the
meanest one in the laborers' gang?
Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just
landed on the wharf?
Each belongs here or anywhere just as much
as the well-off, just as much as you,
Each has his or her place in the procession.

(All is a procession,
The universe is a procession with measured
and perfect motion.)

Do you know so much yourself that you call
the meanest ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good
sight, and he or she has no right to a
sight?
Do you think matter has cohered together
from its diffuse float, and the soil is on
the surface, and water runs and
vegetation sprouts,
For you only, and not for him and her?

“I Sing the Body Electric” [5 of 9] by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head
to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no
more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside
but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and
solid earth, and what was expected of
heaven or fear'd of hell, are now
consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play
out of it, the response likewise
ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent
falling hands all diffused, mine too
diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the
ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously
aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and
enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-
blow and delirious juice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely
and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding
day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-
flesh'd day.

This the nucleus -- after the child is born of
woman, man is born of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of
small and large, and the outlet again.

Be not ashamed women, your privilege
encloses the rest, and is the exit of the
rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are
the gates of the soul.

The female contains all qualities and
tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect
balance,
She is all things duly veil'd, she is both
passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons,
and sons as well as daughters.

As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with
inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the
breast, the Female I see.

“I Sing the Body Electric” [4 of 9] by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

I have perceiv'd that to be with those l like
is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening
is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious,
breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them or touch any one, or
rest my arm ever so lightly round his or
her neck for a moment, what is this then?
I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it
as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men
and women and looking on them, and in
the contact and odor of them, that
pleases the soul well,
All things please the soul, but these please
the soul well.

“I Sing the Body Electric” [3 of 9] by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

I knew a man, a common farmer, the father 
of five sons,
And in them the fathers of sons, and in
them the fathers of sons.

This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness,
beauty of person,
The shape of his head, the pale yellow and
white of his hair and beard, the
immeasurable meaning of his black eyes,
the richness and breadth of his manners,
These I used to go and visit him to see, he
was wise also,
He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years
old, his sons were massive, clean,
bearded, tan-faced, handsome,
They and his daughters loved him, all who
saw him loved him,
They did not love him by allowance, they
loved him with personal love,
He drank water only, the blood show'd like
scarlet through the clear-brown skin of
his face,
He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he
sail'd his boat himself, he had a fine one
presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had
fowling-pieces presented to him by men
that loved him,
When he went with his five sons and many
grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would
pick him out as the most beautiful and
vigorous of the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with
him, you would wish to sit by him in the
boat that you and he might touch each
other.

“I Sing the Body Electric” [2 of 9] by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

The love of the body of man or woman
balks account, the body itself balks,
account,
That of the male is perfect, and that of
the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account,
But the expression of a well-made man
appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is
curiously in the joints of his hips and
wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the
flex of his waist and knees, dress does not
hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes
through the cotton and broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best
poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of
his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms
and heads of women, the folds of their
dress, their style as we pass in the street,
the contour of their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath,
seen as he swims through the transparent
green-shine, or lies with his face up and
rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the
water,
The bending forward and backward of
rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his
saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their
performances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time
with their open dinner-kettles, and their
wives waiting,
The female soothing a child, the farmer's
daughter in the garden or cow-yard,
The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-
driver driving his six horses through the
crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-
boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured,
native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-
down after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the
embrace of love and resistance,
The upper-hold and the under-hold, the hair
rumpled over and blinding their eyes;
The march of firemen in their own
costumes, the play of masculine muscle
through clean-setting trowsers and waist-
straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause
when the bell strikes suddenly again, and
the listening on the alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the
bent head, the curv'd neck and the
counting;
Such-like I love -- I loosen myself, pass
freely, am at the mother's breast with the
little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with
wrestlers, march in line with the firemen,
and pause, listen, count.

“I Sing the Body Electric” [1 of 9] by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]

I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me
and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them,
respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full
with the charge of the soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt
their own bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad
as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do fully
as much as the soul?
And if the body were not the soul,
what is the soul?