About this Poem 

"My 71st Year" by Walt Whitman was published in Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine in 1889, and was reprinted in Good-Bye My Fancy in 1891.

My 71st Year

Walt Whitman, 1819 - 1892

After surmounting threescore and ten,
With all their chances, changes, losses, sorrows,
My parents' deaths, the vagaries of my life, the many tearing passions of me, the war of '63 and '4,
As some old broken soldier, after a long, hot, wearying march, or as haply after battle,
At twilight, hobbling, answering yet to company roll-call, Here, with vital voice,
Reporting yet, saluting yet the Officer over all.

This poem is in the public domain.

Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman

Born on May 31, 1819, Walt Whitman is the author of Leaves of Grass and, along with Emily Dickinson, is considered one of the architects of a uniquely American poetic voice. 

by this poet

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Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,
Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill'd game,
Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves with my dog and gun 
   by my side.
   
The Yankee clipper is under
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This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson
	done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the
	themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
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I wander all night in my vision, 
Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and stopping, 
Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers, 
Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted, contradictory, 
Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping. 

How solemn they look there,