At the age of 35, Whitman published his first book, Leaves of Grass, which was so successful that it appealed to other known poets worldwide. His talent was a great surprise to many. Whitman's abilities as a poet were unknown because his previous job was working for a local newspaper from which he got fired for being an abolitionist. It is believed, however, that Whitman's inspiration came from his trip to New Orleans and New York. Whether it was a love affair or the great scenery from the countryside that truly inspired him is unknown; nevertheless this first book was the beginning to an exciting career. Whitman viewed himself as the first real American poet. His poetry was symbolic of freedom and democracy, as well as emotions and beliefs. Later editions of Leaves of Grass were published in 1856 and 1860. These editions were full of new poems as well as revised earlier ones. At this time, Whitman was the editor of a local newspaper, the Brooklyn Daily Times, in addition to helping his father in carpentry. It was in 1862 when he found out his brother was injured in the war and he traveled South to serve as a volunteer nurse to the military until 1867. During his time as a nurse, Whitman composed several war poems which were published in the 1867 edition of Leaves of Grass. Before his death in 1892, Whitman noted in “A Backward Glance O’er Traveled Roads” that although he was not as successful as he had wished, he hoped that future generations would appreciate his poetry more. His wish came true, and now Walt Whitman is viewed as one of the best poets of all time.
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand
singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as
he stands,
The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning,
or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work,
or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day--at night the party of young
fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ralph_Waldo_Emerson
http://www.pbs.org/wnet/ihas/poet/whitman.html
http://www.blackcatpoems.com/w/i_hear_america_singing.html