self-slaughter'd

Updated: January 24, 2026

Curs'd was the deed, even before the sweat of the clutching hand grew dry; And darkness frown'd upon the seller of the like of God, Where, as though earth lifted her breast to throw him from her, and heaven refused him, He hung in the air, self-slaughter'd.

Walt Whitman - Complete Prose Works: Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy