The open air I sing, freedom, toleration,
My song is there, and I must sing my joys in the open air,
I stifle in the confinement of rooms.

My soul is borne through the fresh, free, open air,
Soothing, sane, open air hours,
This is the common air that bathes the globe,
The sane impalpable air that serves me with breath to speak.

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, 
The distillation would intoxicate me, but I shall not let it;
The air is more than the costliest perfumes,
It has no taste of the distillation,
It is for my mouth forever,I am in love with it,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

To breathe the air, how delicious!
I inhale great draughts of space,
I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me.
The subtle nourishment of the air tastes good to my palate,
The luscious air, mellow as a full–ripe peach.

What virtue there is in the open air,
There is a curious virtue in it, to be found in nothing else,
Beyond all charms or medications, it is what renews vitality,
Don’t be afraid of that—drink it in—it won’t hurt you.
We carry our fresh air with us, wherever we go,
He who has it, has it anywhere—nothing can rob him of it.

How good it must be to be free to live out of door.
Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air, and to eat and sleep with the earth,
What a charm there is about men that have lived mainly in the open air,
Men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods,
I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out.

All outdoor men (everything else being equal) appeal to me,
Men taciturn yet loving, used to the open air, and the manners of the open air,
In them nature justifies herself,
Their indefinable excellence gives out something as much beyond the special productions of colleges and pews and parlors as the morning air of the prairie or the sea-shore outsmells the costliest scents of the perfume shop.

I am enamour’d of growing outdoors,
Whatever is done ought to be in the open air,
I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also,
The best reading seems to need the best open air,
(It makes such difference where you read.)
Read these “Leaves” in the open air every season of every year of your life, like healthy nourishment or pure air,
Try them by trees, stars, rivers,
If you would understand me go to the heights or water-shore.

I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a house,
And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her who privately stays with me in the open air—
I am nearly always successful with the reader in the open air.

NEXT: THE DAYTIME SKY

The texts in this anthology should NOT be cited as direct quotations from Whitman. If you want to quote from this site for something you are writing or posting, please read this first (click here).