I hear America singing by Walt Whitman. I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear. Those are the mechanics, each one singing his as it should be, blive 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 in his bench, the hat or singing as he stands. The woodcutter's song, the plowboys 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.