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 and 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 the 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 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.
Whitman begins with an auditory vision of a nation: America as a chorus of workers, each contributing their own "carol." The word "carol" elevates work songs to the level of sacred music, suggesting labor itself becomes devotional when done with engagement and pride. "Varied" matters—this isn't conformity but democratic diversity, each worker singing "his" or "her" distinct song. Whitman catalogs specific trades: carpenter, mason, boatman, shoemaker. The list structure gives equal weight to each profession, refusing hierarchy. Democracy here means that the carpenter's song has the same dignity as anyone else's.
The middle lines establish rhythm through repetition: "singing his," "singing his," "singing what belongs to him." This possessive language insists that each worker owns their song—it emerges from their particular labor, their specific relationship to tools and materials. When Whitman includes "the delicious singing of the mother—or of the young wife at work—or of the girl sewing or washing," he extends the catalog to domestic labor, work traditionally unpaid and undervalued. The repetition of "or" creates inclusivity, making room for multiple roles women occupy. The crucial phrase returns: "Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else"—asserting that women's work, too, generates its own song, irreducible to anyone else's.
The closing lines shift temporally: day belongs to the day's work, night to communal celebration. "The party of young fellows, robust, friendly" gather after labor, "Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs." The open mouths suggest both literal singing and metaphorical voice—workers unashamed, fully expressing themselves. Whitman's vision is idealistic, even utopian; he hears America as it might be rather than entirely as it was, imagining a nation where every form of honest work earns respect and finds voice. The poem doesn't address who doesn't get to sing—enslaved people, the exploited—but it establishes an ideal of democratic labor that can be used to measure actual conditions. Whitman invites readers to listen: is this the America you hear?
Interpretation generated with assistance from Claude.