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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:54 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:54 -0700 |
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diff --git a/1322-h/1322-h.htm b/1322-h/1322-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..66cb259 --- /dev/null +++ b/1322-h/1322-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,20944 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + +p { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1322 ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:60%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover" /> +</div> + + <h1> + LEAVES OF GRASS + </h1> + + <h2> + By Walt Whitman + </h2> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Come, said my soul, + Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,) + That should I after return, + Or, long, long hence, in other spheres, + There to some group of mates the chants resuming, + (Tallying Earth’s soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,) + Ever with pleas’d smile I may keep on, + Ever and ever yet the verses owning—as, first, I here and now + Signing for Soul and Body, set to them my name, + + Walt Whitman +</pre> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>BOOK I. INSCRIPTIONS</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0002"> One’s-Self I Sing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0003"> As I Ponder’d in Silence</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0004"> In Cabin’d Ships at Sea</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0005"> To Foreign Lands</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0006"> To a Historian</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0007"> To Thee Old Cause</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0008"> Eidolons</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0009"> For Him I Sing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0010"> When I Read the Book</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0011"> Beginning My Studies</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0012"> Beginners</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0013"> To the States</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0014"> On Journeys Through the States</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0015"> To a Certain Cantatrice</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0016"> Me Imperturbe</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0017"> Savantism</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0018"> The Ship Starting</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0019"> I Hear America Singing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0020"> What Place Is Besieged?</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0021"> Still Though the One I Sing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0022"> Shut Not Your Doors</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0023"> Poets to Come</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0024"> To You</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0025"> Thou Reader</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0026"> <b>BOOK II.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0027"> <b>BOOK III.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0028"> <b>BOOK IV. CHILDREN OF ADAM</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0029"> From Pent-Up Aching Rivers</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0030"> I Sing the Body Electric</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0031"> A Woman Waits for Me</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0032"> Spontaneous Me</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0033"> One Hour to Madness and Joy</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0034"> Out of the Rolling Ocean the Crowd</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0035"> Ages and Ages Returning at Intervals</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0036"> We Two, How Long We Were Fool’d</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0037"> O Hymen! O Hymenee!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0038"> I Am He That Aches with Love</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0039"> Native Moments</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0040"> Once I Pass’d Through a Populous City</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0041"> I Heard You Solemn-Sweet Pipes of the Organ + </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0042"> Facing West from California’s Shores</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0043"> As Adam Early in the Morning</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0044"> <b>BOOK V. CALAMUS</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0045"> Scented Herbage of My Breast</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0046"> Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0047"> For You, O Democracy</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0048"> These I Singing in Spring</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0049"> Not Heaving from My Ribb’d Breast Only</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0050"> Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0051"> The Base of All Metaphysics</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0052"> Recorders Ages Hence</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0053"> When I Heard at the Close of the Day</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0054"> Are You the New Person Drawn Toward Me?</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0055"> Roots and Leaves Themselves Alone</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0056"> Not Heat Flames Up and Consumes</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0057"> Trickle Drops</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0058"> City of Orgies</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0059"> Behold This Swarthy Face</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0060"> I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0061"> To a Stranger</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0062"> This Moment Yearning and Thoughtful</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0063"> I Hear It Was Charged Against Me</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0064"> The Prairie-Grass Dividing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0065"> When I Peruse the Conquer’d Fame</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0066"> We Two Boys Together Clinging</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0067"> A Promise to California</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0068"> Here the Frailest Leaves of Me</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0069"> No Labor-Saving Machine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0070"> A Glimpse</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0071"> A Leaf for Hand in Hand</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0072"> Earth, My Likeness</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0073"> I Dream’d in a Dream</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0074"> What Think You I Take My Pen in Hand?</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0075"> To the East and to the West</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0076"> Sometimes with One I Love</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0077"> To a Western Boy</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0078"> Fast Anchor’d Eternal O Love!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0079"> Among the Multitude</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0080"> O You Whom I Often and Silently Come</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0081"> That Shadow My Likeness</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0082"> Full of Life Now</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0083"> <b>BOOK VI.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0084"> <b>BOOK VII.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0085"> <b>BOOK VIII.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0086"> <b>BOOK IX.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0087"> <b>BOOK X.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0088"> <b>BOOK XI.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0089"> <b>BOOK XII.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0090"> <b>BOOK XIII.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0091"> <b>BOOK XIV.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0092"> <b>BOOK XV.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0093"> <b>BOOK XVI.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0094"> Youth, Day, Old Age and Night</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0095"> <b>BOOK XVII. BIRDS OF PASSAGE</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0096"> Pioneers! O Pioneers!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0097"> To You</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0098"> France [the 18th Year of these States</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0099"> Myself and Mine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0100"> Year of Meteors [1859-60</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0101"> With Antecedents</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0102"> <b>BOOK XVIII</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0103"> <b>BOOK XIX. SEA-DRIFT</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0104"> As I Ebb’d with the Ocean of Life</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0105"> Tears</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0106"> To the Man-of-War-Bird</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0107"> Aboard at a Ship’s Helm</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0108"> On the Beach at Night</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0109"> The World below the Brine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0110"> On the Beach at Night Alone</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0111"> Song for All Seas, All Ships</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0112"> Patroling Barnegat</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0113"> After the Sea-Ship</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0114"> <b>BOOK XX. BY THE ROADSIDE</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0115"> Europe [The 72d and 73d Years of These States]</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0116"> A Hand-Mirror</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0117"> Gods</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0118"> Germs</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0119"> Thoughts</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0120"> Perfections</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0121"> O Me! O Life!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0122"> To a President</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0123"> I Sit and Look Out</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0124"> To Rich Givers</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0125"> The Dalliance of the Eagles</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0126"> Roaming in Thought [After reading Hegel]</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0127"> A Farm Picture</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0128"> A Child’s Amaze</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0129"> The Runner</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0130"> Beautiful Women</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0131"> Mother and Babe</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0132"> Thought</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0133"> Visor’d</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0134"> Thought</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0135"> Gliding O’er all</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0136"> Hast Never Come to Thee an Hour</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0137"> Thought</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0138"> To Old Age</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0139"> Locations and Times</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0140"> Offerings</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0141"> To The States [To Identify the 16th, 17th, or +18th Presidentiad]</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0142"> <b>BOOK XXI. DRUM-TAPS</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0143"> Eighteen Sixty-One</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0144"> Beat! Beat! Drums!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0145"> From Paumanok Starting I Fly Like a Bird</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0146"> Song of the Banner at Daybreak</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0147"> Rise O Days from Your Fathomless Deeps</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0148"> Virginia—The West</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0149"> City of Ships</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0150"> The Centenarian’s Story</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0151"> Cavalry Crossing a Ford</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0152"> Bivouac on a Mountain Side</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0153"> An Army Corps on the March</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0154"> By the Bivouac’s Fitful Flame</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0155"> Come Up from the Fields Father</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0156"> Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night + </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0157"> A March in the Ranks Hard-Prest, and the Road +Unknown</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0158"> A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim +</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0159"> As Toilsome I Wander’d Virginia’s Woods</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0160"> Not the Pilot</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0161"> Year That Trembled and Reel’d Beneath Me</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0162"> The Wound-Dresser</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0163"> Long, Too Long America</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0164"> Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0165"> Dirge for Two Veterans</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0166"> Over the Carnage Rose Prophetic a Voice</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0167"> I Saw Old General at Bay</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0168"> The Artilleryman’s Vision</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0169"> Ethiopia Saluting the Colors</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0170"> Not Youth Pertains to Me</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0171"> Race of Veterans</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0172"> World Take Good Notice</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0173"> O Tan-Faced Prairie-Boy</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0174"> Look Down Fair Moon</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0175"> Reconciliation</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0176"> How Solemn As One by One [Washington City, +1865]</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0177"> As I Lay with My Head in Your Lap Camerado +</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0178"> Delicate Cluster</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0179"> To a Certain Civilian</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0180"> Lo, Victress on the Peaks</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0181"> Spirit Whose Work Is Done [Washington City, +1865]</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0182"> Adieu to a Soldier</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0183"> Turn O Libertad</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0184"> To the Leaven’d Soil They Trod</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0185"> <b>BOOK XXII. MEMORIES OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN</b> + </a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0186"> O Captain! My Captain!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0187"> Hush’d Be the Camps To-Day [May 4, 1865</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0188"> This Dust Was Once the Man</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0189"> <b>BOOK XXIII.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0190"> Reversals</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0191"> <b>BOOK XXIV. AUTUMN RIVULETS</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0192"> The Return of the Heroes</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0193"> There Was a Child Went Forth</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0194"> Old Ireland</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0195"> The City Dead-House</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0196"> This Compost</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0197"> To a Foil’d European Revolutionaire</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0198"> Unnamed Land</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0199"> Song of Prudence</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0200"> The Singer in the Prison</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0201"> Warble for Lilac-Time</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0202"> Outlines for a Tomb [G. P., Buried 1870]</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0203"> Out from Behind This Mask [To Confront a +Portrait]</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0204"> Vocalism</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0205"> To Him That Was Crucified</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0206"> You Felons on Trial in Courts</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0207"> Laws for Creations</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0208"> To a Common Prostitute</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0209"> I Was Looking a Long While</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0210"> Thought</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0211"> Miracles</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0212"> Sparkles from the Wheel</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0213"> To a Pupil</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0214"> Unfolded out of the Folds</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0215"> What Am I After All</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0216"> Kosmos</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0217"> Others May Praise What They Like</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0218"> Who Learns My Lesson Complete?</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0219"> Tests</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0220"> The Torch</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0221"> O Star of France [1870-71]</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0222"> The Ox-Tamer</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0223"> Wandering at Morn</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0224"> With All Thy Gifts</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0225"> My Picture-Gallery</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0226"> The Prairie States</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0227"> <b>BOOK XXV.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0228"> <b>BOOK XXVI.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0229"> <b>BOOK XXVII.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0230"> <b>BOOK XXVIII.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0231"> Transpositions</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0232"> <b>BOOK XXIX.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0233"> <b>BOOK XXX. WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH</b> +</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0234"> Whispers of Heavenly Death</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0235"> Chanting the Square Deific</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0236"> Of Him I Love Day and Night</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0237"> Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0238"> As If a Phantom Caress’d Me</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0239"> Assurances</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0240"> Quicksand Years</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0241"> That Music Always Round Me</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0242"> What Ship Puzzled at Sea</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0243"> A Noiseless Patient Spider</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0244"> O Living Always, Always Dying</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0245"> To One Shortly to Die</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0246"> Night on the Prairies</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0247"> Thought</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0248"> The Last Invocation</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0249"> As I Watch the Ploughman Ploughing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0250"> Pensive and Faltering</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0251"> <b>BOOK XXXI.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0252"> A Paumanok Picture</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0253"> <b>BOOK XXXII. FROM NOON TO STARRY NIGHT</b> +</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0254"> Faces</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0255"> The Mystic Trumpeter</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0256"> To a Locomotive in Winter</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0257"> O Magnet-South</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0258"> Mannahatta</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0259"> All Is Truth</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0260"> A Riddle Song</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0261"> Excelsior</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0262"> Ah Poverties, Wincings, and Sulky Retreats +</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0263"> Thoughts</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0264"> Mediums</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0265"> Weave in, My Hardy Life</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0266"> Spain, 1873-74</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0267"> By Broad Potomac’s Shore</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0268"> From Far Dakota’s Canyons [June 25, 1876]</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0269"> Old War-Dreams</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0270"> Thick-Sprinkled Bunting</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0271"> As I Walk These Broad Majestic Days</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0272"> A Clear Midnight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0273"> <b>BOOK XXXIII. SONGS OF PARTING</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0274"> Years of the Modern</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0275"> Ashes of Soldiers</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0276"> Thoughts</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0277"> Song at Sunset</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0278"> As at Thy Portals Also Death</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0279"> My Legacy</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0280"> Pensive on Her Dead Gazing</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0281"> Camps of Green</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0282"> The Sobbing of the Bells [Midnight, Sept. +19-20, 1881]</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0283"> As They Draw to a Close</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0284"> Joy, Shipmate, Joy!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0285"> The Untold Want</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0286"> Portals</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0287"> These Carols</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0288"> Now Finale to the Shore</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0289"> So Long!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0290"> <b>BOOK XXXIV. SANDS AT SEVENTY</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0291"> Paumanok</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0292"> From Montauk Point</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0293"> To Those Who’ve Fail’d</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0294"> A Carol Closing Sixty-Nine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0295"> The Bravest Soldiers</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0296"> A Font of Type</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0297"> As I Sit Writing Here</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0298"> My Canary Bird</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0299"> Queries to My Seventieth Year</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0300"> The Wallabout Martyrs</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0301"> The First Dandelion</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0302"> America</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0303"> Memories</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0304"> To-Day and Thee</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0305"> After the Dazzle of Day</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0306"> Abraham Lincoln, Born Feb. 12, 1809</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0307"> Out of May’s Shows Selected</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0308"> Halcyon Days</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0309"> Election Day, November, 1884</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0310"> With Husky-Haughty Lips, O Sea!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0311"> Death of General Grant</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0312"> Red Jacket (From Aloft)</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0313"> Washington’s Monument February, 1885</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0314"> Of That Blithe Throat of Thine</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0315"> Broadway</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0316"> To Get the Final Lilt of Songs</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0317"> Old Salt Kossabone</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0318"> The Dead Tenor</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0319"> Continuities</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0320"> Yonnondio</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0321"> Life</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0322"> “Going Somewhere”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0323"> Small the Theme of My Chant</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0324"> True Conquerors</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0325"> The United States to Old World Critics</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0326"> The Calming Thought of All</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0327"> Thanks in Old Age</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0328"> Life and Death</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0329"> The Voice of the Rain</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0330"> Soon Shall the Winter’s Foil Be Here</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0331"> While Not the Past Forgetting</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0332"> The Dying Veteran</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0333"> Stronger Lessons</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0334"> A Prairie Sunset</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0335"> Twenty Years</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0336"> Orange Buds by Mail from Florida</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0337"> Twilight</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0338"> You Lingering Sparse Leaves of Me</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0339"> Not Meagre, Latent Boughs Alone</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0340"> The Dead Emperor</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0341"> As the Greek’s Signal Flame</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0342"> The Dismantled Ship</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0343"> Now Precedent Songs, Farewell</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0344"> An Evening Lull</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0345"> Old Age’s Lambent Peaks</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0346"> After the Supper and Talk</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0347"> <b>BOOKXXXV. GOOD-BYE MY FANCY</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0348"> Lingering Last Drops</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0349"> Good-Bye My Fancy</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0350"> On, on the Same, Ye Jocund Twain!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0351"> MY 71st Year</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0352"> Apparitions</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0353"> The Pallid Wreath</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0354"> An Ended Day</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0355"> Old Age’s Ship & Crafty Death’s</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0356"> To the Pending Year</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0357"> Shakspere-Bacon’s Cipher</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0358"> Long, Long Hence</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0359"> Bravo, Paris Exposition!</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0360"> Interpolation Sounds</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0361"> To the Sun-Set Breeze</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0362"> Old Chants</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0363"> A Christmas Greeting</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0364"> Sounds of the Winter</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0365"> A Twilight Song</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0366"> When the Full-Grown Poet Came</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0367"> Osceola</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0368"> A Voice from Death</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0369"> A Persian Lesson</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0370"> The Commonplace</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0371"> “The Rounded Catalogue Divine Complete”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0372"> Mirages</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0373"> L. of G.’s Purport</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0374"> The Unexpress’d</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0375"> Grand Is the Seen</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0376"> Unseen Buds</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#link2H_4_0377"> Good-Bye My Fancy!</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"></a> + BOOK I. INSCRIPTIONS + </h2> + + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"></a> + One’s-Self I Sing + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + One’s-self I sing, a simple separate person, + Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse. + + Of physiology from top to toe I sing, + Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say + the Form complete is worthier far, + The Female equally with the Male I sing. + + Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, + Cheerful, for freest action form’d under the laws divine, + The Modern Man I sing. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"></a> + As I Ponder’d in Silence + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I ponder’d in silence, + Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long, + A Phantom arose before me with distrustful aspect, + Terrible in beauty, age, and power, + The genius of poets of old lands, + As to me directing like flame its eyes, + With finger pointing to many immortal songs, + And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said, + Know’st thou not there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards? + And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles, + The making of perfect soldiers. + + Be it so, then I answer’d, + I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one than any, + Waged in my book with varying fortune, with flight, advance + and retreat, victory deferr’d and wavering, + (Yet methinks certain, or as good as certain, at the last,) the + field the world, + For life and death, for the Body and for the eternal Soul, + Lo, I too am come, chanting the chant of battles, + I above all promote brave soldiers. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"></a> + In Cabin’d Ships at Sea + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In cabin’d ships at sea, + The boundless blue on every side expanding, + With whistling winds and music of the waves, the large imperious waves, + Or some lone bark buoy’d on the dense marine, + Where joyous full of faith, spreading white sails, + She cleaves the ether mid the sparkle and the foam of day, or under + many a star at night, + By sailors young and old haply will I, a reminiscence of the land, be read, + In full rapport at last. + + Here are our thoughts, voyagers’ thoughts, + Here not the land, firm land, alone appears, may then by them be said, + The sky o’erarches here, we feel the undulating deck beneath our feet, + We feel the long pulsation, ebb and flow of endless motion, + The tones of unseen mystery, the vague and vast suggestions of the + briny world, the liquid-flowing syllables, + The perfume, the faint creaking of the cordage, the melancholy rhythm, + The boundless vista and the horizon far and dim are all here, + And this is ocean’s poem. + + Then falter not O book, fulfil your destiny, + You not a reminiscence of the land alone, + You too as a lone bark cleaving the ether, purpos’d I know not + whither, yet ever full of faith, + Consort to every ship that sails, sail you! + Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it + here in every leaf;) + Speed on my book! spread your white sails my little bark athwart the + imperious waves, + Chant on, sail on, bear o’er the boundless blue from me to every sea, + This song for mariners and all their ships. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"></a> + To Foreign Lands + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I heard that you ask’d for something to prove this puzzle the New World, + And to define America, her athletic Democracy, + Therefore I send you my poems that you behold in them what you wanted. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"></a> + To a Historian + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You who celebrate bygones, + Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races, the life + that has exhibited itself, + Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates, + rulers and priests, + I, habitan of the Alleghanies, treating of him as he is in himself + in his own rights, + Pressing the pulse of the life that has seldom exhibited itself, + (the great pride of man in himself,) + Chanter of Personality, outlining what is yet to be, + I project the history of the future. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"></a> + To Thee Old Cause + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To thee old cause! + Thou peerless, passionate, good cause, + Thou stern, remorseless, sweet idea, + Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands, + After a strange sad war, great war for thee, + (I think all war through time was really fought, and ever will be + really fought, for thee,) + These chants for thee, the eternal march of thee. + + (A war O soldiers not for itself alone, + Far, far more stood silently waiting behind, now to advance in this book.) + + Thou orb of many orbs! + Thou seething principle! thou well-kept, latent germ! thou centre! + Around the idea of thee the war revolving, + With all its angry and vehement play of causes, + (With vast results to come for thrice a thousand years,) + These recitatives for thee,—my book and the war are one, + Merged in its spirit I and mine, as the contest hinged on thee, + As a wheel on its axis turns, this book unwitting to itself, + Around the idea of thee. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"></a> + Eidolons + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I met a seer, + Passing the hues and objects of the world, + The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense, + To glean eidolons. + + Put in thy chants said he, + No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in, + Put first before the rest as light for all and entrance-song of all, + That of eidolons. + + Ever the dim beginning, + Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle, + Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,) + Eidolons! eidolons! + + Ever the mutable, + Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering, + Ever the ateliers, the factories divine, + Issuing eidolons. + + Lo, I or you, + Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown, + We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build, + But really build eidolons. + + The ostent evanescent, + The substance of an artist’s mood or savan’s studies long, + Or warrior’s, martyr’s, hero’s toils, + To fashion his eidolon. + + Of every human life, + (The units gather’d, posted, not a thought, emotion, deed, left out,) + The whole or large or small summ’d, added up, + In its eidolon. + + The old, old urge, + Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo, newer, higher pinnacles, + From science and the modern still impell’d, + The old, old urge, eidolons. + + The present now and here, + America’s busy, teeming, intricate whirl, + Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing, + To-day’s eidolons. + + These with the past, + Of vanish’d lands, of all the reigns of kings across the sea, + Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors’ voyages, + Joining eidolons. + + Densities, growth, facades, + Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees, + Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave, + Eidolons everlasting. + + Exalte, rapt, ecstatic, + The visible but their womb of birth, + Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape, + The mighty earth-eidolon. + + All space, all time, + (The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns, + Swelling, collapsing, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,) + Fill’d with eidolons only. + + The noiseless myriads, + The infinite oceans where the rivers empty, + The separate countless free identities, like eyesight, + The true realities, eidolons. + + Not this the world, + Nor these the universes, they the universes, + Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life, + Eidolons, eidolons. + + Beyond thy lectures learn’d professor, + Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope observer keen, beyond all mathematics, + Beyond the doctor’s surgery, anatomy, beyond the chemist with his chemistry, + The entities of entities, eidolons. + + Unfix’d yet fix’d, + Ever shall be, ever have been and are, + Sweeping the present to the infinite future, + Eidolons, eidolons, eidolons. + + The prophet and the bard, + Shall yet maintain themselves, in higher stages yet, + Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy, interpret yet to them, + God and eidolons. + + And thee my soul, + Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations, + Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet, + Thy mates, eidolons. + + Thy body permanent, + The body lurking there within thy body, + The only purport of the form thou art, the real I myself, + An image, an eidolon. + + Thy very songs not in thy songs, + No special strains to sing, none for itself, + But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating, + A round full-orb’d eidolon. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"></a> + For Him I Sing + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For him I sing, + I raise the present on the past, + (As some perennial tree out of its roots, the present on the past,) + With time and space I him dilate and fuse the immortal laws, + To make himself by them the law unto himself. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"></a> + When I Read the Book + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I read the book, the biography famous, + And is this then (said I) what the author calls a man’s life? + And so will some one when I am dead and gone write my life? + (As if any man really knew aught of my life, + Why even I myself I often think know little or nothing of my real life, + Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections + I seek for my own use to trace out here.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"></a> + Beginning My Studies + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Beginning my studies the first step pleas’d me so much, + The mere fact consciousness, these forms, the power of motion, + The least insect or animal, the senses, eyesight, love, + The first step I say awed me and pleas’d me so much, + I have hardly gone and hardly wish’d to go any farther, + But stop and loiter all the time to sing it in ecstatic songs. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"></a> + Beginners + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How they are provided for upon the earth, (appearing at intervals,) + How dear and dreadful they are to the earth, + How they inure to themselves as much as to any—what a paradox + appears their age, + How people respond to them, yet know them not, + How there is something relentless in their fate all times, + How all times mischoose the objects of their adulation and reward, + And how the same inexorable price must still be paid for the same + great purchase. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"></a> + To the States + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To the States or any one of them, or any city of the States, Resist + much, obey little, + Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved, + Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city of this earth, ever + afterward resumes its liberty. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"></a> + On Journeys Through the States + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On journeys through the States we start, + (Ay through the world, urged by these songs, + Sailing henceforth to every land, to every sea,) + We willing learners of all, teachers of all, and lovers of all. + + We have watch’d the seasons dispensing themselves and passing on, + And have said, Why should not a man or woman do as much as the + seasons, and effuse as much? + + We dwell a while in every city and town, + We pass through Kanada, the North-east, the vast valley of the + Mississippi, and the Southern States, + We confer on equal terms with each of the States, + We make trial of ourselves and invite men and women to hear, + We say to ourselves, Remember, fear not, be candid, promulge the + body and the soul, + Dwell a while and pass on, be copious, temperate, chaste, magnetic, + And what you effuse may then return as the seasons return, + And may be just as much as the seasons. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"></a> + To a Certain Cantatrice + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Here, take this gift, + I was reserving it for some hero, speaker, or general, + One who should serve the good old cause, the great idea, the + progress and freedom of the race, + Some brave confronter of despots, some daring rebel; + But I see that what I was reserving belongs to you just as much as to any. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"></a> + Me Imperturbe + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Me imperturbe, standing at ease in Nature, + Master of all or mistress of all, aplomb in the midst of irrational things, + Imbued as they, passive, receptive, silent as they, + Finding my occupation, poverty, notoriety, foibles, crimes, less + important than I thought, + Me toward the Mexican sea, or in the Mannahatta or the Tennessee, + or far north or inland, + A river man, or a man of the woods or of any farm-life of these + States or of the coast, or the lakes or Kanada, + Me wherever my life is lived, O to be self-balanced for contingencies, + To confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as + the trees and animals do. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"></a> + Savantism + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thither as I look I see each result and glory retracing itself and + nestling close, always obligated, + Thither hours, months, years—thither trades, compacts, + establishments, even the most minute, + Thither every-day life, speech, utensils, politics, persons, estates; + Thither we also, I with my leaves and songs, trustful, admirant, + As a father to his father going takes his children along with him. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"></a> + The Ship Starting + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Lo, the unbounded sea, + On its breast a ship starting, spreading all sails, carrying even + her moonsails. + The pennant is flying aloft as she speeds she speeds so stately— + below emulous waves press forward, + They surround the ship with shining curving motions and foam. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"></a> + I Hear America Singing + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"></a> + What Place Is Besieged? + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What place is besieged, and vainly tries to raise the siege? + Lo, I send to that place a commander, swift, brave, immortal, + And with him horse and foot, and parks of artillery, + And artillery-men, the deadliest that ever fired gun. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"></a> + Still Though the One I Sing + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Still though the one I sing, + (One, yet of contradictions made,) I dedicate to Nationality, + I leave in him revolt, (O latent right of insurrection! O + quenchless, indispensable fire!) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"></a> + Shut Not Your Doors + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Shut not your doors to me proud libraries, + For that which was lacking on all your well-fill’d shelves, yet + needed most, I bring, + Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made, + The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing, + A book separate, not link’d with the rest nor felt by the intellect, + But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"></a> + Poets to Come + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come! + Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for, + But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than + before known, + Arouse! for you must justify me. + + I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future, + I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness. + + I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a + casual look upon you and then averts his face, + Leaving it to you to prove and define it, + Expecting the main things from you. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"></a> + To You + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why + should you not speak to me? + And why should I not speak to you? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"></a> + Thou Reader + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thou reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as I, + Therefore for thee the following chants. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"></a> + BOOK II + </h2> + <p> + Starting from Paumanok + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Starting from fish-shape Paumanok where I was born, + Well-begotten, and rais’d by a perfect mother, + After roaming many lands, lover of populous pavements, + Dweller in Mannahatta my city, or on southern savannas, + Or a soldier camp’d or carrying my knapsack and gun, or a miner + in California, + Or rude in my home in Dakota’s woods, my diet meat, my drink from + the spring, + Or withdrawn to muse and meditate in some deep recess, + Far from the clank of crowds intervals passing rapt and happy, + Aware of the fresh free giver the flowing Missouri, aware of + mighty Niagara, + Aware of the buffalo herds grazing the plains, the hirsute and + strong-breasted bull, + Of earth, rocks, Fifth-month flowers experienced, stars, rain, snow, + my amaze, + Having studied the mocking-bird’s tones and the flight of the + mountain-hawk, + And heard at dawn the unrivall’d one, the hermit thrush from the + swamp-cedars, + Solitary, singing in the West, I strike up for a New World. + + 2 + Victory, union, faith, identity, time, + The indissoluble compacts, riches, mystery, + Eternal progress, the kosmos, and the modern reports. + This then is life, + Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and convulsions. + + How curious! how real! + Underfoot the divine soil, overhead the sun. + + See revolving the globe, + The ancestor-continents away group’d together, + The present and future continents north and south, with the isthmus + between. + + See, vast trackless spaces, + As in a dream they change, they swiftly fill, + Countless masses debouch upon them, + They are now cover’d with the foremost people, arts, institutions, known. + + See, projected through time, + For me an audience interminable. + + With firm and regular step they wend, they never stop, + Successions of men, Americanos, a hundred millions, + One generation playing its part and passing on, + Another generation playing its part and passing on in its turn, + With faces turn’d sideways or backward towards me to listen, + With eyes retrospective towards me. + + 3 + Americanos! conquerors! marches humanitarian! + Foremost! century marches! Libertad! masses! + For you a programme of chants. + + Chants of the prairies, + Chants of the long-running Mississippi, and down to the Mexican sea, + Chants of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin and Minnesota, + Chants going forth from the centre from Kansas, and thence equidistant, + Shooting in pulses of fire ceaseless to vivify all. + + 4 + Take my leaves America, take them South and take them North, + Make welcome for them everywhere, for they are your own off-spring, + Surround them East and West, for they would surround you, + And you precedents, connect lovingly with them, for they connect + lovingly with you. + + I conn’d old times, + I sat studying at the feet of the great masters, + Now if eligible O that the great masters might return and study me. + + In the name of these States shall I scorn the antique? + Why these are the children of the antique to justify it. + + 5 + Dead poets, philosophs, priests, + Martyrs, artists, inventors, governments long since, + Language-shapers on other shores, + Nations once powerful, now reduced, withdrawn, or desolate, + I dare not proceed till I respectfully credit what you have left + wafted hither, + I have perused it, own it is admirable, (moving awhile among it,) + Think nothing can ever be greater, nothing can ever deserve more + than it deserves, + Regarding it all intently a long while, then dismissing it, + I stand in my place with my own day here. + + Here lands female and male, + Here the heir-ship and heiress-ship of the world, here the flame of + materials, + Here spirituality the translatress, the openly-avow’d, + The ever-tending, the finale of visible forms, + The satisfier, after due long-waiting now advancing, + Yes here comes my mistress the soul. + + 6 + The soul, + Forever and forever—longer than soil is brown and solid—longer + than water ebbs and flows. + I will make the poems of materials, for I think they are to be the + most spiritual poems, + And I will make the poems of my body and of mortality, + For I think I shall then supply myself with the poems of my soul and + of immortality. + + I will make a song for these States that no one State may under any + circumstances be subjected to another State, + And I will make a song that there shall be comity by day and by + night between all the States, and between any two of them, + And I will make a song for the ears of the President, full of + weapons with menacing points, + And behind the weapons countless dissatisfied faces; + And a song make I of the One form’d out of all, + The fang’d and glittering One whose head is over all, + Resolute warlike One including and over all, + (However high the head of any else that head is over all.) + + I will acknowledge contemporary lands, + I will trail the whole geography of the globe and salute courteously + every city large and small, + And employments! I will put in my poems that with you is heroism + upon land and sea, + And I will report all heroism from an American point of view. + + I will sing the song of companionship, + I will show what alone must finally compact these, + I believe these are to found their own ideal of manly love, + indicating it in me, + I will therefore let flame from me the burning fires that were + threatening to consume me, + I will lift what has too long kept down those smouldering fires, + I will give them complete abandonment, + I will write the evangel-poem of comrades and of love, + For who but I should understand love with all its sorrow and joy? + And who but I should be the poet of comrades? + + 7 + I am the credulous man of qualities, ages, races, + I advance from the people in their own spirit, + Here is what sings unrestricted faith. + + Omnes! omnes! let others ignore what they may, + I make the poem of evil also, I commemorate that part also, + I am myself just as much evil as good, and my nation is—and I say + there is in fact no evil, + (Or if there is I say it is just as important to you, to the land or + to me, as any thing else.) + + I too, following many and follow’d by many, inaugurate a religion, I + descend into the arena, + (It may be I am destin’d to utter the loudest cries there, the + winner’s pealing shouts, + Who knows? they may rise from me yet, and soar above every thing.) + + Each is not for its own sake, + I say the whole earth and all the stars in the sky are for religion’s sake. + + I say no man has ever yet been half devout enough, + None has ever yet adored or worship’d half enough, + None has begun to think how divine he himself is, and how certain + the future is. + + I say that the real and permanent grandeur of these States must be + their religion, + Otherwise there is just no real and permanent grandeur; + (Nor character nor life worthy the name without religion, + Nor land nor man or woman without religion.) + + 8 + What are you doing young man? + Are you so earnest, so given up to literature, science, art, amours? + These ostensible realities, politics, points? + Your ambition or business whatever it may be? + + It is well—against such I say not a word, I am their poet also, + But behold! such swiftly subside, burnt up for religion’s sake, + For not all matter is fuel to heat, impalpable flame, the essential + life of the earth, + Any more than such are to religion. + + 9 + What do you seek so pensive and silent? + What do you need camerado? + Dear son do you think it is love? + + Listen dear son—listen America, daughter or son, + It is a painful thing to love a man or woman to excess, and yet it + satisfies, it is great, + But there is something else very great, it makes the whole coincide, + It, magnificent, beyond materials, with continuous hands sweeps and + provides for all. + + 10 + Know you, solely to drop in the earth the germs of a greater religion, + The following chants each for its kind I sing. + + My comrade! + For you to share with me two greatnesses, and a third one rising + inclusive and more resplendent, + The greatness of Love and Democracy, and the greatness of Religion. + + Melange mine own, the unseen and the seen, + Mysterious ocean where the streams empty, + Prophetic spirit of materials shifting and flickering around me, + Living beings, identities now doubtless near us in the air that we + know not of, + Contact daily and hourly that will not release me, + These selecting, these in hints demanded of me. + + Not he with a daily kiss onward from childhood kissing me, + Has winded and twisted around me that which holds me to him, + Any more than I am held to the heavens and all the spiritual world, + After what they have done to me, suggesting themes. + + O such themes—equalities! O divine average! + Warblings under the sun, usher’d as now, or at noon, or setting, + Strains musical flowing through ages, now reaching hither, + I take to your reckless and composite chords, add to them, and + cheerfully pass them forward. + + 11 + As I have walk’d in Alabama my morning walk, + I have seen where the she-bird the mocking-bird sat on her nest in + the briers hatching her brood. + + I have seen the he-bird also, + I have paus’d to hear him near at hand inflating his throat and + joyfully singing. + + And while I paus’d it came to me that what he really sang for was + not there only, + Nor for his mate nor himself only, nor all sent back by the echoes, + But subtle, clandestine, away beyond, + A charge transmitted and gift occult for those being born. + + 12 + Democracy! near at hand to you a throat is now inflating itself and + joyfully singing. + + Ma femme! for the brood beyond us and of us, + For those who belong here and those to come, + I exultant to be ready for them will now shake out carols stronger + and haughtier than have ever yet been heard upon earth. + + I will make the songs of passion to give them their way, + And your songs outlaw’d offenders, for I scan you with kindred eyes, + and carry you with me the same as any. + + I will make the true poem of riches, + To earn for the body and the mind whatever adheres and goes forward + and is not dropt by death; + I will effuse egotism and show it underlying all, and I will be the + bard of personality, + And I will show of male and female that either is but the equal of + the other, + And sexual organs and acts! do you concentrate in me, for I am determin’d + to tell you with courageous clear voice to prove you illustrious, + And I will show that there is no imperfection in the present, and + can be none in the future, + And I will show that whatever happens to anybody it may be turn’d to + beautiful results, + And I will show that nothing can happen more beautiful than death, + And I will thread a thread through my poems that time and events are + compact, + And that all the things of the universe are perfect miracles, each + as profound as any. + + I will not make poems with reference to parts, + But I will make poems, songs, thoughts, with reference to ensemble, + And I will not sing with reference to a day, but with reference to + all days, + And I will not make a poem nor the least part of a poem but has + reference to the soul, + Because having look’d at the objects of the universe, I find there + is no one nor any particle of one but has reference to the soul. + + 13 + Was somebody asking to see the soul? + See, your own shape and countenance, persons, substances, beasts, + the trees, the running rivers, the rocks and sands. + + All hold spiritual joys and afterwards loosen them; + How can the real body ever die and be buried? + + Of your real body and any man’s or woman’s real body, + Item for item it will elude the hands of the corpse-cleaners and + pass to fitting spheres, + Carrying what has accrued to it from the moment of birth to the + moment of death. + + Not the types set up by the printer return their impression, the + meaning, the main concern, + Any more than a man’s substance and life or a woman’s substance and + life return in the body and the soul, + Indifferently before death and after death. + + Behold, the body includes and is the meaning, the main concern and + includes and is the soul; + Whoever you are, how superb and how divine is your body, or any part + of it! + + 14 + Whoever you are, to you endless announcements! + + Daughter of the lands did you wait for your poet? + Did you wait for one with a flowing mouth and indicative hand? + Toward the male of the States, and toward the female of the States, + Exulting words, words to Democracy’s lands. + + Interlink’d, food-yielding lands! + Land of coal and iron! land of gold! land of cotton, sugar, rice! + Land of wheat, beef, pork! land of wool and hemp! land of the apple + and the grape! + Land of the pastoral plains, the grass-fields of the world! land of + those sweet-air’d interminable plateaus! + Land of the herd, the garden, the healthy house of adobie! + Lands where the north-west Columbia winds, and where the south-west + Colorado winds! + Land of the eastern Chesapeake! land of the Delaware! + Land of Ontario, Erie, Huron, Michigan! + Land of the Old Thirteen! Massachusetts land! land of Vermont and + Connecticut! + Land of the ocean shores! land of sierras and peaks! + Land of boatmen and sailors! fishermen’s land! + Inextricable lands! the clutch’d together! the passionate ones! + The side by side! the elder and younger brothers! the bony-limb’d! + The great women’s land! the feminine! the experienced sisters and + the inexperienced sisters! + Far breath’d land! Arctic braced! Mexican breez’d! the diverse! the + compact! + The Pennsylvanian! the Virginian! the double Carolinian! + O all and each well-loved by me! my intrepid nations! O I at any + rate include you all with perfect love! + I cannot be discharged from you! not from one any sooner than another! + O death! O for all that, I am yet of you unseen this hour with + irrepressible love, + Walking New England, a friend, a traveler, + Splashing my bare feet in the edge of the summer ripples on + Paumanok’s sands, + Crossing the prairies, dwelling again in Chicago, dwelling in every town, + Observing shows, births, improvements, structures, arts, + Listening to orators and oratresses in public halls, + Of and through the States as during life, each man and woman my neighbor, + The Louisianian, the Georgian, as near to me, and I as near to him and her, + The Mississippian and Arkansian yet with me, and I yet with any of them, + Yet upon the plains west of the spinal river, yet in my house of adobie, + Yet returning eastward, yet in the Seaside State or in Maryland, + Yet Kanadian cheerily braving the winter, the snow and ice welcome to me, + Yet a true son either of Maine or of the Granite State, or the + Narragansett Bay State, or the Empire State, + Yet sailing to other shores to annex the same, yet welcoming every + new brother, + Hereby applying these leaves to the new ones from the hour they + unite with the old ones, + Coming among the new ones myself to be their companion and equal, + coming personally to you now, + Enjoining you to acts, characters, spectacles, with me. + + 15 + With me with firm holding, yet haste, haste on. + For your life adhere to me, + (I may have to be persuaded many times before I consent to give + myself really to you, but what of that? + Must not Nature be persuaded many times?) + + No dainty dolce affettuoso I, + Bearded, sun-burnt, gray-neck’d, forbidding, I have arrived, + To be wrestled with as I pass for the solid prizes of the universe, + For such I afford whoever can persevere to win them. + + 16 + On my way a moment I pause, + Here for you! and here for America! + Still the present I raise aloft, still the future of the States I + harbinge glad and sublime, + And for the past I pronounce what the air holds of the red aborigines. + + The red aborigines, + Leaving natural breaths, sounds of rain and winds, calls as of birds + and animals in the woods, syllabled to us for names, + Okonee, Koosa, Ottawa, Monongahela, Sauk, Natchez, Chattahoochee, + Kaqueta, Oronoco, + Wabash, Miami, Saginaw, Chippewa, Oshkosh, Walla-Walla, + Leaving such to the States they melt, they depart, charging the + water and the land with names. + + 17 + Expanding and swift, henceforth, + Elements, breeds, adjustments, turbulent, quick and audacious, + A world primal again, vistas of glory incessant and branching, + A new race dominating previous ones and grander far, with new contests, + New politics, new literatures and religions, new inventions and arts. + + These, my voice announcing—I will sleep no more but arise, + You oceans that have been calm within me! how I feel you, + fathomless, stirring, preparing unprecedented waves and storms. + + 18 + See, steamers steaming through my poems, + See, in my poems immigrants continually coming and landing, + See, in arriere, the wigwam, the trail, the hunter’s hut, the flat-boat, + the maize-leaf, the claim, the rude fence, and the backwoods village, + See, on the one side the Western Sea and on the other the Eastern Sea, + how they advance and retreat upon my poems as upon their own shores, + See, pastures and forests in my poems—see, animals wild and tame—see, + beyond the Kaw, countless herds of buffalo feeding on short curly grass, + See, in my poems, cities, solid, vast, inland, with paved streets, + with iron and stone edifices, ceaseless vehicles, and commerce, + See, the many-cylinder’d steam printing-press—see, the electric + telegraph stretching across the continent, + See, through Atlantica’s depths pulses American Europe reaching, + pulses of Europe duly return’d, + See, the strong and quick locomotive as it departs, panting, blowing + the steam-whistle, + See, ploughmen ploughing farms—see, miners digging mines—see, + the numberless factories, + See, mechanics busy at their benches with tools—see from among them + superior judges, philosophs, Presidents, emerge, drest in + working dresses, + See, lounging through the shops and fields of the States, me + well-belov’d, close-held by day and night, + Hear the loud echoes of my songs there—read the hints come at last. + + 19 + O camerado close! O you and me at last, and us two only. + O a word to clear one’s path ahead endlessly! + O something ecstatic and undemonstrable! O music wild! + O now I triumph—and you shall also; + O hand in hand—O wholesome pleasure—O one more desirer and lover! + O to haste firm holding—to haste, haste on with me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"></a> + BOOK III + </h2> + <p> + Song of Myself + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + I celebrate myself, and sing myself, + And what I assume you shall assume, + For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. + + I loafe and invite my soul, + I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. + + My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air, + Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their + parents the same, + I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, + Hoping to cease not till death. + + Creeds and schools in abeyance, + Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, + I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, + Nature without check with original energy. + + 2 + Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with + perfumes, + I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it, + The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. + + The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the + distillation, it is odorless, + It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it, + I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, + I am mad for it to be in contact with me. + + The smoke of my own breath, + Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, + My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing + of blood and air through my lungs, + The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and + dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, + + The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of + the wind, + A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, + The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, + The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields + and hill-sides, + The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising + from bed and meeting the sun. + + Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the earth much? + Have you practis’d so long to learn to read? + Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? + + Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of + all poems, + You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions + of suns left,) + You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through + the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, + You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, + You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. + + 3 + I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the + beginning and the end, + But I do not talk of the beginning or the end. + + There was never any more inception than there is now, + Nor any more youth or age than there is now, + And will never be any more perfection than there is now, + Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. + + Urge and urge and urge, + Always the procreant urge of the world. + + Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and + increase, always sex, + Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. + To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so. + + Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well + entretied, braced in the beams, + Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, + I and this mystery here we stand. + + Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. + + Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, + Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. + + Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age, + Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they + discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. + + Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, + Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be + less familiar than the rest. + + I am satisfied—I see, dance, laugh, sing; + As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, + and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, + Leaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with + their plenty, + Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes, + That they turn from gazing after and down the road, + And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent, + Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead? + + 4 + Trippers and askers surround me, + People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and + city I live in, or the nation, + The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new, + My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues, + The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love, + The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss + or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations, + Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, + the fitful events; + These come to me days and nights and go from me again, + But they are not the Me myself. + + Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, + Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, + Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, + Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, + Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. + + Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with + linguists and contenders, + I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. + + 5 + I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you, + And you must not be abased to the other. + + Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, + Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not + even the best, + Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. + + I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, + How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me, + And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue + to my bare-stript heart, + And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet. + + Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass + all the argument of the earth, + And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own, + And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own, + And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women + my sisters and lovers, + And that a kelson of the creation is love, + And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields, + And brown ants in the little wells beneath them, + And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap’d stones, elder, mullein and + poke-weed. + + 6 + A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; + How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. + + I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green + stuff woven. + + Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, + A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, + Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see + and remark, and say Whose? + + Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. + + Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, + And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, + Growing among black folks as among white, + Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I + receive them the same. + + And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. + + Tenderly will I use you curling grass, + It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, + It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, + It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out + of their mothers’ laps, + And here you are the mothers’ laps. + + This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, + Darker than the colorless beards of old men, + Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. + + O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, + And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. + + I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, + And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken + soon out of their laps. + + What do you think has become of the young and old men? + And what do you think has become of the women and children? + + They are alive and well somewhere, + The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, + And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the + end to arrest it, + And ceas’d the moment life appear’d. + + All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, + And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. + + 7 + Has any one supposed it lucky to be born? + I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it. + + I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe, and + am not contain’d between my hat and boots, + And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good, + The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good. + + I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth, + I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and + fathomless as myself, + (They do not know how immortal, but I know.) + + Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female, + For me those that have been boys and that love women, + For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted, + For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the + mothers of mothers, + For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears, + For me children and the begetters of children. + + Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded, + I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no, + And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away. + + 8 + The little one sleeps in its cradle, + I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies + with my hand. + + The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, + I peeringly view them from the top. + + The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, + I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol + has fallen. + + The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of + the promenaders, + The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the + clank of the shod horses on the granite floor, + The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls, + The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous’d mobs, + The flap of the curtain’d litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital, + The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall, + The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his + passage to the centre of the crowd, + The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes, + What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in fits, + What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and + give birth to babes, + What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls + restrain’d by decorum, + Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances, + rejections with convex lips, + I mind them or the show or resonance of them—I come and I depart. + + 9 + The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready, + The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon, + The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged, + The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow. + + I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load, + I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other, + I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy, + And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps. + + 10 + Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt, + Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee, + In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night, + Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill’d game, + Falling asleep on the gather’d leaves with my dog and gun by my side. + + The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, + My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck. + + The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me, + I tuck’d my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time; + You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle. + + I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, + the bride was a red girl, + Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, + they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets + hanging from their shoulders, + On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant + beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand, + She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks + descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her feet. + + The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside, + I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile, + Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak, + And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him, + And brought water and fill’d a tub for his sweated body and bruis’d feet, + And gave him a room that enter’d from my own, and gave him some + coarse clean clothes, + And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness, + And remember putting plasters on the galls of his neck and ankles; + He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass’d north, + I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean’d in the corner. + + 11 + Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore, + Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly; + Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome. + + She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank, + She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window. + + Which of the young men does she like the best? + Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her. + + Where are you off to, lady? for I see you, + You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room. + + Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, + The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them. + + The beards of the young men glisten’d with wet, it ran from their long hair, + Little streams pass’d all over their bodies. + + An unseen hand also pass’d over their bodies, + It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs. + + The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the + sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them, + They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch, + They do not think whom they souse with spray. + + 12 + The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife + at the stall in the market, + I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down. + + Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil, + Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in + the fire. + + From the cinder-strew’d threshold I follow their movements, + The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, + Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, + They do not hasten, each man hits in his place. + + 13 + The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags + underneath on its tied-over chain, + The negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and + tall he stands pois’d on one leg on the string-piece, + His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over + his hip-band, + His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat + away from his forehead, + The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of + his polish’d and perfect limbs. + + I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there, + I go with the team also. + + In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as + forward sluing, + To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing, + Absorbing all to myself and for this song. + + Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what + is that you express in your eyes? + It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life. + + My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and + day-long ramble, + They rise together, they slowly circle around. + + I believe in those wing’d purposes, + And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me, + And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional, + And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else, + And the jay in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me, + And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me. + + 14 + The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night, + Ya-honk he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation, + The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listening close, + Find its purpose and place up there toward the wintry sky. + + The sharp-hoof’d moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the + chickadee, the prairie-dog, + The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats, + The brood of the turkey-hen and she with her half-spread wings, + I see in them and myself the same old law. + + The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, + They scorn the best I can do to relate them. + + I am enamour’d of growing out-doors, + Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, + Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and + mauls, and the drivers of horses, + I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out. + + What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me, + Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, + Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, + Not asking the sky to come down to my good will, + Scattering it freely forever. + + 15 + The pure contralto sings in the organ loft, + The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane + whistles its wild ascending lisp, + The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner, + The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with a strong arm, + The mate stands braced in the whale-boat, lance and harpoon are ready, + The duck-shooter walks by silent and cautious stretches, + The deacons are ordain’d with cross’d hands at the altar, + The spinning-girl retreats and advances to the hum of the big wheel, + The farmer stops by the bars as he walks on a First-day loafe and + looks at the oats and rye, + The lunatic is carried at last to the asylum a confirm’d case, + (He will never sleep any more as he did in the cot in his mother’s + bed-room;) + The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case, + He turns his quid of tobacco while his eyes blurr with the manuscript; + The malform’d limbs are tied to the surgeon’s table, + What is removed drops horribly in a pail; + The quadroon girl is sold at the auction-stand, the drunkard nods by + the bar-room stove, + The machinist rolls up his sleeves, the policeman travels his beat, + the gate-keeper marks who pass, + The young fellow drives the express-wagon, (I love him, though I do + not know him;) + The half-breed straps on his light boots to compete in the race, + The western turkey-shooting draws old and young, some lean on their + rifles, some sit on logs, + Out from the crowd steps the marksman, takes his position, levels his piece; + The groups of newly-come immigrants cover the wharf or levee, + As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer views them + from his saddle, + The bugle calls in the ball-room, the gentlemen run for their + partners, the dancers bow to each other, + The youth lies awake in the cedar-roof’d garret and harks to the + musical rain, + The Wolverine sets traps on the creek that helps fill the Huron, + The squaw wrapt in her yellow-hemm’d cloth is offering moccasins and + bead-bags for sale, + The connoisseur peers along the exhibition-gallery with half-shut + eyes bent sideways, + As the deck-hands make fast the steamboat the plank is thrown for + the shore-going passengers, + The young sister holds out the skein while the elder sister winds it + off in a ball, and stops now and then for the knots, + The one-year wife is recovering and happy having a week ago borne + her first child, + The clean-hair’d Yankee girl works with her sewing-machine or in the + factory or mill, + The paving-man leans on his two-handed rammer, the reporter’s lead + flies swiftly over the note-book, the sign-painter is lettering + with blue and gold, + The canal boy trots on the tow-path, the book-keeper counts at his + desk, the shoemaker waxes his thread, + The conductor beats time for the band and all the performers follow him, + The child is baptized, the convert is making his first professions, + The regatta is spread on the bay, the race is begun, (how the white + sails sparkle!) + The drover watching his drove sings out to them that would stray, + The pedler sweats with his pack on his back, (the purchaser higgling + about the odd cent;) + The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock + moves slowly, + The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-open’d lips, + The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and + pimpled neck, + The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to + each other, + (Miserable! I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you;) + The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great + Secretaries, + On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms, + The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the hold, + The Missourian crosses the plains toting his wares and his cattle, + As the fare-collector goes through the train he gives notice by the + jingling of loose change, + The floor-men are laying the floor, the tinners are tinning the + roof, the masons are calling for mortar, + In single file each shouldering his hod pass onward the laborers; + Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gather’d, it + is the fourth of Seventh-month, (what salutes of cannon and small arms!) + Seasons pursuing each other the plougher ploughs, the mower mows, + and the winter-grain falls in the ground; + Off on the lakes the pike-fisher watches and waits by the hole in + the frozen surface, + The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter strikes deep + with his axe, + Flatboatmen make fast towards dusk near the cotton-wood or pecan-trees, + Coon-seekers go through the regions of the Red river or through + those drain’d by the Tennessee, or through those of the Arkansas, + Torches shine in the dark that hangs on the Chattahooche or Altamahaw, + Patriarchs sit at supper with sons and grandsons and great-grandsons + around them, + In walls of adobie, in canvas tents, rest hunters and trappers after + their day’s sport, + The city sleeps and the country sleeps, + The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time, + The old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife; + And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, + And such as it is to be of these more or less I am, + And of these one and all I weave the song of myself. + + 16 + I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise, + Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, + Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man, + Stuff’d with the stuff that is coarse and stuff’d with the stuff + that is fine, + One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the + largest the same, + A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and + hospitable down by the Oconee I live, + A Yankee bound my own way ready for trade, my joints the limberest + joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth, + A Kentuckian walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin + leggings, a Louisianian or Georgian, + A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye; + At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen + off Newfoundland, + At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tacking, + At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine, or the + Texan ranch, + Comrade of Californians, comrade of free North-Westerners, (loving + their big proportions,) + Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen, comrade of all who shake hands + and welcome to drink and meat, + A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest, + A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons, + Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion, + A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker, + Prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest. + + I resist any thing better than my own diversity, + Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, + And am not stuck up, and am in my place. + + (The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place, + The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place, + The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.) + + 17 + These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they + are not original with me, + If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing, + If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing, + If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing. + + This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, + This the common air that bathes the globe. + + 18 + With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums, + I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for + conquer’d and slain persons. + + Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? + I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit + in which they are won. + + I beat and pound for the dead, + I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them. + + Vivas to those who have fail’d! + And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea! + And to those themselves who sank in the sea! + And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes! + And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known! + + 19 + This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger, + It is for the wicked just same as the righteous, I make appointments + with all, + I will not have a single person slighted or left away, + The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited, + The heavy-lipp’d slave is invited, the venerealee is invited; + There shall be no difference between them and the rest. + + This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, + This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, + This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, + This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again. + + Do you guess I have some intricate purpose? + Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the + side of a rock has. + + Do you take it I would astonish? + Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering + through the woods? + Do I astonish more than they? + + This hour I tell things in confidence, + I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you. + + 20 + Who goes there? hankering, gross, mystical, nude; + How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat? + + What is a man anyhow? what am I? what are you? + + All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, + Else it were time lost listening to me. + + I do not snivel that snivel the world over, + That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth. + + Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity + goes to the fourth-remov’d, + I wear my hat as I please indoors or out. + + Why should I pray? why should I venerate and be ceremonious? + + Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel’d with + doctors and calculated close, + I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones. + + In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less, + And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them. + + I know I am solid and sound, + To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, + All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means. + + I know I am deathless, + I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter’s compass, + I know I shall not pass like a child’s carlacue cut with a burnt + stick at night. + + I know I am august, + I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood, + I see that the elementary laws never apologize, + (I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, + after all.) + + I exist as I am, that is enough, + If no other in the world be aware I sit content, + And if each and all be aware I sit content. + + One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself, + And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten + million years, + I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait. + + My foothold is tenon’d and mortis’d in granite, + I laugh at what you call dissolution, + And I know the amplitude of time. + + 21 + I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, + The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, + The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate + into new tongue. + + I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, + And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, + And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men. + + I chant the chant of dilation or pride, + We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, + I show that size is only development. + + Have you outstript the rest? are you the President? + It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and + still pass on. + + I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, + I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night. + + Press close bare-bosom’d night—press close magnetic nourishing night! + Night of south winds—night of the large few stars! + Still nodding night—mad naked summer night. + + Smile O voluptuous cool-breath’d earth! + Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees! + Earth of departed sunset—earth of the mountains misty-topt! + Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue! + Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! + Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! + Far-swooping elbow’d earth—rich apple-blossom’d earth! + Smile, for your lover comes. + + Prodigal, you have given me love—therefore I to you give love! + O unspeakable passionate love. + + Thruster holding me tight and that I hold tight! + We hurt each other as the bridegroom and the bride hurt each other. + + 22 + You sea! I resign myself to you also—I guess what you mean, + I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, + I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, + We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land, + Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse, + Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you. + + Sea of stretch’d ground-swells, + Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, + Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell’d yet always-ready graves, + Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, + I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases. + + Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, + Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others’ arms. + + I am he attesting sympathy, + (Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that + supports them?) + + I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet + of wickedness also. + + What blurt is this about virtue and about vice? + Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, + My gait is no fault-finder’s or rejecter’s gait, + I moisten the roots of all that has grown. + + Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy? + Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work’d over and rectified? + + I find one side a balance and the antipedal side a balance, + Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine, + Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start. + + This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, + There is no better than it and now. + + What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, + The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel. + + 23 + Endless unfolding of words of ages! + And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. + + A word of the faith that never balks, + Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely. + + It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, + That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. + + I accept Reality and dare not question it, + Materialism first and last imbuing. + + Hurrah for positive science! long live exact demonstration! + Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, + This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of + the old cartouches, + These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas. + This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a + mathematician. + + Gentlemen, to you the first honors always! + Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, + I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling. + + Less the reminders of properties told my words, + And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, + And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and + women fully equipt, + And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that + plot and conspire. + + 24 + Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, + Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, + No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, + No more modest than immodest. + + Unscrew the locks from the doors! + Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs! + + Whoever degrades another degrades me, + And whatever is done or said returns at last to me. + + Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current + and index. + + I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, + By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their + counterpart of on the same terms. + + Through me many long dumb voices, + Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, + Voices of the diseas’d and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs, + Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, + And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the + father-stuff, + And of the rights of them the others are down upon, + Of the deform’d, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, + Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung. + + Through me forbidden voices, + Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil’d and I remove the veil, + Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur’d. + + I do not press my fingers across my mouth, + I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, + Copulation is no more rank to me than death is. + + I believe in the flesh and the appetites, + Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me + is a miracle. + + Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am + touch’d from, + The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, + This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. + + If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of + my own body, or any part of it, + Translucent mould of me it shall be you! + Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you! + Firm masculine colter it shall be you! + Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you! + You my rich blood! your milky stream pale strippings of my life! + Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you! + My brain it shall be your occult convolutions! + Root of wash’d sweet-flag! timorous pond-snipe! nest of guarded + duplicate eggs! it shall be you! + Mix’d tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you! + Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you! + Sun so generous it shall be you! + Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you! + You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you! + Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you! + Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my + winding paths, it shall be you! + Hands I have taken, face I have kiss’d, mortal I have ever touch’d, + it shall be you. + + I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, + Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, + I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, + Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the + friendship I take again. + + That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, + A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics + of books. + + To behold the day-break! + The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, + The air tastes good to my palate. + + Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising + freshly exuding, + Scooting obliquely high and low. + + Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, + Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven. + + The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, + The heav’d challenge from the east that moment over my head, + The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master! + + 25 + Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me, + If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me. + + We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, + We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak. + + My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, + With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds. + + Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, + It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, + Walt you contain enough, why don’t you let it out then? + + Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of + articulation, + Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded? + Waiting in gloom, protected by frost, + The dirt receding before my prophetical screams, + I underlying causes to balance them at last, + My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things, + Happiness, (which whoever hears me let him or her set out in search + of this day.) + + My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really am, + Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me, + I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you. + + Writing and talk do not prove me, + I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, + With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic. + + 26 + Now I will do nothing but listen, + To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it. + + I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, + clack of sticks cooking my meals, + I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, + I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, + Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, + Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of + work-people at their meals, + The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, + The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing + a death-sentence, + The heave’e’yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the + refrain of the anchor-lifters, + The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking + engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color’d lights, + The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, + The slow march play’d at the head of the association marching two and two, + (They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.) + + I hear the violoncello, (’tis the young man’s heart’s complaint,) + I hear the key’d cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, + It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. + + I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, + Ah this indeed is music—this suits me. + + A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, + The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full. + + I hear the train’d soprano (what work with hers is this?) + The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, + It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess’d them, + It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick’d by the indolent waves, + I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath, + Steep’d amid honey’d morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death, + At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, + And that we call Being. + + 27 + To be in any form, what is that? + (Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither,) + If nothing lay more develop’d the quahaug in its callous shell were enough. + + Mine is no callous shell, + I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, + They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me. + + I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, + To touch my person to some one else’s is about as much as I can stand. + + 28 + Is this then a touch? quivering me to a new identity, + Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, + Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them, + My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly + different from myself, + On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs, + Straining the udder of my heart for its withheld drip, + Behaving licentious toward me, taking no denial, + Depriving me of my best as for a purpose, + Unbuttoning my clothes, holding me by the bare waist, + Deluding my confusion with the calm of the sunlight and pasture-fields, + Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away, + They bribed to swap off with touch and go and graze at the edges of me, + No consideration, no regard for my draining strength or my anger, + Fetching the rest of the herd around to enjoy them a while, + Then all uniting to stand on a headland and worry me. + + The sentries desert every other part of me, + They have left me helpless to a red marauder, + They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me. + + I am given up by traitors, + I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the + greatest traitor, + I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there. + + You villain touch! what are you doing? my breath is tight in its throat, + Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for me. + + 29 + Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath’d hooded sharp-tooth’d touch! + Did it make you ache so, leaving me? + + Parting track’d by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, + Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward. + + Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, + Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden. + + 30 + All truths wait in all things, + They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, + They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, + The insignificant is as big to me as any, + (What is less or more than a touch?) + + Logic and sermons never convince, + The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul. + + (Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, + Only what nobody denies is so.) + + A minute and a drop of me settle my brain, + I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps, + And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman, + And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other, + And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it + becomes omnific, + And until one and all shall delight us, and we them. + + 31 + I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars, + And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg + of the wren, + And the tree-toad is a chef-d’œuvre for the highest, + And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven, + And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery, + And the cow crunching with depress’d head surpasses any statue, + And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. + + I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, + grains, esculent roots, + And am stucco’d with quadrupeds and birds all over, + And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, + But call any thing back again when I desire it. + + In vain the speeding or shyness, + In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach, + In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder’d bones, + In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes, + In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low, + In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky, + In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs, + In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods, + In vain the razor-bill’d auk sails far north to Labrador, + I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff. + + 32 + I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and + self-contain’d, + I stand and look at them long and long. + + They do not sweat and whine about their condition, + They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, + They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, + Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of + owning things, + Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of + years ago, + Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth. + + So they show their relations to me and I accept them, + They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their + possession. + + I wonder where they get those tokens, + Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them? + + Myself moving forward then and now and forever, + Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, + Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, + Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, + Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms. + + A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, + Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, + Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, + Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving. + + His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, + His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return. + + I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, + Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them? + Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you. + + 33 + Space and Time! now I see it is true, what I guess’d at, + What I guess’d when I loaf’d on the grass, + What I guess’d while I lay alone in my bed, + And again as I walk’d the beach under the paling stars of the morning. + + My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps, + I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, + I am afoot with my vision. + + By the city’s quadrangular houses—in log huts, camping with lumber-men, + Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, + Weeding my onion-patch or hosing rows of carrots and parsnips, + crossing savannas, trailing in forests, + Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new purchase, + Scorch’d ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat down the + shallow river, + Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, where the + buck turns furiously at the hunter, + Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, where the + otter is feeding on fish, + Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou, + Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the + beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tall; + Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flower’d cotton plant, over + the rice in its low moist field, + Over the sharp-peak’d farm house, with its scallop’d scum and + slender shoots from the gutters, + Over the western persimmon, over the long-leav’d corn, over the + delicate blue-flower flax, + Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there with + the rest, + Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the breeze; + Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low + scragged limbs, + Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of the brush, + Where the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and the wheat-lot, + Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great + goldbug drops through the dark, + Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to + the meadow, + Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous + shuddering of their hides, + Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andirons straddle + the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoons from the rafters; + Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling its cylinders, + Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs, + Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, (floating in it + myself and looking composedly down,) + Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat + hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand, + Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it, + Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant of smoke, + Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water, + Where the half-burn’d brig is riding on unknown currents, + Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupting below; + Where the dense-starr’d flag is borne at the head of the regiments, + Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island, + Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance, + Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside, + Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game of + base-ball, + At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, + bull-dances, drinking, laughter, + At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the + juice through a straw, + At apple-peelings wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find, + At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings, house-raisings; + Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles, + screams, weeps, + Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks are + scatter’d, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel, + Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud to + the mare, where the cock is treading the hen, + Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with short jerks, + Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome prairie, + Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square miles + far and near, + Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long-lived + swan is curving and winding, + Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her + near-human laugh, + Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hid by the + high weeds, + Where band-neck’d partridges roost in a ring on the ground with + their heads out, + Where burial coaches enter the arch’d gates of a cemetery, + Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees, + Where the yellow-crown’d heron comes to the edge of the marsh at + night and feeds upon small crabs, + Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon, + Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree over + the well, + Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wired leaves, + Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs, + Through the gymnasium, through the curtain’d saloon, through the + office or public hall; + Pleas’d with the native and pleas’d with the foreign, pleas’d with + the new and old, + Pleas’d with the homely woman as well as the handsome, + Pleas’d with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks melodiously, + Pleas’d with the tune of the choir of the whitewash’d church, + Pleas’d with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preacher, + impress’d seriously at the camp-meeting; + Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole forenoon, + flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass, + Wandering the same afternoon with my face turn’d up to the clouds, + or down a lane or along the beach, + My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle; + Coming home with the silent and dark-cheek’d bush-boy, (behind me + he rides at the drape of the day,) + Far from the settlements studying the print of animals’ feet, or the + moccasin print, + By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient, + Nigh the coffin’d corpse when all is still, examining with a candle; + Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure, + Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any, + Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him, + Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while, + Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by my side, + Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars, + Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the + diameter of eighty thousand miles, + Speeding with tail’d meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest, + Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly, + Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning, + Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing, + I tread day and night such roads. + + I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, + And look at quintillions ripen’d and look at quintillions green. + + I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, + My course runs below the soundings of plummets. + + I help myself to material and immaterial, + No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me. + + I anchor my ship for a little while only, + My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me. + + I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a + pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue. + + I ascend to the foretruck, + I take my place late at night in the crow’s-nest, + We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough, + Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty, + The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is + plain in all directions, + The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my + fancies toward them, + We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to + be engaged, + We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still + feet and caution, + Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin’d city, + The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities + of the globe. + + I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires, + I turn the bridegroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself, + I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips. + + My voice is the wife’s voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, + They fetch my man’s body up dripping and drown’d. + + I understand the large hearts of heroes, + The courage of present times and all times, + How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the + steamship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm, + How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faithful of + days and faithful of nights, + And chalk’d in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will + not desert you; + How he follow’d with them and tack’d with them three days and + would not give it up, + How he saved the drifting company at last, + How the lank loose-gown’d women look’d when boated from the + side of their prepared graves, + How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the + sharp-lipp’d unshaved men; + All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine, + I am the man, I suffer’d, I was there. + + The disdain and calmness of martyrs, + The mother of old, condemn’d for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her + children gazing on, + The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, + blowing, cover’d with sweat, + The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous + buckshot and the bullets, + All these I feel or am. + + I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, + Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, + I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn’d with the + ooze of my skin, + I fall on the weeds and stones, + The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, + Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks. + + Agonies are one of my changes of garments, + I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the + wounded person, + My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe. + + I am the mash’d fireman with breast-bone broken, + Tumbling walls buried me in their debris, + Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, + I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels, + They have clear’d the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth. + + I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, + Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, + White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared + of their fire-caps, + The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches. + + Distant and dead resuscitate, + They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself. + + I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort’s bombardment, + I am there again. + + Again the long roll of the drummers, + Again the attacking cannon, mortars, + Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive. + + I take part, I see and hear the whole, + The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aim’d shots, + The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip, + Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs, + The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion, + The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air. + + Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves + with his hand, + He gasps through the clot Mind not me—mind—the entrenchments. + + 34 + Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth, + (I tell not the fall of Alamo, + Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, + The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo,) + ’Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve + young men. + + Retreating they had form’d in a hollow square with their baggage for + breastworks, + Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their + number, was the price they took in advance, + Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone, + They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv’d writing and + seal, gave up their arms and march’d back prisoners of war. + + They were the glory of the race of rangers, + Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, + Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, + Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, + Not a single one over thirty years of age. + + The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and + massacred, it was beautiful early summer, + The work commenced about five o’clock and was over by eight. + + None obey’d the command to kneel, + Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight, + A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead + lay together, + The maim’d and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw them there, + Some half-kill’d attempted to crawl away, + These were despatch’d with bayonets or batter’d with the blunts of muskets, + A youth not seventeen years old seiz’d his assassin till two more + came to release him, + The three were all torn and cover’d with the boy’s blood. + + At eleven o’clock began the burning of the bodies; + That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men. + + 35 + Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight? + Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars? + List to the yarn, as my grandmother’s father the sailor told it to me. + + Our foe was no skulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,) + His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, + and never was, and never will be; + Along the lower’d eve he came horribly raking us. + + We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch’d, + My captain lash’d fast with his own hands. + + We had receiv’d some eighteen pound shots under the water, + On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, + killing all around and blowing up overhead. + + Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, + Ten o’clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, + and five feet of water reported, + The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold + to give them a chance for themselves. + + The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, + They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust. + + Our frigate takes fire, + The other asks if we demand quarter? + If our colors are struck and the fighting done? + + Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, + We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part + of the fighting. + + Only three guns are in use, + One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy’s main-mast, + Two well serv’d with grape and canister silence his musketry and + clear his decks. + + The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially + the main-top, + They hold out bravely during the whole of the action. + + Not a moment’s cease, + The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine. + + One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking. + + Serene stands the little captain, + He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, + His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns. + + Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us. + + 36 + Stretch’d and still lies the midnight, + Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness, + Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the + one we have conquer’d, + The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a + countenance white as a sheet, + Near by the corpse of the child that serv’d in the cabin, + The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully + curl’d whiskers, + The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and below, + The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty, + Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of flesh + upon the masts and spars, + Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of waves, + Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent, + A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining, + Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by + the shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors, + The hiss of the surgeon’s knife, the gnawing teeth of his saw, + Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long, + dull, tapering groan, + These so, these irretrievable. + + 37 + You laggards there on guard! look to your arms! + In at the conquer’d doors they crowd! I am possess’d! + Embody all presences outlaw’d or suffering, + See myself in prison shaped like another man, + And feel the dull unintermitted pain. + + For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, + It is I let out in the morning and barr’d at night. + + Not a mutineer walks handcuff’d to jail but I am handcuff’d to him + and walk by his side, + (I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat + on my twitching lips.) + + Not a youngster is taken for larceny but I go up too, and am tried + and sentenced. + + Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp, + My face is ash-color’d, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat. + + Askers embody themselves in me and I am embodied in them, + I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg. + + 38 + Enough! enough! enough! + Somehow I have been stunn’d. Stand back! + Give me a little time beyond my cuff’d head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, + I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake. + + That I could forget the mockers and insults! + That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the + bludgeons and hammers! + That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and + bloody crowning. + + I remember now, + I resume the overstaid fraction, + The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, + Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me. + + I troop forth replenish’d with supreme power, one of an average + unending procession, + Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines, + Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth, + The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years. + + Eleves, I salute you! come forward! + Continue your annotations, continue your questionings. + + 39 + The friendly and flowing savage, who is he? + Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it? + + Is he some Southwesterner rais’d out-doors? is he Kanadian? + Is he from the Mississippi country? Iowa, Oregon, California? + The mountains? prairie-life, bush-life? or sailor from the sea? + + Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him, + They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them. + + Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncomb’d + head, laughter, and naivete, + Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations, + They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers, + They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of + the glance of his eyes. + + 40 + Flaunt of the sunshine I need not your bask—lie over! + You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also. + + Earth! you seem to look for something at my hands, + Say, old top-knot, what do you want? + + Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, but cannot, + And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot, + And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days. + + Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, + When I give I give myself. + + You there, impotent, loose in the knees, + Open your scarf’d chops till I blow grit within you, + Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, + I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, + And any thing I have I bestow. + + I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, + You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you. + + To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, + On his right cheek I put the family kiss, + And in my soul I swear I never will deny him. + + On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes. + (This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.) + + To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door. + Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, + Let the physician and the priest go home. + + I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, + O despairer, here is my neck, + By God, you shall not go down! hang your whole weight upon me. + + I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, + Every room of the house do I fill with an arm’d force, + Lovers of me, bafflers of graves. + + Sleep—I and they keep guard all night, + Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you, + I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself, + And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so. + + 41 + I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs, + And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help. + + I heard what was said of the universe, + Heard it and heard it of several thousand years; + It is middling well as far as it goes—but is that all? + + Magnifying and applying come I, + Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters, + Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah, + Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson, + Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha, + In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf, the crucifix + engraved, + With Odin and the hideous-faced Mexitli and every idol and image, + Taking them all for what they are worth and not a cent more, + Admitting they were alive and did the work of their days, + (They bore mites as for unfledg’d birds who have now to rise and fly + and sing for themselves,) + Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself, + bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see, + Discovering as much or more in a framer framing a house, + Putting higher claims for him there with his roll’d-up sleeves + driving the mallet and chisel, + Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke or + a hair on the back of my hand just as curious as any revelation, + Lads ahold of fire-engines and hook-and-ladder ropes no less to me + than the gods of the antique wars, + Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction, + Their brawny limbs passing safe over charr’d laths, their white + foreheads whole and unhurt out of the flames; + By the mechanic’s wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for + every person born, + Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels + with shirts bagg’d out at their waists, + The snag-tooth’d hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to come, + Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his + brother and sit by him while he is tried for forgery; + What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about me, and + not filling the square rod then, + The bull and the bug never worshipp’d half enough, + Dung and dirt more admirable than was dream’d, + The supernatural of no account, myself waiting my time to be one of + the supremes, + The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as the + best, and be as prodigious; + By my life-lumps! becoming already a creator, + Putting myself here and now to the ambush’d womb of the shadows. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 42 + A call in the midst of the crowd, + My own voice, orotund sweeping and final. + + Come my children, + Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, + Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass’d his prelude on + the reeds within. + + Easily written loose-finger’d chords—I feel the thrum of your + climax and close. + + My head slues round on my neck, + Music rolls, but not from the organ, + Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine. + + Ever the hard unsunk ground, + Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever + the air and the ceaseless tides, + Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real, + Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn’d thumb, that + breath of itches and thirsts, + Ever the vexer’s hoot! hoot! till we find where the sly one hides + and bring him forth, + Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life, + Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death. + + Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking, + To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, + Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going, + Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment + receiving, + A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming. + + This is the city and I am one of the citizens, + Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets, + newspapers, schools, + The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, + stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate. + + The little plentiful manikins skipping around in collars and tail’d coats + I am aware who they are, (they are positively not worms or fleas,) + I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest + is deathless with me, + What I do and say the same waits for them, + Every thought that flounders in me the same flounders in them. + + I know perfectly well my own egotism, + Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, + And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself. + + Not words of routine this song of mine, + But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; + This printed and bound book—but the printer and the + printing-office boy? + The well-taken photographs—but your wife or friend close and solid + in your arms? + The black ship mail’d with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets—but + the pluck of the captain and engineers? + In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture—but the host and + hostess, and the look out of their eyes? + The sky up there—yet here or next door, or across the way? + The saints and sages in history—but you yourself? + Sermons, creeds, theology—but the fathomless human brain, + And what is reason? and what is love? and what is life? + + 43 + I do not despise you priests, all time, the world over, + My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths, + Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between ancient and modern, + Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years, + Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the gods, saluting the sun, + Making a fetich of the first rock or stump, powowing with sticks in + the circle of obis, + Helping the llama or brahmin as he trims the lamps of the idols, + Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic procession, rapt and + austere in the woods a gymnosophist, + Drinking mead from the skull-cap, to Shastas and Vedas admirant, + minding the Koran, + Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife, + beating the serpent-skin drum, + Accepting the Gospels, accepting him that was crucified, knowing + assuredly that he is divine, + To the mass kneeling or the puritan’s prayer rising, or sitting + patiently in a pew, + Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting dead-like till + my spirit arouses me, + Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of pavement and land, + Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits. + + One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like + man leaving charges before a journey. + + Down-hearted doubters dull and excluded, + Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, dishearten’d, atheistical, + I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair + and unbelief. + + How the flukes splash! + How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood! + + Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, + I take my place among you as much as among any, + The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, + And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely + the same. + + I do not know what is untried and afterward, + But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail. + + Each who passes is consider’d, each who stops is consider’d, not + single one can it fall. + + It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, + Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, + Nor the little child that peep’d in at the door, and then drew back + and was never seen again, + Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with + bitterness worse than gall, + Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad disorder, + Nor the numberless slaughter’d and wreck’d, nor the brutish koboo + call’d the ordure of humanity, + Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in, + Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth, + Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of myriads + that inhabit them, + Nor the present, nor the least wisp that is known. + + 44 + It is time to explain myself—let us stand up. + + What is known I strip away, + I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown. + + The clock indicates the moment—but what does eternity indicate? + + We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, + There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them. + + Births have brought us richness and variety, + And other births will bring us richness and variety. + + I do not call one greater and one smaller, + That which fills its period and place is equal to any. + + Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister? + I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, + All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, + (What have I to do with lamentation?) + + I am an acme of things accomplish’d, and I an encloser of things to be. + + My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, + On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, + All below duly travel’d, and still I mount and mount. + + Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, + Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there, + I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist, + And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon. + + Long I was hugg’d close—long and long. + + Immense have been the preparations for me, + Faithful and friendly the arms that have help’d me. + + Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, + For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings, + They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. + + Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, + My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it. + + For it the nebula cohered to an orb, + The long slow strata piled to rest it on, + Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, + Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it + with care. + + All forces have been steadily employ’d to complete and delight me, + Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 45 + O span of youth! ever-push’d elasticity! + O manhood, balanced, florid and full. + + My lovers suffocate me, + Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, + Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night, + Crying by day, Ahoy! from the rocks of the river, swinging and + chirping over my head, + Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush, + Lighting on every moment of my life, + Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, + Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them to be mine. + + Old age superbly rising! O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days! + + Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows + after and out of itself, + And the dark hush promulges as much as any. + + I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, + And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of + the farther systems. + + Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, + Outward and outward and forever outward. + + My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels, + He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit, + And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them. + + There is no stoppage and never can be stoppage, + If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces, + were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would + not avail the long run, + We should surely bring up again where we now stand, + And surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther. + + A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do + not hazard the span or make it impatient, + They are but parts, any thing is but a part. + + See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that, + Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that. + + My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain, + The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms, + The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there. + + 46 + I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and + never will be measured. + + I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!) + My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods, + No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair, + I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, + I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange, + But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll, + My left hand hooking you round the waist, + My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road. + + Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, + You must travel it for yourself. + + It is not far, it is within reach, + Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know, + Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land. + + Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth, + Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go. + + If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand + on my hip, + And in due time you shall repay the same service to me, + For after we start we never lie by again. + + This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look’d at the crowded heaven, + And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, + and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we + be fill’d and satisfied then? + And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond. + + You are also asking me questions and I hear you, + I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself. + + Sit a while dear son, + Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink, + But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss you + with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence. + + Long enough have you dream’d contemptible dreams, + Now I wash the gum from your eyes, + You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every + moment of your life. + + Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore, + Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, + To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, + and laughingly dash with your hair. + + 47 + I am the teacher of athletes, + He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own, + He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher. + + The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, + but in his own right, + Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear, + Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, + Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel cuts, + First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull’s eye, to sail a + skiff, to sing a song or play on the banjo, + Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox over + all latherers, + And those well-tann’d to those that keep out of the sun. + + I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me? + I follow you whoever you are from the present hour, + My words itch at your ears till you understand them. + + I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while + I wait for a boat, + (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you, + Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen’d.) + + 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. + + If you would understand me go to the heights or water-shore, + The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves key, + The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words. + + No shutter’d room or school can commune with me, + But roughs and little children better than they. + + The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, + The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with + him all day, + The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice, + In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen + and love them. + + The soldier camp’d or upon the march is mine, + On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, + On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek me. + My face rubs to the hunter’s face when he lies down alone in his blanket, + The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon, + The young mother and old mother comprehend me, + The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget where they are, + They and all would resume what I have told them. + + 48 + I have said that the soul is not more than the body, + And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, + And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one’s self is, + And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own + funeral drest in his shroud, + And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the earth, + And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the + learning of all times, + And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it + may become a hero, + And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel’d universe, + And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed + before a million universes. + + And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God, + For I who am curious about each am not curious about God, + (No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and + about death.) + + I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least, + Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself. + + Why should I wish to see God better than this day? + I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, + In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass, + I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign’d + by God’s name, + And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe’er I go, + Others will punctually come for ever and ever. + + 49 + And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to + try to alarm me. + + To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes, + I see the elder-hand pressing receiving supporting, + I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors, + And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape. + + And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not + offend me, + I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, + I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish’d breasts of melons. + + And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, + (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) + + I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, + O suns—O grass of graves—O perpetual transfers and promotions, + If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing? + + Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, + Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, + Toss, sparkles of day and dusk—toss on the black stems that decay + in the muck, + Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs. + + I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night, + I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected, + And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small. + + 50 + There is that in me—I do not know what it is—but I know it is in me. + + Wrench’d and sweaty—calm and cool then my body becomes, + I sleep—I sleep long. + + I do not know it—it is without name—it is a word unsaid, + It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol. + + Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, + To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me. + + Perhaps I might tell more. Outlines! I plead for my brothers and sisters. + + Do you see O my brothers and sisters? + It is not chaos or death—it is form, union, plan—it is eternal + life—it is Happiness. + + 51 + The past and present wilt—I have fill’d them, emptied them. + And proceed to fill my next fold of the future. + + Listener up there! what have you to confide to me? + Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening, + (Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.) + + Do I contradict myself? + Very well then I contradict myself, + (I am large, I contain multitudes.) + + I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab. + + Who has done his day’s work? who will soonest be through with his supper? + Who wishes to walk with me? + + Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too late? + + 52 + The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab + and my loitering. + + I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, + I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. + + The last scud of day holds back for me, + It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds, + It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. + + I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, + I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. + + I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, + If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. + + You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, + But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, + And filter and fibre your blood. + + Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, + Missing me one place search another, + I stop somewhere waiting for you. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"></a> + BOOK IV. CHILDREN OF ADAM + </h2> + <p> + To the Garden the World + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To the garden the world anew ascending, + Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding, + The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being, + Curious here behold my resurrection after slumber, + The revolving cycles in their wide sweep having brought me again, + Amorous, mature, all beautiful to me, all wondrous, + My limbs and the quivering fire that ever plays through them, for + reasons, most wondrous, + Existing I peer and penetrate still, + Content with the present, content with the past, + By my side or back of me Eve following, + Or in front, and I following her just the same. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"></a> + From Pent-Up Aching Rivers + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + From pent-up aching rivers, + From that of myself without which I were nothing, + From what I am determin’d to make illustrious, even if I stand sole + among men, + From my own voice resonant, singing the phallus, + Singing the song of procreation, + Singing the need of superb children and therein superb grown people, + Singing the muscular urge and the blending, + Singing the bedfellow’s song, (O resistless yearning! + O for any and each the body correlative attracting! + O for you whoever you are your correlative body! O it, more than all + else, you delighting!) + From the hungry gnaw that eats me night and day, + From native moments, from bashful pains, singing them, + Seeking something yet unfound though I have diligently sought it + many a long year, + Singing the true song of the soul fitful at random, + Renascent with grossest Nature or among animals, + Of that, of them and what goes with them my poems informing, + Of the smell of apples and lemons, of the pairing of birds, + Of the wet of woods, of the lapping of waves, + Of the mad pushes of waves upon the land, I them chanting, + The overture lightly sounding, the strain anticipating, + The welcome nearness, the sight of the perfect body, + The swimmer swimming naked in the bath, or motionless on his back + lying and floating, + The female form approaching, I pensive, love-flesh tremulous aching, + The divine list for myself or you or for any one making, + The face, the limbs, the index from head to foot, and what it arouses, + The mystic deliria, the madness amorous, the utter abandonment, + (Hark close and still what I now whisper to you, + I love you, O you entirely possess me, + O that you and I escape from the rest and go utterly off, free and lawless, + Two hawks in the air, two fishes swimming in the sea not more + lawless than we;) + The furious storm through me careering, I passionately trembling. + The oath of the inseparableness of two together, of the woman that + loves me and whom I love more than my life, that oath swearing, + (O I willingly stake all for you, + O let me be lost if it must be so! + O you and I! what is it to us what the rest do or think? + What is all else to us? only that we enjoy each other and exhaust + each other if it must be so;) + From the master, the pilot I yield the vessel to, + The general commanding me, commanding all, from him permission taking, + From time the programme hastening, (I have loiter’d too long as it is,) + From sex, from the warp and from the woof, + From privacy, from frequent repinings alone, + From plenty of persons near and yet the right person not near, + From the soft sliding of hands over me and thrusting of fingers + through my hair and beard, + From the long sustain’d kiss upon the mouth or bosom, + From the close pressure that makes me or any man drunk, fainting + with excess, + From what the divine husband knows, from the work of fatherhood, + From exultation, victory and relief, from the bedfellow’s embrace in + the night, + From the act-poems of eyes, hands, hips and bosoms, + From the cling of the trembling arm, + From the bending curve and the clinch, + From side by side the pliant coverlet off-throwing, + From the one so unwilling to have me leave, and me just as unwilling + to leave, + (Yet a moment O tender waiter, and I return,) + From the hour of shining stars and dropping dews, + From the night a moment I emerging flitting out, + Celebrate you act divine and you children prepared for, + And you stalwart loins. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"></a> + I Sing the Body Electric + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + I sing the body electric, + The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, + They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, + And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul. + + Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves? + And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead? + And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? + And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul? + + 2 + The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself + balks account, + That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect. + + The expression of the face balks account, + But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, + It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of + his hips and wrists, + It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist + and knees, dress does not hide him, + The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth, + To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more, + You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side. + + The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the + folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the + contour of their shape downwards, + The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through + the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls + silently to and from the heave of the water, + The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the + horse-man in his saddle, + Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances, + The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open + dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting, + The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or + cow-yard, + The young fellow hosing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six + horses through the crowd, + The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, + good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sundown after work, + The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance, + The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes; + The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine + muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps, + The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes + suddenly again, and the listening on the alert, + The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d + neck and the counting; + Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s + breast with the little child, + Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with + the firemen, and pause, listen, count. + + 3 + I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons, + And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons. + + This man was a wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person, + The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and + beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness + and breadth of his manners, + These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also, + He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were + massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome, + They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him, + They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love, + He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet through the + clear-brown skin of his face, + He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself, he + had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had + fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him, + When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish, + you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang, + You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit + by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other. + + 4 + I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough, + To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough, + To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, + To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly + round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then? + I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea. + + There is something in staying close to men and women and looking + on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well, + All things please the soul, but these please the soul well. + + 5 + This is the female form, + A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot, + It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction, + I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, + all falls aside but myself and it, + Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what + was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed, + Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response + likewise ungovernable, + Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all + diffused, mine too diffused, + Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling + and deliciously aching, + Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of + love, white-blow and delirious nice, + Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn, + Undulating into the willing and yielding day, + Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day. + + This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman, + This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the + outlet again. + + Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the + exit of the rest, + You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul. + + The female contains all qualities and tempers them, + She is in her place and moves with perfect balance, + She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active, + She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters. + + As I see my soul reflected in Nature, + As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, + sanity, beauty, + See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see. + + 6 + The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place, + He too is all qualities, he is action and power, + The flush of the known universe is in him, + Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well, + The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is + utmost become him well, pride is for him, + The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul, + Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to + the test of himself, + Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes + soundings at last only here, + (Where else does he strike soundings except here?) + + The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred, + No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the + laborers’ gang? + Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf? + Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as + much as you, + Each has his or her place in the procession. + + (All is a procession, + The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.) + + Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant? + Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has + no right to a sight? + Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and + the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts, + For you only, and not for him and her? + + 7 + A man’s body at auction, + (For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,) + I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business. + + Gentlemen look on this wonder, + Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it, + For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one + animal or plant, + For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll’d. + + In this head the all-baffling brain, + In it and below it the makings of heroes. + + Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in + tendon and nerve, + They shall be stript that you may see them. + + Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition, + Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, + good-sized arms and legs, + And wonders within there yet. + + Within there runs blood, + The same old blood! the same red-running blood! + There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, + reachings, aspirations, + (Do you think they are not there because they are not express’d in + parlors and lecture-rooms?) + + This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be + fathers in their turns, + In him the start of populous states and rich republics, + Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments. + + How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring + through the centuries? + (Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace + back through the centuries?) + + 8 + A woman’s body at auction, + She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers, + She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers. + + Have you ever loved the body of a woman? + Have you ever loved the body of a man? + Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations + and times all over the earth? + + If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred, + And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted, + And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more + beautiful than the most beautiful face. + + Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool + that corrupted her own live body? + For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves. + + 9 + O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and + women, nor the likes of the parts of you, + I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of + the soul, (and that they are the soul,) + I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and + that they are my poems, + Man’s, woman’s, child, youth’s, wife’s, husband’s, mother’s, + father’s, young man’s, young woman’s poems, + Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears, + Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or + sleeping of the lids, + Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges, + Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition, + Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue, + Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the + ample side-round of the chest, + Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones, + Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger, + finger-joints, finger-nails, + Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side, + Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone, + Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, + man-balls, man-root, + Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above, + Leg-fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg, + Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel; + All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your + body or of any one’s body, male or female, + The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean, + The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame, + Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity, + Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman, + The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, + love-looks, love-perturbations and risings, + The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud, + Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming, + Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening, + The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes, + The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair, + The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked + meat of the body, + The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out, + The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward + toward the knees, + The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the + marrow in the bones, + The exquisite realization of health; + O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul, + O I say now these are the soul! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"></a> + A Woman Waits for Me + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking, + Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the + right man were lacking. + + Sex contains all, bodies, souls, + Meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations, + Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal milk, + All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves, + beauties, delights of the earth, + All the governments, judges, gods, follow’d persons of the earth, + These are contain’d in sex as parts of itself and justifications of itself. + + Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of his sex, + Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers. + + Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women, + I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women that + are warm-blooded and sufficient for me, + I see that they understand me and do not deny me, + I see that they are worthy of me, I will be the robust husband of + those women. + + They are not one jot less than I am, + They are tann’d in the face by shining suns and blowing winds, + Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength, + They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike, + retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves, + They are ultimate in their own right—they are calm, clear, + well-possess’d of themselves. + + I draw you close to me, you women, + I cannot let you go, I would do you good, + I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for + others’ sakes, + Envelop’d in you sleep greater heroes and bards, + They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me. + + It is I, you women, I make my way, + I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable, but I love you, + I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you, + I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for these States, I + press with slow rude muscle, + I brace myself effectually, I listen to no entreaties, + I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated within me. + + Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself, + In you I wrap a thousand onward years, + On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America, + The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic girls, + new artists, musicians, and singers, + The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn, + I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-spendings, + I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and you + inter-penetrate now, + I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as I + count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now, + I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death, + immortality, I plant so lovingly now. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"></a> + Spontaneous Me + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Spontaneous me, Nature, + The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with, + The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder, + The hillside whiten’d with blossoms of the mountain ash, + The same late in autumn, the hues of red, yellow, drab, purple, and + light and dark green, + The rich coverlet of the grass, animals and birds, the private + untrimm’d bank, the primitive apples, the pebble-stones, + Beautiful dripping fragments, the negligent list of one after + another as I happen to call them to me or think of them, + The real poems, (what we call poems being merely pictures,) + The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men like me, + This poem drooping shy and unseen that I always carry, and that all + men carry, + (Know once for all, avow’d on purpose, wherever are men like me, are + our lusty lurking masculine poems,) + Love-thoughts, love-juice, love-odor, love-yielding, love-climbers, + and the climbing sap, + Arms and hands of love, lips of love, phallic thumb of love, breasts + of love, bellies press’d and glued together with love, + Earth of chaste love, life that is only life after love, + The body of my love, the body of the woman I love, the body of the + man, the body of the earth, + Soft forenoon airs that blow from the south-west, + The hairy wild-bee that murmurs and hankers up and down, that gripes the + full-grown lady-flower, curves upon her with amorous firm legs, takes + his will of her, and holds himself tremulous and tight till he is + satisfied; + The wet of woods through the early hours, + Two sleepers at night lying close together as they sleep, one with + an arm slanting down across and below the waist of the other, + The smell of apples, aromas from crush’d sage-plant, mint, birch-bark, + The boy’s longings, the glow and pressure as he confides to me what + he was dreaming, + The dead leaf whirling its spiral whirl and falling still and + content to the ground, + The no-form’d stings that sights, people, objects, sting me with, + The hubb’d sting of myself, stinging me as much as it ever can any + one, + The sensitive, orbic, underlapp’d brothers, that only privileged + feelers may be intimate where they are, + The curious roamer the hand roaming all over the body, the bashful + withdrawing of flesh where the fingers soothingly pause and + edge themselves, + The limpid liquid within the young man, + The vex’d corrosion so pensive and so painful, + The torment, the irritable tide that will not be at rest, + The like of the same I feel, the like of the same in others, + The young man that flushes and flushes, and the young woman that + flushes and flushes, + The young man that wakes deep at night, the hot hand seeking to + repress what would master him, + The mystic amorous night, the strange half-welcome pangs, visions, sweats, + The pulse pounding through palms and trembling encircling fingers, + the young man all color’d, red, ashamed, angry; + The souse upon me of my lover the sea, as I lie willing and naked, + The merriment of the twin babes that crawl over the grass in the + sun, the mother never turning her vigilant eyes from them, + The walnut-trunk, the walnut-husks, and the ripening or ripen’d + long-round walnuts, + The continence of vegetables, birds, animals, + The consequent meanness of me should I skulk or find myself indecent, + while birds and animals never once skulk or find themselves indecent, + The great chastity of paternity, to match the great chastity of maternity, + The oath of procreation I have sworn, my Adamic and fresh daughters, + The greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate + what shall produce boys to fill my place when I am through, + The wholesome relief, repose, content, + And this bunch pluck’d at random from myself, + It has done its work—I toss it carelessly to fall where it may. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"></a> + One Hour to Madness and Joy + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + One hour to madness and joy! O furious! O confine me not! + (What is this that frees me so in storms? + What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?) + O to drink the mystic deliria deeper than any other man! + O savage and tender achings! (I bequeath them to you my children, + I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.) + + O to be yielded to you whoever you are, and you to be yielded to me + in defiance of the world! + O to return to Paradise! O bashful and feminine! + O to draw you to me, to plant on you for the first time the lips of + a determin’d man. + + O the puzzle, the thrice-tied knot, the deep and dark pool, all + untied and illumin’d! + O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last! + To be absolv’d from previous ties and conventions, I from mine and + you from yours! + To find a new unthought-of nonchalance with the best of Nature! + To have the gag remov’d from one’s mouth! + To have the feeling to-day or any day I am sufficient as I am. + + O something unprov’d! something in a trance! + To escape utterly from others’ anchors and holds! + To drive free! to love free! to dash reckless and dangerous! + To court destruction with taunts, with invitations! + To ascend, to leap to the heavens of the love indicated to me! + To rise thither with my inebriate soul! + To be lost if it must be so! + To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness and freedom! + With one brief hour of madness and joy. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"></a> + Out of the Rolling Ocean the Crowd + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me, + Whispering I love you, before long I die, + I have travel’d a long way merely to look on you to touch you, + For I could not die till I once look’d on you, + For I fear’d I might afterward lose you. + + Now we have met, we have look’d, we are safe, + Return in peace to the ocean my love, + I too am part of that ocean my love, we are not so much separated, + Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect! + But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us, + As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever; + Be not impatient—a little space—know you I salute the air, the + ocean and the land, + Every day at sundown for your dear sake my love. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"></a> + Ages and Ages Returning at Intervals + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ages and ages returning at intervals, + Undestroy’d, wandering immortal, + Lusty, phallic, with the potent original loins, perfectly sweet, + I, chanter of Adamic songs, + Through the new garden the West, the great cities calling, + Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these, offering myself, + Bathing myself, bathing my songs in Sex, + Offspring of my loins. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"></a> + We Two, How Long We Were Fool’d + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We two, how long we were fool’d, + Now transmuted, we swiftly escape as Nature escapes, + We are Nature, long have we been absent, but now we return, + We become plants, trunks, foliage, roots, bark, + We are bedded in the ground, we are rocks, + We are oaks, we grow in the openings side by side, + We browse, we are two among the wild herds spontaneous as any, + We are two fishes swimming in the sea together, + We are what locust blossoms are, we drop scent around lanes mornings + and evenings, + We are also the coarse smut of beasts, vegetables, minerals, + We are two predatory hawks, we soar above and look down, + We are two resplendent suns, we it is who balance ourselves orbic + and stellar, we are as two comets, + We prowl fang’d and four-footed in the woods, we spring on prey, + We are two clouds forenoons and afternoons driving overhead, + We are seas mingling, we are two of those cheerful waves rolling + over each other and interwetting each other, + We are what the atmosphere is, transparent, receptive, pervious, impervious, + We are snow, rain, cold, darkness, we are each product and influence + of the globe, + We have circled and circled till we have arrived home again, we two, + We have voided all but freedom and all but our own joy. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"></a> + O Hymen! O Hymenee! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O hymen! O hymenee! why do you tantalize me thus? + O why sting me for a swift moment only? + Why can you not continue? O why do you now cease? + Is it because if you continued beyond the swift moment you would + soon certainly kill me? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"></a> + I Am He That Aches with Love + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I am he that aches with amorous love; + Does the earth gravitate? does not all matter, aching, attract all matter? + So the body of me to all I meet or know. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"></a> + Native Moments + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Native moments—when you come upon me—ah you are here now, + Give me now libidinous joys only, + Give me the drench of my passions, give me life coarse and rank, + To-day I go consort with Nature’s darlings, to-night too, + I am for those who believe in loose delights, I share the midnight + orgies of young men, + I dance with the dancers and drink with the drinkers, + The echoes ring with our indecent calls, I pick out some low person + for my dearest friend, + He shall be lawless, rude, illiterate, he shall be one condemn’d by + others for deeds done, + I will play a part no longer, why should I exile myself from my companions? + O you shunn’d persons, I at least do not shun you, + I come forthwith in your midst, I will be your poet, + I will be more to you than to any of the rest. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"></a> + Once I Pass’d Through a Populous City + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Once I pass’d through a populous city imprinting my brain for future + use with its shows, architecture, customs, traditions, + Yet now of all that city I remember only a woman I casually met + there who detain’d me for love of me, + Day by day and night by night we were together—all else has long + been forgotten by me, + I remember I say only that woman who passionately clung to me, + Again we wander, we love, we separate again, + Again she holds me by the hand, I must not go, + I see her close beside me with silent lips sad and tremulous. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"></a> + I Heard You Solemn-Sweet Pipes of the Organ + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I heard you solemn-sweet pipes of the organ as last Sunday morn I + pass’d the church, + Winds of autumn, as I walk’d the woods at dusk I heard your long- + stretch’d sighs up above so mournful, + I heard the perfect Italian tenor singing at the opera, I heard the + soprano in the midst of the quartet singing; + Heart of my love! you too I heard murmuring low through one of the + wrists around my head, + Heard the pulse of you when all was still ringing little bells last + night under my ear. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"></a> + Facing West from California’s Shores + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Facing west from California’s shores, + Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound, + I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity, + the land of migrations, look afar, + Look off the shores of my Western sea, the circle almost circled; + For starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kashmere, + From Asia, from the north, from the God, the sage, and the hero, + From the south, from the flowery peninsulas and the spice islands, + Long having wander’d since, round the earth having wander’d, + Now I face home again, very pleas’d and joyous, + (But where is what I started for so long ago? + And why is it yet unfound?) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"></a> + As Adam Early in the Morning + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As Adam early in the morning, + Walking forth from the bower refresh’d with sleep, + Behold me where I pass, hear my voice, approach, + Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, + Be not afraid of my body. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"></a> + BOOK V. CALAMUS + </h2> + <p> + In Paths Untrodden + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In paths untrodden, + In the growth by margins of pond-waters, + Escaped from the life that exhibits itself, + From all the standards hitherto publish’d, from the pleasures, + profits, conformities, + Which too long I was offering to feed my soul, + Clear to me now standards not yet publish’d, clear to me that my soul, + That the soul of the man I speak for rejoices in comrades, + Here by myself away from the clank of the world, + Tallying and talk’d to here by tongues aromatic, + No longer abash’d, (for in this secluded spot I can respond as I + would not dare elsewhere,) + Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself, yet contains + all the rest, + Resolv’d to sing no songs to-day but those of manly attachment, + Projecting them along that substantial life, + Bequeathing hence types of athletic love, + Afternoon this delicious Ninth-month in my forty-first year, + I proceed for all who are or have been young men, + To tell the secret my nights and days, + To celebrate the need of comrades. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"></a> + Scented Herbage of My Breast + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Scented herbage of my breast, + Leaves from you I glean, I write, to be perused best afterwards, + Tomb-leaves, body-leaves growing up above me above death, + Perennial roots, tall leaves, O the winter shall not freeze you + delicate leaves, + Every year shall you bloom again, out from where you retired you + shall emerge again; + O I do not know whether many passing by will discover you or inhale + your faint odor, but I believe a few will; + O slender leaves! O blossoms of my blood! I permit you to tell in + your own way of the heart that is under you, + O I do not know what you mean there underneath yourselves, you are + not happiness, + You are often more bitter than I can bear, you burn and sting me, + Yet you are beautiful to me you faint tinged roots, you make me + think of death, + Death is beautiful from you, (what indeed is finally beautiful + except death and love?) + O I think it is not for life I am chanting here my chant of lovers, + I think it must be for death, + For how calm, how solemn it grows to ascend to the atmosphere of lovers, + Death or life I am then indifferent, my soul declines to prefer, + (I am not sure but the high soul of lovers welcomes death most,) + Indeed O death, I think now these leaves mean precisely the same as + you mean, + Grow up taller sweet leaves that I may see! grow up out of my breast! + Spring away from the conceal’d heart there! + Do not fold yourself so in your pink-tinged roots timid leaves! + Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast! + Come I am determin’d to unbare this broad breast of mine, I have + long enough stifled and choked; + Emblematic and capricious blades I leave you, now you serve me not, + I will say what I have to say by itself, + I will sound myself and comrades only, I will never again utter a + call only their call, + I will raise with it immortal reverberations through the States, + I will give an example to lovers to take permanent shape and will + through the States, + Through me shall the words be said to make death exhilarating, + Give me your tone therefore O death, that I may accord with it, + Give me yourself, for I see that you belong to me now above all, and + are folded inseparably together, you love and death are, + Nor will I allow you to balk me any more with what I was calling life, + For now it is convey’d to me that you are the purports essential, + That you hide in these shifting forms of life, for reasons, and that + they are mainly for you, + That you beyond them come forth to remain, the real reality, + That behind the mask of materials you patiently wait, no matter how long, + That you will one day perhaps take control of all, + That you will perhaps dissipate this entire show of appearance, + That may-be you are what it is all for, but it does not last so very long, + But you will last very long. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"></a> + Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Whoever you are holding me now in hand, + Without one thing all will be useless, + I give you fair warning before you attempt me further, + I am not what you supposed, but far different. + + Who is he that would become my follower? + Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections? + + The way is suspicious, the result uncertain, perhaps destructive, + You would have to give up all else, I alone would expect to be your + sole and exclusive standard, + Your novitiate would even then be long and exhausting, + The whole past theory of your life and all conformity to the lives + around you would have to be abandon’d, + Therefore release me now before troubling yourself any further, let + go your hand from my shoulders, + Put me down and depart on your way. + + Or else by stealth in some wood for trial, + Or back of a rock in the open air, + (For in any roof’d room of a house I emerge not, nor in company, + And in libraries I lie as one dumb, a gawk, or unborn, or dead,) + But just possibly with you on a high hill, first watching lest any + person for miles around approach unawares, + Or possibly with you sailing at sea, or on the beach of the sea or + some quiet island, + Here to put your lips upon mine I permit you, + With the comrade’s long-dwelling kiss or the new husband’s kiss, + For I am the new husband and I am the comrade. + + Or if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing, + Where I may feel the throbs of your heart or rest upon your hip, + Carry me when you go forth over land or sea; + For thus merely touching you is enough, is best, + And thus touching you would I silently sleep and be carried eternally. + + But these leaves conning you con at peril, + For these leaves and me you will not understand, + They will elude you at first and still more afterward, I will + certainly elude you. + Even while you should think you had unquestionably caught me, behold! + Already you see I have escaped from you. + + For it is not for what I have put into it that I have written this book, + Nor is it by reading it you will acquire it, + Nor do those know me best who admire me and vauntingly praise me, + Nor will the candidates for my love (unless at most a very few) + prove victorious, + Nor will my poems do good only, they will do just as much evil, + perhaps more, + For all is useless without that which you may guess at many times + and not hit, that which I hinted at; + Therefore release me and depart on your way. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"></a> + For You, O Democracy + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Come, I will make the continent indissoluble, + I will make the most splendid race the sun ever shone upon, + I will make divine magnetic lands, + With the love of comrades, + With the life-long love of comrades. + + I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the rivers of America, + and along the shores of the great lakes, and all over the prairies, + I will make inseparable cities with their arms about each other’s necks, + By the love of comrades, + By the manly love of comrades. + + For you these from me, O Democracy, to serve you ma femme! + For you, for you I am trilling these songs. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"></a> + These I Singing in Spring + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + These I singing in spring collect for lovers, + (For who but I should understand lovers and all their sorrow and joy? + And who but I should be the poet of comrades?) + Collecting I traverse the garden the world, but soon I pass the gates, + Now along the pond-side, now wading in a little, fearing not the wet, + Now by the post-and-rail fences where the old stones thrown there, + pick’d from the fields, have accumulated, + (Wild-flowers and vines and weeds come up through the stones and + partly cover them, beyond these I pass,) + Far, far in the forest, or sauntering later in summer, before I + think where I go, + Solitary, smelling the earthy smell, stopping now and then in the silence, + Alone I had thought, yet soon a troop gathers around me, + Some walk by my side and some behind, and some embrace my arms or neck, + They the spirits of dear friends dead or alive, thicker they come, a + great crowd, and I in the middle, + Collecting, dispensing, singing, there I wander with them, + Plucking something for tokens, tossing toward whoever is near me, + Here, lilac, with a branch of pine, + Here, out of my pocket, some moss which I pull’d off a live-oak in + Florida as it hung trailing down, + Here, some pinks and laurel leaves, and a handful of sage, + And here what I now draw from the water, wading in the pondside, + (O here I last saw him that tenderly loves me, and returns again + never to separate from me, + And this, O this shall henceforth be the token of comrades, this + calamus-root shall, + Interchange it youths with each other! let none render it back!) + And twigs of maple and a bunch of wild orange and chestnut, + And stems of currants and plum-blows, and the aromatic cedar, + These I compass’d around by a thick cloud of spirits, + Wandering, point to or touch as I pass, or throw them loosely from me, + Indicating to each one what he shall have, giving something to each; + But what I drew from the water by the pond-side, that I reserve, + I will give of it, but only to them that love as I myself am capable + of loving. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"></a> + Not Heaving from My Ribb’d Breast Only + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not heaving from my ribb’d breast only, + Not in sighs at night in rage dissatisfied with myself, + Not in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs, + Not in many an oath and promise broken, + Not in my wilful and savage soul’s volition, + Not in the subtle nourishment of the air, + Not in this beating and pounding at my temples and wrists, + Not in the curious systole and diastole within which will one day cease, + Not in many a hungry wish told to the skies only, + Not in cries, laughter, defiancies, thrown from me when alone far in + the wilds, + Not in husky pantings through clinch’d teeth, + Not in sounded and resounded words, chattering words, echoes, dead words, + Not in the murmurs of my dreams while I sleep, + Nor the other murmurs of these incredible dreams of every day, + Nor in the limbs and senses of my body that take you and dismiss you + continually—not there, + Not in any or all of them O adhesiveness! O pulse of my life! + Need I that you exist and show yourself any more than in these songs. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"></a> + Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of the terrible doubt of appearances, + Of the uncertainty after all, that we may be deluded, + That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all, + That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful fable only, + May-be the things I perceive, the animals, plants, men, hills, + shining and flowing waters, + The skies of day and night, colors, densities, forms, may-be these + are (as doubtless they are) only apparitions, and the real + something has yet to be known, + (How often they dart out of themselves as if to confound me and mock me! + How often I think neither I know, nor any man knows, aught of them,) + May-be seeming to me what they are (as doubtless they indeed but seem) + as from my present point of view, and might prove (as of course they + would) nought of what they appear, or nought anyhow, from entirely + changed points of view; + To me these and the like of these are curiously answer’d by my + lovers, my dear friends, + When he whom I love travels with me or sits a long while holding me + by the hand, + When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that words and reason + hold not, surround us and pervade us, + Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom, I am silent, I + require nothing further, + I cannot answer the question of appearances or that of identity + beyond the grave, + But I walk or sit indifferent, I am satisfied, + He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"></a> + The Base of All Metaphysics + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And now gentlemen, + A word I give to remain in your memories and minds, + As base and finale too for all metaphysics. + + (So to the students the old professor, + At the close of his crowded course.) + + Having studied the new and antique, the Greek and Germanic systems, + Kant having studied and stated, Fichte and Schelling and Hegel, + Stated the lore of Plato, and Socrates greater than Plato, + And greater than Socrates sought and stated, Christ divine having + studied long, + I see reminiscent to-day those Greek and Germanic systems, + See the philosophies all, Christian churches and tenets see, + Yet underneath Socrates clearly see, and underneath Christ the divine I see, + The dear love of man for his comrade, the attraction of friend to friend, + Of the well-married husband and wife, of children and parents, + Of city for city and land for land. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"></a> + Recorders Ages Hence + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Recorders ages hence, + Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior, I + will tell you what to say of me, + Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover, + The friend the lover’s portrait, of whom his friend his lover was fondest, + Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless ocean of love + within him, and freely pour’d it forth, + Who often walk’d lonesome walks thinking of his dear friends, his lovers, + Who pensive away from one he lov’d often lay sleepless and + dissatisfied at night, + Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he lov’d might + secretly be indifferent to him, + Whose happiest days were far away through fields, in woods, on hills, + he and another wandering hand in hand, they twain apart from other men, + Who oft as he saunter’d the streets curv’d with his arm the shoulder + of his friend, while the arm of his friend rested upon him also. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"></a> + When I Heard at the Close of the Day + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv’d + with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for + me that follow’d, + And else when I carous’d, or when my plans were accomplish’d, still + I was not happy, + But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health, + refresh’d, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn, + When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in the + morning light, + When I wander’d alone over the beach, and undressing bathed, + laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise, + And when I thought how my dear friend my lover was on his way + coming, O then I was happy, + O then each breath tasted sweeter, and all that day my food + nourish’d me more, and the beautiful day pass’d well, + And the next came with equal joy, and with the next at evening came + my friend, + And that night while all was still I heard the waters roll slowly + continually up the shores, + I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands as directed to me + whispering to congratulate me, + For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in + the cool night, + In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me, + And his arm lay lightly around my breast—and that night I was happy. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"></a> + Are You the New Person Drawn Toward Me? + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Are you the new person drawn toward me? + To begin with take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose; + Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal? + Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover? + Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy’d satisfaction? + Do you think I am trusty and faithful? + Do you see no further than this facade, this smooth and tolerant + manner of me? + Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic man? + Have you no thought O dreamer that it may be all maya, illusion? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"></a> + Roots and Leaves Themselves Alone + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Roots and leaves themselves alone are these, + Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods and pond-side, + Breast-sorrel and pinks of love, fingers that wind around tighter + than vines, + Gushes from the throats of birds hid in the foliage of trees as the + sun is risen, + Breezes of land and love set from living shores to you on the living + sea, to you O sailors! + Frost-mellow’d berries and Third-month twigs offer’d fresh to young + persons wandering out in the fields when the winter breaks up, + Love-buds put before you and within you whoever you are, + Buds to be unfolded on the old terms, + If you bring the warmth of the sun to them they will open and bring + form, color, perfume, to you, + If you become the aliment and the wet they will become flowers, + fruits, tall branches and trees. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"></a> + Not Heat Flames Up and Consumes + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not heat flames up and consumes, + Not sea-waves hurry in and out, + Not the air delicious and dry, the air of ripe summer, bears lightly + along white down-balls of myriads of seeds, + Waited, sailing gracefully, to drop where they may; + Not these, O none of these more than the flames of me, consuming, + burning for his love whom I love, + O none more than I hurrying in and out; + Does the tide hurry, seeking something, and never give up? O I the same, + O nor down-balls nor perfumes, nor the high rain-emitting clouds, + are borne through the open air, + Any more than my soul is borne through the open air, + Wafted in all directions O love, for friendship, for you. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"></a> + Trickle Drops + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Trickle drops! my blue veins leaving! + O drops of me! trickle, slow drops, + Candid from me falling, drip, bleeding drops, + From wounds made to free you whence you were prison’d, + From my face, from my forehead and lips, + From my breast, from within where I was conceal’d, press forth red + drops, confession drops, + Stain every page, stain every song I sing, every word I say, bloody drops, + Let them know your scarlet heat, let them glisten, + Saturate them with yourself all ashamed and wet, + Glow upon all I have written or shall write, bleeding drops, + Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"></a> + City of Orgies + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + City of orgies, walks and joys, + City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make + Not the pageants of you, not your shifting tableaus, your + spectacles, repay me, + Not the interminable rows of your houses, nor the ships at the wharves, + Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright windows with + goods in them, + Nor to converse with learn’d persons, or bear my share in the soiree + or feast; + Not those, but as I pass O Manhattan, your frequent and swift flash + of eyes offering me love, + Offering response to my own—these repay me, + Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"></a> + Behold This Swarthy Face + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Behold this swarthy face, these gray eyes, + This beard, the white wool unclipt upon my neck, + My brown hands and the silent manner of me without charm; + Yet comes one a Manhattanese and ever at parting kisses me lightly + on the lips with robust love, + And I on the crossing of the street or on the ship’s deck give a + kiss in return, + We observe that salute of American comrades land and sea, + We are those two natural and nonchalant persons. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"></a> + I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing, + All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches, + Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous of dark green, + And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself, + But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there + without its friend near, for I knew I could not, + And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it and + twined around it a little moss, + And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my room, + It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, + (For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,) + Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly love; + For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana + solitary in a wide in a wide flat space, + Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend a lover near, + I know very well I could not. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"></a> + To a Stranger + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you, + You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me + as of a dream,) + I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, + All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, + chaste, matured, + You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me, + I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours + only nor left my body mine only, + You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you + take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, + I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or + wake at night alone, + I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, + I am to see to it that I do not lose you. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"></a> + This Moment Yearning and Thoughtful + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This moment yearning and thoughtful sitting alone, + It seems to me there are other men in other lands yearning and thoughtful, + It seems to me I can look over and behold them in Germany, Italy, + France, Spain, + Or far, far away, in China, or in Russia or talking other dialects, + And it seems to me if I could know those men I should become + attached to them as I do to men in my own lands, + O I know we should be brethren and lovers, + I know I should be happy with them. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"></a> + I Hear It Was Charged Against Me + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I hear it was charged against me that I sought to destroy institutions, + But really I am neither for nor against institutions, + (What indeed have I in common with them? or what with the + destruction of them?) + Only I will establish in the Mannahatta and in every city of these + States inland and seaboard, + And in the fields and woods, and above every keel little or large + that dents the water, + Without edifices or rules or trustees or any argument, + The institution of the dear love of comrades. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"></a> + The Prairie-Grass Dividing + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The prairie-grass dividing, its special odor breathing, + I demand of it the spiritual corresponding, + Demand the most copious and close companionship of men, + Demand the blades to rise of words, acts, beings, + Those of the open atmosphere, coarse, sunlit, fresh, nutritious, + Those that go their own gait, erect, stepping with freedom and + command, leading not following, + Those with a never-quell’d audacity, those with sweet and lusty + flesh clear of taint, + Those that look carelessly in the faces of Presidents and governors, + as to say Who are you? + Those of earth-born passion, simple, never constrain’d, never obedient, + Those of inland America. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"></a> + When I Peruse the Conquer’d Fame + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I peruse the conquer’d fame of heroes and the victories of + mighty generals, I do not envy the generals, + Nor the President in his Presidency, nor the rich in his great house, + But when I hear of the brotherhood of lovers, how it was with them, + How together through life, through dangers, odium, unchanging, long + and long, + Through youth and through middle and old age, how unfaltering, how + affectionate and faithful they were, + Then I am pensive—I hastily walk away fill’d with the bitterest envy. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"></a> + We Two Boys Together Clinging + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We two boys together clinging, + One the other never leaving, + Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making, + Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching, + Arm’d and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving. + No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering, thieving, + threatening, + Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water drinking, on + the turf or the sea-beach dancing, + Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing, + Fulfilling our foray. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"></a> + A Promise to California + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A promise to California, + Or inland to the great pastoral Plains, and on to Puget sound and Oregon; + Sojourning east a while longer, soon I travel toward you, to remain, + to teach robust American love, + For I know very well that I and robust love belong among you, + inland, and along the Western sea; + For these States tend inland and toward the Western sea, and I will also. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"></a> + Here the Frailest Leaves of Me + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, + Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, + And yet they expose me more than all my other poems. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"></a> + No Labor-Saving Machine + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + No labor-saving machine, + Nor discovery have I made, + Nor will I be able to leave behind me any wealthy bequest to found + hospital or library, + Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage for America, + Nor literary success nor intellect; nor book for the book-shelf, + But a few carols vibrating through the air I leave, + For comrades and lovers. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"></a> + A Glimpse + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A glimpse through an interstice caught, + Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove + late of a winter night, and I unremark’d seated in a corner, + Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and + seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand, + A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and + oath and smutty jest, + There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, + perhaps not a word. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"></a> + A Leaf for Hand in Hand + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A leaf for hand in hand; + You natural persons old and young! + You on the Mississippi and on all the branches and bayous of + the Mississippi! + You friendly boatmen and mechanics! you roughs! + You twain! and all processions moving along the streets! + I wish to infuse myself among you till I see it common for you to + walk hand in hand. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"></a> + Earth, My Likeness + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Earth, my likeness, + Though you look so impassive, ample and spheric there, + I now suspect that is not all; + I now suspect there is something fierce in you eligible to burst forth, + For an athlete is enamour’d of me, and I of him, + But toward him there is something fierce and terrible in me eligible + to burst forth, + I dare not tell it in words, not even in these songs. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"></a> + I Dream’d in a Dream + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I dream’d in a dream I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the + whole of the rest of the earth, + I dream’d that was the new city of Friends, + Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love, it led the rest, + It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city, + And in all their looks and words. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"></a> + What Think You I Take My Pen in Hand? + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What think you I take my pen in hand to record? + The battle-ship, perfect-model’d, majestic, that I saw pass the + offing to-day under full sail? + The splendors of the past day? or the splendor of the night that + envelops me? + Or the vaunted glory and growth of the great city spread around me? —no; + But merely of two simple men I saw to-day on the pier in the midst + of the crowd, parting the parting of dear friends, + The one to remain hung on the other’s neck and passionately kiss’d him, + While the one to depart tightly prest the one to remain in his arms. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"></a> + To the East and to the West + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To the East and to the West, + To the man of the Seaside State and of Pennsylvania, + To the Kanadian of the north, to the Southerner I love, + These with perfect trust to depict you as myself, the germs are in all men, + I believe the main purport of these States is to found a superb + friendship, exalte, previously unknown, + Because I perceive it waits, and has been always waiting, latent in all men. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"></a> + Sometimes with One I Love + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sometimes with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse + unreturn’d love, + But now I think there is no unreturn’d love, the pay is certain one + way or another, + (I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return’d, + Yet out of that I have written these songs.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"></a> + To a Western Boy + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Many things to absorb I teach to help you become eleve of mine; + Yet if blood like mine circle not in your veins, + If you be not silently selected by lovers and do not silently select lovers, + Of what use is it that you seek to become eleve of mine? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"></a> + Fast Anchor’d Eternal O Love! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Fast-anchor’d eternal O love! O woman I love! + O bride! O wife! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of you! + Then separate, as disembodied or another born, + Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation, + I ascend, I float in the regions of your love O man, + O sharer of my roving life. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"></a> + Among the Multitude + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Among the men and women the multitude, + I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, + Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, + any nearer than I am, + Some are baffled, but that one is not—that one knows me. + + Ah lover and perfect equal, + I meant that you should discover me so by faint indirections, + And I when I meet you mean to discover you by the like in you. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080"></a> + O You Whom I Often and Silently Come + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O you whom I often and silently come where you are that I may be with you, + As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, + Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is + playing within me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081"></a> + That Shadow My Likeness + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + That shadow my likeness that goes to and fro seeking a livelihood, + chattering, chaffering, + How often I find myself standing and looking at it where it flits, + How often I question and doubt whether that is really me; + But among my lovers and caroling these songs, + O I never doubt whether that is really me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"></a> + Full of Life Now + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Full of life now, compact, visible, + I, forty years old the eighty-third year of the States, + To one a century hence or any number of centuries hence, + To you yet unborn these, seeking you. + + When you read these I that was visible am become invisible, + Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me, + Fancying how happy you were if I could be with you and become your comrade; + Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now with you.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083"></a> + BOOK VI + </h2> + <p> + Salut au Monde! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + O take my hand Walt Whitman! + Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds! + Such join’d unended links, each hook’d to the next, + Each answering all, each sharing the earth with all. + + What widens within you Walt Whitman? + What waves and soils exuding? + What climes? what persons and cities are here? + Who are the infants, some playing, some slumbering? + Who are the girls? who are the married women? + Who are the groups of old men going slowly with their arms about + each other’s necks? + What rivers are these? what forests and fruits are these? + What are the mountains call’d that rise so high in the mists? + What myriads of dwellings are they fill’d with dwellers? + + 2 + Within me latitude widens, longitude lengthens, + Asia, Africa, Europe, are to the east—America is provided for in the west, + Banding the bulge of the earth winds the hot equator, + Curiously north and south turn the axis-ends, + Within me is the longest day, the sun wheels in slanting rings, it + does not set for months, + Stretch’d in due time within me the midnight sun just rises above + the horizon and sinks again, + Within me zones, seas, cataracts, forests, volcanoes, groups, + Malaysia, Polynesia, and the great West Indian islands. + + 3 + What do you hear Walt Whitman? + + I hear the workman singing and the farmer’s wife singing, + I hear in the distance the sounds of children and of animals early + in the day, + I hear emulous shouts of Australians pursuing the wild horse, + I hear the Spanish dance with castanets in the chestnut shade, to + the rebeck and guitar, + I hear continual echoes from the Thames, + I hear fierce French liberty songs, + I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recitative of old poems, + I hear the locusts in Syria as they strike the grain and grass with + the showers of their terrible clouds, + I hear the Coptic refrain toward sundown, pensively falling on the + breast of the black venerable vast mother the Nile, + I hear the chirp of the Mexican muleteer, and the bells of the mule, + I hear the Arab muezzin calling from the top of the mosque, + I hear the Christian priests at the altars of their churches, I hear + the responsive base and soprano, + I hear the cry of the Cossack, and the sailor’s voice putting to sea + at Okotsk, + I hear the wheeze of the slave-coffle as the slaves march on, as the + husky gangs pass on by twos and threes, fasten’d together + with wrist-chains and ankle-chains, + I hear the Hebrew reading his records and psalms, + I hear the rhythmic myths of the Greeks, and the strong legends of + the Romans, + I hear the tale of the divine life and bloody death of the beautiful + God the Christ, + I hear the Hindoo teaching his favorite pupil the loves, wars, + adages, transmitted safely to this day from poets who wrote three + thousand years ago. + + 4 + What do you see Walt Whitman? + Who are they you salute, and that one after another salute you? + I see a great round wonder rolling through space, + I see diminute farms, hamlets, ruins, graveyards, jails, factories, + palaces, hovels, huts of barbarians, tents of nomads upon the surface, + I see the shaded part on one side where the sleepers are sleeping, + and the sunlit part on the other side, + I see the curious rapid change of the light and shade, + I see distant lands, as real and near to the inhabitants of them as + my land is to me. + + I see plenteous waters, + I see mountain peaks, I see the sierras of Andes where they range, + I see plainly the Himalayas, Chian Shahs, Altays, Ghauts, + I see the giant pinnacles of Elbruz, Kazbek, Bazardjusi, + I see the Styrian Alps, and the Karnac Alps, + I see the Pyrenees, Balks, Carpathians, and to the north the + Dofrafields, and off at sea mount Hecla, + I see Vesuvius and Etna, the mountains of the Moon, and the Red + mountains of Madagascar, + I see the Lybian, Arabian, and Asiatic deserts, + I see huge dreadful Arctic and Antarctic icebergs, + I see the superior oceans and the inferior ones, the Atlantic and + Pacific, the sea of Mexico, the Brazilian sea, and the sea of Peru, + The waters of Hindustan, the China sea, and the gulf of Guinea, + The Japan waters, the beautiful bay of Nagasaki land-lock’d in its + mountains, + The spread of the Baltic, Caspian, Bothnia, the British shores, and + the bay of Biscay, + The clear-sunn’d Mediterranean, and from one to another of its islands, + The White sea, and the sea around Greenland. + + I behold the mariners of the world, + Some are in storms, some in the night with the watch on the lookout, + Some drifting helplessly, some with contagious diseases. + + I behold the sail and steamships of the world, some in clusters in + port, some on their voyages, + Some double the cape of Storms, some cape Verde, others capes + Guardafui, Bon, or Bajadore, + Others Dondra head, others pass the straits of Sunda, others cape + Lopatka, others Behring’s straits, + Others cape Horn, others sail the gulf of Mexico or along Cuba or + Hayti, others Hudson’s bay or Baffin’s bay, + Others pass the straits of Dover, others enter the Wash, others the + firth of Solway, others round cape Clear, others the Land’s End, + Others traverse the Zuyder Zee or the Scheld, + Others as comers and goers at Gibraltar or the Dardanelles, + Others sternly push their way through the northern winter-packs, + Others descend or ascend the Obi or the Lena, + Others the Niger or the Congo, others the Indus, the Burampooter + and Cambodia, + Others wait steam’d up ready to start in the ports of Australia, + Wait at Liverpool, Glasgow, Dublin, Marseilles, Lisbon, Naples, + Hamburg, Bremen, Bordeaux, the Hague, Copenhagen, + Wait at Valparaiso, Rio Janeiro, Panama. + + 5 + I see the tracks of the railroads of the earth, + I see them in Great Britain, I see them in Europe, + I see them in Asia and in Africa. + + I see the electric telegraphs of the earth, + I see the filaments of the news of the wars, deaths, losses, gains, + passions, of my race. + + I see the long river-stripes of the earth, + I see the Amazon and the Paraguay, + I see the four great rivers of China, the Amour, the Yellow River, + the Yiang-tse, and the Pearl, + I see where the Seine flows, and where the Danube, the Loire, the + Rhone, and the Guadalquiver flow, + I see the windings of the Volga, the Dnieper, the Oder, + I see the Tuscan going down the Arno, and the Venetian along the Po, + I see the Greek seaman sailing out of Egina bay. + + 6 + I see the site of the old empire of Assyria, and that of Persia, and + that of India, + I see the falling of the Ganges over the high rim of Saukara. + + I see the place of the idea of the Deity incarnated by avatars in + human forms, + I see the spots of the successions of priests on the earth, oracles, + sacrificers, brahmins, sabians, llamas, monks, muftis, exhorters, + I see where druids walk’d the groves of Mona, I see the mistletoe + and vervain, + I see the temples of the deaths of the bodies of Gods, I see the old + signifiers. + + I see Christ eating the bread of his last supper in the midst of + youths and old persons, + I see where the strong divine young man the Hercules toil’d + faithfully and long and then died, + I see the place of the innocent rich life and hapless fate of the + beautiful nocturnal son, the full-limb’d Bacchus, + I see Kneph, blooming, drest in blue, with the crown of feathers on + his head, + I see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-belov’d, saying to the people + Do not weep for me, + This is not my true country, I have lived banish’d from my true + country, I now go back there, + I return to the celestial sphere where every one goes in his turn. + + 7 + I see the battle-fields of the earth, grass grows upon them and + blossoms and corn, + I see the tracks of ancient and modern expeditions. + + I see the nameless masonries, venerable messages of the unknown + events, heroes, records of the earth. + + I see the places of the sagas, + I see pine-trees and fir-trees torn by northern blasts, + I see granite bowlders and cliffs, I see green meadows and lakes, + I see the burial-cairns of Scandinavian warriors, + I see them raised high with stones by the marge of restless oceans, + that the dead men’s spirits when they wearied of their quiet + graves might rise up through the mounds and gaze on the tossing + billows, and be refresh’d by storms, immensity, liberty, action. + + I see the steppes of Asia, + I see the tumuli of Mongolia, I see the tents of Kalmucks and Baskirs, + I see the nomadic tribes with herds of oxen and cows, + I see the table-lands notch’d with ravines, I see the jungles and deserts, + I see the camel, the wild steed, the bustard, the fat-tail’d sheep, + the antelope, and the burrowing wolf + + I see the highlands of Abyssinia, + I see flocks of goats feeding, and see the fig-tree, tamarind, date, + And see fields of teff-wheat and places of verdure and gold. + + I see the Brazilian vaquero, + I see the Bolivian ascending mount Sorata, + I see the Wacho crossing the plains, I see the incomparable rider of + horses with his lasso on his arm, + I see over the pampas the pursuit of wild cattle for their hides. + + 8 + I see the regions of snow and ice, + I see the sharp-eyed Samoiede and the Finn, + I see the seal-seeker in his boat poising his lance, + I see the Siberian on his slight-built sledge drawn by dogs, + I see the porpoise-hunters, I see the whale-crews of the south + Pacific and the north Atlantic, + I see the cliffs, glaciers, torrents, valleys, of Switzerland—I + mark the long winters and the isolation. + + I see the cities of the earth and make myself at random a part of them, + I am a real Parisian, + I am a habitan of Vienna, St. Petersburg, Berlin, Constantinople, + I am of Adelaide, Sidney, Melbourne, + I am of London, Manchester, Bristol, Edinburgh, Limerick, + I am of Madrid, Cadiz, Barcelona, Oporto, Lyons, Brussels, Berne, + Frankfort, Stuttgart, Turin, Florence, + I belong in Moscow, Cracow, Warsaw, or northward in Christiania or + Stockholm, or in Siberian Irkutsk, or in some street in Iceland, + I descend upon all those cities, and rise from them again. + + 10 + I see vapors exhaling from unexplored countries, + I see the savage types, the bow and arrow, the poison’d splint, the + fetich, and the obi. + I see African and Asiatic towns, + I see Algiers, Tripoli, Derne, Mogadore, Timbuctoo, Monrovia, + I see the swarms of Pekin, Canton, Benares, Delhi, Calcutta, Tokio, + I see the Kruman in his hut, and the Dahoman and Ashantee-man in their huts, + I see the Turk smoking opium in Aleppo, + I see the picturesque crowds at the fairs of Khiva and those of Herat, + I see Teheran, I see Muscat and Medina and the intervening sands, + see the caravans toiling onward, + I see Egypt and the Egyptians, I see the pyramids and obelisks. + I look on chisell’d histories, records of conquering kings, + dynasties, cut in slabs of sand-stone, or on granite-blocks, + I see at Memphis mummy-pits containing mummies embalm’d, + swathed in linen cloth, lying there many centuries, + I look on the fall’n Theban, the large-ball’d eyes, the + side-drooping neck, the hands folded across the breast. + + I see all the menials of the earth, laboring, + I see all the prisoners in the prisons, + I see the defective human bodies of the earth, + The blind, the deaf and dumb, idiots, hunchbacks, lunatics, + The pirates, thieves, betrayers, murderers, slave-makers of the earth, + The helpless infants, and the helpless old men and women. + + I see male and female everywhere, + I see the serene brotherhood of philosophs, + I see the constructiveness of my race, + I see the results of the perseverance and industry of my race, + I see ranks, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, I go among them, I + mix indiscriminately, + And I salute all the inhabitants of the earth. + + 11 + You whoever you are! + You daughter or son of England! + You of the mighty Slavic tribes and empires! you Russ in Russia! + You dim-descended, black, divine-soul’d African, large, fine-headed, + nobly-form’d, superbly destin’d, on equal terms with me! + You Norwegian! Swede! Dane! Icelander! you Prussian! + You Spaniard of Spain! you Portuguese! + You Frenchwoman and Frenchman of France! + You Belge! you liberty-lover of the Netherlands! (you stock whence I + myself have descended;) + You sturdy Austrian! you Lombard! Hun! Bohemian! farmer of Styria! + You neighbor of the Danube! + You working-man of the Rhine, the Elbe, or the Weser! you working-woman too! + You Sardinian! you Bavarian! Swabian! Saxon! Wallachian! Bulgarian! + You Roman! Neapolitan! you Greek! + You lithe matador in the arena at Seville! + You mountaineer living lawlessly on the Taurus or Caucasus! + You Bokh horse-herd watching your mares and stallions feeding! + You beautiful-bodied Persian at full speed in the saddle shooting + arrows to the mark! + You Chinaman and Chinawoman of China! you Tartar of Tartary! + You women of the earth subordinated at your tasks! + You Jew journeying in your old age through every risk to stand once + on Syrian ground! + You other Jews waiting in all lands for your Messiah! + You thoughtful Armenian pondering by some stream of the Euphrates! + you peering amid the ruins of Nineveh! you ascending mount Ararat! + You foot-worn pilgrim welcoming the far-away sparkle of the minarets + of Mecca! + You sheiks along the stretch from Suez to Bab-el-mandeb ruling your + families and tribes! + You olive-grower tending your fruit on fields of Nazareth, Damascus, + or lake Tiberias! + You Thibet trader on the wide inland or bargaining in the shops of Lassa! + You Japanese man or woman! you liver in Madagascar, Ceylon, Sumatra, Borneo! + All you continentals of Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, indifferent + of place! + All you on the numberless islands of the archipelagoes of the sea! + And you of centuries hence when you listen to me! + And you each and everywhere whom I specify not, but include just the same! + Health to you! good will to you all, from me and America sent! + + Each of us inevitable, + Each of us limitless—each of us with his or her right upon the earth, + Each of us allow’d the eternal purports of the earth, + Each of us here as divinely as any is here. + + 12 + You Hottentot with clicking palate! you woolly-hair’d hordes! + You own’d persons dropping sweat-drops or blood-drops! + You human forms with the fathomless ever-impressive countenances of brutes! + You poor koboo whom the meanest of the rest look down upon for all + your glimmering language and spirituality! + You dwarf’d Kamtschatkan, Greenlander, Lapp! + You Austral negro, naked, red, sooty, with protrusive lip, + groveling, seeking your food! + You Caffre, Berber, Soudanese! + You haggard, uncouth, untutor’d Bedowee! + You plague-swarms in Madras, Nankin, Kaubul, Cairo! + You benighted roamer of Amazonia! you Patagonian! you Feejeeman! + I do not prefer others so very much before you either, + I do not say one word against you, away back there where you stand, + (You will come forward in due time to my side.) + + 13 + My spirit has pass’d in compassion and determination around the whole earth, + I have look’d for equals and lovers and found them ready for me in + all lands, + I think some divine rapport has equalized me with them. + + You vapors, I think I have risen with you, moved away to distant + continents, and fallen down there, for reasons, + I think I have blown with you you winds; + You waters I have finger’d every shore with you, + I have run through what any river or strait of the globe has run through, + I have taken my stand on the bases of peninsulas and on the high + embedded rocks, to cry thence: + + What cities the light or warmth penetrates I penetrate those cities myself, + All islands to which birds wing their way I wing my way myself. + + Toward you all, in America’s name, + I raise high the perpendicular hand, I make the signal, + To remain after me in sight forever, + For all the haunts and homes of men. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084"></a> + BOOK VII + </h2> + <p> + Song of the Open Road + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, + Healthy, free, the world before me, + The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. + + Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, + Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, + Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, + Strong and content I travel the open road. + + The earth, that is sufficient, + I do not want the constellations any nearer, + I know they are very well where they are, + I know they suffice for those who belong to them. + + (Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, + I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go, + I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, + I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.) + + 2 + You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all + that is here, + I believe that much unseen is also here. + + Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial, + The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas’d, the + illiterate person, are not denied; + The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar’s tramp, the + drunkard’s stagger, the laughing party of mechanics, + The escaped youth, the rich person’s carriage, the fop, the eloping couple, + The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the + town, the return back from the town, + They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted, + None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me. + + 3 + You air that serves me with breath to speak! + You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape! + You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers! + You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides! + I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me. + + You flagg’d walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges! + You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined + side! you distant ships! + You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d facades! you roofs! + You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards! + You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much! + You doors and ascending steps! you arches! + You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings! + From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to + yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me, + From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, + and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me. + + 4 + The earth expanding right hand and left hand, + The picture alive, every part in its best light, + The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is + not wanted, + The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road. + + O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me? + Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost? + Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, + adhere to me? + + O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, + You express me better than I can express myself, + You shall be more to me than my poem. + + I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all + free poems also, + I think I could stop here myself and do miracles, + I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever + beholds me shall like me, + I think whoever I see must be happy. + + 5 + From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines, + Going where I list, my own master total and absolute, + Listening to others, considering well what they say, + Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, + Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that + would hold me. + + I inhale great draughts of space, + The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine. + + I am larger, better than I thought, + I did not know I held so much goodness. + + All seems beautiful to me, + can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me + I would do the same to you, + I will recruit for myself and you as I go, + I will scatter myself among men and women as I go, + I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them, + Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me, + Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me. + + 6 + Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me, + Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d it would not + astonish me. + + 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. + + Here a great personal deed has room, + (Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men, + Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all + authority and all argument against it.) + + Here is the test of wisdom, + Wisdom is not finally tested in schools, + Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it, + Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof, + Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content, + Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the + excellence of things; + Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes + it out of the soul. + + Now I re-examine philosophies and religions, + They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the + spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents. + + Here is realization, + Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him, + The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you, you + are vacant of them. + + Only the kernel of every object nourishes; + Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me? + Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me? + + Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion’d, it is apropos; + Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers? + Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls? + + 7 + Here is the efflux of the soul, + The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower’d gates, + ever provoking questions, + These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they? + Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight + expands my blood? + Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank? + Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious + thoughts descend upon me? + (I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always + drop fruit as I pass;) + What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers? + What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side? + What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by + and pause? + What gives me to be free to a woman’s and man’s good-will? what + gives them to be free to mine? + + 8 + The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness, + I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times, + Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged. + + Here rises the fluid and attaching character, + The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of + man and woman, + (The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day + out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet + continually out of itself.) + + Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the + love of young and old, + From it falls distill’d the charm that mocks beauty and attainments, + Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact. + + 9 + Allons! whoever you are come travel with me! + Traveling with me you find what never tires. + + The earth never tires, + The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude + and incomprehensible at first, + Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop’d, + I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell. + + Allons! we must not stop here, + However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling + we cannot remain here, + However shelter’d this port and however calm these waters we must + not anchor here, + However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted + to receive it but a little while. + + 10 + Allons! the inducements shall be greater, + We will sail pathless and wild seas, + We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper + speeds by under full sail. + + Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements, + Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity; + Allons! from all formules! + From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests. + + The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer. + + Allons! yet take warning! + He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance, + None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health, + Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself, + Only those may come who come in sweet and determin’d bodies, + No diseas’d person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here. + + (I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes, + We convince by our presence.) + + 11 + Listen! I will be honest with you, + I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes, + These are the days that must happen to you: + You shall not heap up what is call’d riches, + You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve, + You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d, you hardly + settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call’d by an + irresistible call to depart, + You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those + who remain behind you, + What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with + passionate kisses of parting, + You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands + toward you. + + 12 + Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them! + They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—they + are the greatest women, + Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas, + Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land, + Habitues of many distant countries, habitues of far-distant dwellings, + Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers, + Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore, + Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of + children, bearers of children, + Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins, + Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious + years each emerging from that which preceded it, + Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases, + Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days, + Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded + and well-grain’d manhood, + Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content, + Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood, + Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, + Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death. + + 13 + Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless, + To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights, + To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights + they tend to, + Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys, + To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it, + To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it, + To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, + however long but it stretches and waits for you, + To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither, + To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without + labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one + particle of it, + To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant + villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and + the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens, + To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through, + To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go, + To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter + them, to gather the love out of their hearts, + To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave + them behind you, + To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for + traveling souls. + + All parts away for the progress of souls, + All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is + apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners + before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe. + + Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of + the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance. + + Forever alive, forever forward, + Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, + dissatisfied, + Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men, + They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go, + But I know that they go toward the best—toward something great. + + Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth! + You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though + you built it, or though it has been built for you. + + Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen! + It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it. + + Behold through you as bad as the rest, + Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people, + Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces, + Behold a secret silent loathing and despair. + + No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession, + Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes, + Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and + bland in the parlors, + In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly, + Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, + everywhere, + Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the + breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones, + Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers, + Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself, + Speaking of any thing else but never of itself. + + 14 + Allons! through struggles and wars! + The goal that was named cannot be countermanded. + + Have the past struggles succeeded? + What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature? + Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things that + from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth + something to make a greater struggle necessary. + + My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion, + He going with me must go well arm’d, + He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, + desertions. + + 15 + Allons! the road is before us! + It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not + detain’d! + Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the + shelf unopen’d! + Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d! + Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher! + Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the + court, and the judge expound the law. + + Camerado, I give you my hand! + I give you my love more precious than money, + I give you myself before preaching or law; + Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? + Shall we stick by each other as long as we live? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0085" id="link2H_4_0085"></a> + BOOK VIII + </h2> + <p> + Crossing Brooklyn Ferry + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face! + Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you also face + to face. + + Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious + you are to me! + On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning + home, are more curious to me than you suppose, + And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more + to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose. + + 2 + The impalpable sustenance of me from all things at all hours of the day, + The simple, compact, well-join’d scheme, myself disintegrated, every + one disintegrated yet part of the scheme, + The similitudes of the past and those of the future, + The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings, on + the walk in the street and the passage over the river, + The current rushing so swiftly and swimming with me far away, + The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them, + The certainty of others, the life, love, sight, hearing of others. + + Others will enter the gates of the ferry and cross from shore to shore, + Others will watch the run of the flood-tide, + Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the + heights of Brooklyn to the south and east, + Others will see the islands large and small; + Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half + an hour high, + A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others + will see them, + Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring-in of the flood-tide, the + falling-back to the sea of the ebb-tide. + + 3 + It avails not, time nor place—distance avails not, + I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many + generations hence, + Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt, + Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd, + Just as you are refresh’d by the gladness of the river and the + bright flow, I was refresh’d, + Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift + current, I stood yet was hurried, + Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships and the + thick-stemm’d pipes of steamboats, I look’d. + + I too many and many a time cross’d the river of old, + Watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls, saw them high in the air + floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies, + Saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies and left + the rest in strong shadow, + Saw the slow-wheeling circles and the gradual edging toward the south, + Saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water, + Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams, + Look’d at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the shape of my + head in the sunlit water, + Look’d on the haze on the hills southward and south-westward, + Look’d on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet, + Look’d toward the lower bay to notice the vessels arriving, + Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me, + Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, saw the ships at anchor, + The sailors at work in the rigging or out astride the spars, + The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender + serpentine pennants, + The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilothouses, + The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels, + The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset, + The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the + frolic-some crests and glistening, + The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the + granite storehouses by the docks, + On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank’d on + each side by the barges, the hay-boat, the belated lighter, + On the neighboring shore the fires from the foundry chimneys burning + high and glaringly into the night, + Casting their flicker of black contrasted with wild red and yellow + light over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of streets. + + 4 + These and all else were to me the same as they are to you, + I loved well those cities, loved well the stately and rapid river, + The men and women I saw were all near to me, + Others the same—others who look back on me because I look’d forward + to them, + (The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.) + + 5 + What is it then between us? + What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us? + + Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not, + I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine, + I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan island, and bathed in the + waters around it, + I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me, + In the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me, + In my walks home late at night or as I lay in my bed they came upon me, + I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution, + I too had receiv’d identity by my body, + That I was I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew I + should be of my body. + + 6 + It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall, + The dark threw its patches down upon me also, + The best I had done seem’d to me blank and suspicious, + My great thoughts as I supposed them, were they not in reality meagre? + Nor is it you alone who know what it is to be evil, + I am he who knew what it was to be evil, + I too knitted the old knot of contrariety, + Blabb’d, blush’d, resented, lied, stole, grudg’d, + Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak, + Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant, + The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me. + The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not wanting, + + Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these wanting, + Was one with the rest, the days and haps of the rest, + Was call’d by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men as + they saw me approaching or passing, + Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of + their flesh against me as I sat, + Saw many I loved in the street or ferry-boat or public assembly, yet + never told them a word, + Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing, sleeping, + Play’d the part that still looks back on the actor or actress, + The same old role, the role that is what we make it, as great as we like, + Or as small as we like, or both great and small. + + 7 + Closer yet I approach you, + What thought you have of me now, I had as much of you—I laid in my + stores in advance, + I consider’d long and seriously of you before you were born. + + Who was to know what should come home to me? + Who knows but I am enjoying this? + Who knows, for all the distance, but I am as good as looking at you + now, for all you cannot see me? + + 8 + Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than + mast-hemm’d Manhattan? + River and sunset and scallop-edg’d waves of flood-tide? + The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the + twilight, and the belated lighter? + What gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I + love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as approach? + What is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that + looks in my face? + Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you? + + We understand then do we not? + What I promis’d without mentioning it, have you not accepted? + What the study could not teach—what the preaching could not + accomplish is accomplish’d, is it not? + + 9 + Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide! + Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg’d waves! + Gorgeous clouds of the sunset! drench with your splendor me, or the + men and women generations after me! + Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers! + Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta! stand up, beautiful hills of Brooklyn! + Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers! + Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution! + Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house or street or public assembly! + Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically call me by my + nighest name! + Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress! + Play the old role, the role that is great or small according as one + makes it! + Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be + looking upon you; + Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet + haste with the hasting current; + Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in the air; + Receive the summer sky, you water, and faithfully hold it till all + downcast eyes have time to take it from you! + Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any + one’s head, in the sunlit water! + Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down, white-sail’d + schooners, sloops, lighters! + Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower’d at sunset! + Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at + nightfall! cast red and yellow light over the tops of the houses! + Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are, + You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul, + About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung our divinest aromas, + Thrive, cities—bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and + sufficient rivers, + Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual, + Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting. + + You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers, + We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate henceforward, + Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves from us, + We use you, and do not cast you aside—we plant you permanently within us, + We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also, + You furnish your parts toward eternity, + Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0086" id="link2H_4_0086"></a> + BOOK IX + </h2> + <p> + Song of the Answerer + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Now list to my morning’s romanza, I tell the signs of the Answerer, + To the cities and farms I sing as they spread in the sunshine before me. + + A young man comes to me bearing a message from his brother, + How shall the young man know the whether and when of his brother? + Tell him to send me the signs. And I stand before the young man + face to face, and take his right hand in my left hand and his + left hand in my right hand, + And I answer for his brother and for men, and I answer for him that + answers for all, and send these signs. + + Him all wait for, him all yield up to, his word is decisive and final, + Him they accept, in him lave, in him perceive themselves as amid light, + Him they immerse and he immerses them. + + Beautiful women, the haughtiest nations, laws, the landscape, + people, animals, + The profound earth and its attributes and the unquiet ocean, (so + tell I my morning’s romanza,) + All enjoyments and properties and money, and whatever money will buy, + The best farms, others toiling and planting and he unavoidably reaps, + The noblest and costliest cities, others grading and building and he + domiciles there, + Nothing for any one but what is for him, near and far are for him, + the ships in the offing, + The perpetual shows and marches on land are for him if they are for anybody. + + He puts things in their attitudes, + He puts to-day out of himself with plasticity and love, + He places his own times, reminiscences, parents, brothers and + sisters, associations, employment, politics, so that the rest + never shame them afterward, nor assume to command them. + + He is the Answerer, + What can be answer’d he answers, and what cannot be answer’d he + shows how it cannot be answer’d. + + A man is a summons and challenge, + (It is vain to skulk—do you hear that mocking and laughter? do you + hear the ironical echoes?) + + Books, friendships, philosophers, priests, action, pleasure, pride, + beat up and down seeking to give satisfaction, + He indicates the satisfaction, and indicates them that beat up and + down also. + + Whichever the sex, whatever the season or place, he may go freshly + and gently and safely by day or by night, + He has the pass-key of hearts, to him the response of the prying of + hands on the knobs. + + His welcome is universal, the flow of beauty is not more welcome or + universal than he is, + The person he favors by day or sleeps with at night is blessed. + + Every existence has its idiom, every thing has an idiom and tongue, + He resolves all tongues into his own and bestows it upon men, and + any man translates, and any man translates himself also, + One part does not counteract another part, he is the joiner, he sees + how they join. + + He says indifferently and alike How are you friend? to the President + at his levee, + And he says Good-day my brother, to Cudge that hoes in the sugar-field, + And both understand him and know that his speech is right. + + He walks with perfect ease in the capitol, + He walks among the Congress, and one Representative says to another, + Here is our equal appearing and new. + + Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic, + And the soldiers suppose him to be a soldier, and the sailors that + he has follow’d the sea, + And the authors take him for an author, and the artists for an artist, + And the laborers perceive he could labor with them and love them, + No matter what the work is, that he is the one to follow it or has + follow’d it, + No matter what the nation, that he might find his brothers and + sisters there. + + The English believe he comes of their English stock, + A Jew to the Jew he seems, a Russ to the Russ, usual and near, + removed from none. + + Whoever he looks at in the traveler’s coffee-house claims him, + The Italian or Frenchman is sure, the German is sure, the Spaniard + is sure, and the island Cuban is sure, + The engineer, the deck-hand on the great lakes, or on the Mississippi + or St. Lawrence or Sacramento, or Hudson or Paumanok sound, claims him. + + The gentleman of perfect blood acknowledges his perfect blood, + The insulter, the prostitute, the angry person, the beggar, see + themselves in the ways of him, he strangely transmutes them, + They are not vile any more, they hardly know themselves they are so grown. + + 2 + The indications and tally of time, + Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs, + Time, always without break, indicates itself in parts, + What always indicates the poet is the crowd of the pleasant company + of singers, and their words, + The words of the singers are the hours or minutes of the light or dark, + but the words of the maker of poems are the general light and dark, + The maker of poems settles justice, reality, immortality, + His insight and power encircle things and the human race, + He is the glory and extract thus far of things and of the human race. + + The singers do not beget, only the Poet begets, + The singers are welcom’d, understood, appear often enough, but rare + has the day been, likewise the spot, of the birth of the maker + of poems, the Answerer, + (Not every century nor every five centuries has contain’d such a + day, for all its names.) + + The singers of successive hours of centuries may have ostensible + names, but the name of each of them is one of the singers, + The name of each is, eye-singer, ear-singer, head-singer, + sweet-singer, night-singer, parlor-singer, love-singer, + weird-singer, or something else. + + All this time and at all times wait the words of true poems, + The words of true poems do not merely please, + The true poets are not followers of beauty but the august masters of beauty; + The greatness of sons is the exuding of the greatness of mothers + and fathers, + The words of true poems are the tuft and final applause of science. + + Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of reason, health, + rudeness of body, withdrawnness, + Gayety, sun-tan, air-sweetness, such are some of the words of poems. + + The sailor and traveler underlie the maker of poems, the Answerer, + The builder, geometer, chemist, anatomist, phrenologist, artist, all + these underlie the maker of poems, the Answerer. + + The words of the true poems give you more than poems, + They give you to form for yourself poems, religions, politics, war, + peace, behavior, histories, essays, daily life, and every thing else, + They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes, + They do not seek beauty, they are sought, + Forever touching them or close upon them follows beauty, longing, + fain, love-sick. + + They prepare for death, yet are they not the finish, but rather the outset, + They bring none to his or her terminus or to be content and full, + Whom they take they take into space to behold the birth of stars, to + learn one of the meanings, + To launch off with absolute faith, to sweep through the ceaseless + rings and never be quiet again. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0087" id="link2H_4_0087"></a> + BOOK X + </h2> + <p> + Our Old Feuillage + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Always our old feuillage! + Always Florida’s green peninsula—always the priceless delta of + Louisiana—always the cotton-fields of Alabama and Texas, + Always California’s golden hills and hollows, and the silver + mountains of New Mexico—always soft-breath’d Cuba, + Always the vast slope drain’d by the Southern sea, inseparable with + the slopes drain’d by the Eastern and Western seas, + The area the eighty-third year of these States, the three and a half + millions of square miles, + The eighteen thousand miles of sea-coast and bay-coast on the main, + the thirty thousand miles of river navigation, + The seven millions of distinct families and the same number of dwellings— + always these, and more, branching forth into numberless branches, + Always the free range and diversity—always the continent of Democracy; + Always the prairies, pastures, forests, vast cities, travelers, + Kanada, the snows; + Always these compact lands tied at the hips with the belt stringing + the huge oval lakes; + Always the West with strong native persons, the increasing density there, + the habitans, friendly, threatening, ironical, scorning invaders; + All sights, South, North, East—all deeds, promiscuously done at all times, + All characters, movements, growths, a few noticed, myriads unnoticed, + Through Mannahatta’s streets I walking, these things gathering, + On interior rivers by night in the glare of pine knots, steamboats + wooding up, + Sunlight by day on the valley of the Susquehanna, and on the valleys + of the Potomac and Rappahannock, and the valleys of the Roanoke + and Delaware, + In their northerly wilds beasts of prey haunting the Adirondacks the + hills, or lapping the Saginaw waters to drink, + In a lonesome inlet a sheldrake lost from the flock, sitting on the + water rocking silently, + In farmers’ barns oxen in the stable, their harvest labor done, they + rest standing, they are too tired, + Afar on arctic ice the she-walrus lying drowsily while her cubs play around, + The hawk sailing where men have not yet sail’d, the farthest polar + sea, ripply, crystalline, open, beyond the floes, + White drift spooning ahead where the ship in the tempest dashes, + On solid land what is done in cities as the bells strike midnight together, + In primitive woods the sounds there also sounding, the howl of the + wolf, the scream of the panther, and the hoarse bellow of the elk, + In winter beneath the hard blue ice of Moosehead lake, in summer + visible through the clear waters, the great trout swimming, + In lower latitudes in warmer air in the Carolinas the large black + buzzard floating slowly high beyond the tree tops, + Below, the red cedar festoon’d with tylandria, the pines and + cypresses growing out of the white sand that spreads far and flat, + Rude boats descending the big Pedee, climbing plants, parasites with + color’d flowers and berries enveloping huge trees, + The waving drapery on the live-oak trailing long and low, + noiselessly waved by the wind, + The camp of Georgia wagoners just after dark, the supper-fires and + the cooking and eating by whites and negroes, + Thirty or forty great wagons, the mules, cattle, horses, feeding + from troughs, + The shadows, gleams, up under the leaves of the old sycamore-trees, + the flames with the black smoke from the pitch-pine curling and rising; + Southern fishermen fishing, the sounds and inlets of North + Carolina’s coast, the shad-fishery and the herring-fishery, the + large sweep-seines, the windlasses on shore work’d by horses, the + clearing, curing, and packing-houses; + Deep in the forest in piney woods turpentine dropping from the + incisions in the trees, there are the turpentine works, + There are the negroes at work in good health, the ground in all + directions is cover’d with pine straw; + In Tennessee and Kentucky slaves busy in the coalings, at the forge, + by the furnace-blaze, or at the corn-shucking, + In Virginia, the planter’s son returning after a long absence, + joyfully welcom’d and kiss’d by the aged mulatto nurse, + On rivers boatmen safely moor’d at nightfall in their boats under + shelter of high banks, + Some of the younger men dance to the sound of the banjo or fiddle, + others sit on the gunwale smoking and talking; + Late in the afternoon the mocking-bird, the American mimic, singing + in the Great Dismal Swamp, + There are the greenish waters, the resinous odor, the plenteous + moss, the cypress-tree, and the juniper-tree; + Northward, young men of Mannahatta, the target company from an + excursion returning home at evening, the musket-muzzles all + bear bunches of flowers presented by women; + Children at play, or on his father’s lap a young boy fallen asleep, + (how his lips move! how he smiles in his sleep!) + The scout riding on horseback over the plains west of the + Mississippi, he ascends a knoll and sweeps his eyes around; + California life, the miner, bearded, dress’d in his rude costume, + the stanch California friendship, the sweet air, the graves one + in passing meets solitary just aside the horse-path; + Down in Texas the cotton-field, the negro-cabins, drivers driving + mules or oxen before rude carts, cotton bales piled on banks + and wharves; + Encircling all, vast-darting up and wide, the American Soul, with + equal hemispheres, one Love, one Dilation or Pride; + In arriere the peace-talk with the Iroquois the aborigines, the + calumet, the pipe of good-will, arbitration, and indorsement, + The sachem blowing the smoke first toward the sun and then toward + the earth, + The drama of the scalp-dance enacted with painted faces and guttural + exclamations, + The setting out of the war-party, the long and stealthy march, + The single file, the swinging hatchets, the surprise and slaughter + of enemies; + All the acts, scenes, ways, persons, attitudes of these States, + reminiscences, institutions, + All these States compact, every square mile of these States without + excepting a particle; + Me pleas’d, rambling in lanes and country fields, Paumanok’s fields, + Observing the spiral flight of two little yellow butterflies + shuffling between each other, ascending high in the air, + The darting swallow, the destroyer of insects, the fall traveler + southward but returning northward early in the spring, + The country boy at the close of the day driving the herd of cows and + shouting to them as they loiter to browse by the roadside, + The city wharf, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Charleston, New + Orleans, San Francisco, + The departing ships when the sailors heave at the capstan; + Evening—me in my room—the setting sun, + The setting summer sun shining in my open window, showing the + swarm of flies, suspended, balancing in the air in the centre + of the room, darting athwart, up and down, casting swift + shadows in specks on the opposite wall where the shine is; + The athletic American matron speaking in public to crowds of listeners, + Males, females, immigrants, combinations, the copiousness, the + individuality of the States, each for itself—the moneymakers, + Factories, machinery, the mechanical forces, the windlass, lever, + pulley, all certainties, + The certainty of space, increase, freedom, futurity, + In space the sporades, the scatter’d islands, the stars—on the firm + earth, the lands, my lands, + O lands! all so dear to me—what you are, (whatever it is,) I putting it + at random in these songs, become a part of that, whatever it is, + Southward there, I screaming, with wings slow flapping, with the + myriads of gulls wintering along the coasts of Florida, + Otherways there atwixt the banks of the Arkansaw, the Rio Grande, + the Nueces, the Brazos, the Tombigbee, the Red River, the + Saskatchawan or the Osage, I with the spring waters laughing + and skipping and running, + Northward, on the sands, on some shallow bay of Paumanok, I with + parties of snowy herons wading in the wet to seek worms and + aquatic plants, + Retreating, triumphantly twittering, the king-bird, from piercing + the crow with its bill, for amusement—and I triumphantly twittering, + The migrating flock of wild geese alighting in autumn to refresh + themselves, the body of the flock feed, the sentinels outside + move around with erect heads watching, and are from time to time + reliev’d by other sentinels—and I feeding and taking turns + with the rest, + In Kanadian forests the moose, large as an ox, corner’d by hunters, + rising desperately on his hind-feet, and plunging with his + fore-feet, the hoofs as sharp as knives—and I, plunging at the + hunters, corner’d and desperate, + In the Mannahatta, streets, piers, shipping, store-houses, and the + countless workmen working in the shops, + And I too of the Mannahatta, singing thereof—and no less in myself + than the whole of the Mannahatta in itself, + Singing the song of These, my ever-united lands—my body no more + inevitably united, part to part, and made out of a thousand + diverse contributions one identity, any more than my lands + are inevitably united and made ONE IDENTITY; + Nativities, climates, the grass of the great pastoral Plains, + Cities, labors, death, animals, products, war, good and evil—these me, + These affording, in all their particulars, the old feuillage to me + and to America, how can I do less than pass the clew of the union + of them, to afford the like to you? + Whoever you are! how can I but offer you divine leaves, that you + also be eligible as I am? + How can I but as here chanting, invite you for yourself to collect + bouquets of the incomparable feuillage of these States? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0088" id="link2H_4_0088"></a> + BOOK XI + </h2> + <p> + A Song of Joys + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O to make the most jubilant song! + Full of music—full of manhood, womanhood, infancy! + Full of common employments—full of grain and trees. + + O for the voices of animals—O for the swiftness and balance of fishes! + O for the dropping of raindrops in a song! + O for the sunshine and motion of waves in a song! + + O the joy of my spirit—it is uncaged—it darts like lightning! + It is not enough to have this globe or a certain time, + I will have thousands of globes and all time. + + O the engineer’s joys! to go with a locomotive! + To hear the hiss of steam, the merry shriek, the steam-whistle, the + laughing locomotive! + To push with resistless way and speed off in the distance. + + O the gleesome saunter over fields and hillsides! + The leaves and flowers of the commonest weeds, the moist fresh + stillness of the woods, + The exquisite smell of the earth at daybreak, and all through the forenoon. + + O the horseman’s and horsewoman’s joys! + The saddle, the gallop, the pressure upon the seat, the cool + gurgling by the ears and hair. + + O the fireman’s joys! + I hear the alarm at dead of night, + I hear bells, shouts! I pass the crowd, I run! + The sight of the flames maddens me with pleasure. + + O the joy of the strong-brawn’d fighter, towering in the arena in + perfect condition, conscious of power, thirsting to meet his opponent. + + O the joy of that vast elemental sympathy which only the human soul is + capable of generating and emitting in steady and limitless floods. + + O the mother’s joys! + The watching, the endurance, the precious love, the anguish, the + patiently yielded life. + + O the of increase, growth, recuperation, + The joy of soothing and pacifying, the joy of concord and harmony. + + O to go back to the place where I was born, + To hear the birds sing once more, + To ramble about the house and barn and over the fields once more, + And through the orchard and along the old lanes once more. + + O to have been brought up on bays, lagoons, creeks, or along the coast, + To continue and be employ’d there all my life, + The briny and damp smell, the shore, the salt weeds exposed at low water, + The work of fishermen, the work of the eel-fisher and clam-fisher; + I come with my clam-rake and spade, I come with my eel-spear, + Is the tide out? I Join the group of clam-diggers on the flats, + I laugh and work with them, I joke at my work like a mettlesome young man; + In winter I take my eel-basket and eel-spear and travel out on foot + on the ice—I have a small axe to cut holes in the ice, + Behold me well-clothed going gayly or returning in the afternoon, + my brood of tough boys accompanying me, + My brood of grown and part-grown boys, who love to be with no + one else so well as they love to be with me, + By day to work with me, and by night to sleep with me. + + Another time in warm weather out in a boat, to lift the lobster-pots + where they are sunk with heavy stones, (I know the buoys,) + O the sweetness of the Fifth-month morning upon the water as I row + just before sunrise toward the buoys, + I pull the wicker pots up slantingly, the dark green lobsters are + desperate with their claws as I take them out, I insert + wooden pegs in the ’oints of their pincers, + + I go to all the places one after another, and then row back to the shore, + There in a huge kettle of boiling water the lobsters shall be boil’d + till their color becomes scarlet. + + Another time mackerel-taking, + Voracious, mad for the hook, near the surface, they seem to fill the + water for miles; + Another time fishing for rock-fish in Chesapeake bay, I one of the + brown-faced crew; + Another time trailing for blue-fish off Paumanok, I stand with braced body, + My left foot is on the gunwale, my right arm throws far out the + coils of slender rope, + In sight around me the quick veering and darting of fifty skiffs, my + companions. + + O boating on the rivers, + The voyage down the St. Lawrence, the superb scenery, the steamers, + The ships sailing, the Thousand Islands, the occasional timber-raft + and the raftsmen with long-reaching sweep-oars, + The little huts on the rafts, and the stream of smoke when they cook + supper at evening. + + (O something pernicious and dread! + Something far away from a puny and pious life! + Something unproved! something in a trance! + Something escaped from the anchorage and driving free.) + + O to work in mines, or forging iron, + Foundry casting, the foundry itself, the rude high roof, the ample + and shadow’d space, + The furnace, the hot liquid pour’d out and running. + + O to resume the joys of the soldier! + To feel the presence of a brave commanding officer—to feel his sympathy! + To behold his calmness—to be warm’d in the rays of his smile! + To go to battle—to hear the bugles play and the drums beat! + To hear the crash of artillery—to see the glittering of the bayonets + and musket-barrels in the sun! + + To see men fall and die and not complain! + To taste the savage taste of blood—to be so devilish! + To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy. + + O the whaleman’s joys! O I cruise my old cruise again! + I feel the ship’s motion under me, I feel the Atlantic breezes fanning me, + I hear the cry again sent down from the mast-head, There—she blows! + Again I spring up the rigging to look with the rest—we descend, + wild with excitement, + I leap in the lower’d boat, we row toward our prey where he lies, + We approach stealthy and silent, I see the mountainous mass, + lethargic, basking, + I see the harpooneer standing up, I see the weapon dart from his + vigorous arm; + O swift again far out in the ocean the wounded whale, settling, + running to windward, tows me, + Again I see him rise to breathe, we row close again, + I see a lance driven through his side, press’d deep, turn’d in the wound, + Again we back off, I see him settle again, the life is leaving him fast, + As he rises he spouts blood, I see him swim in circles narrower and + narrower, swiftly cutting the water—I see him die, + He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the circle, and then + falls flat and still in the bloody foam. + + O the old manhood of me, my noblest joy of all! + My children and grand-children, my white hair and beard, + My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long stretch of my life. + + O ripen’d joy of womanhood! O happiness at last! + I am more than eighty years of age, I am the most venerable mother, + How clear is my mind—how all people draw nigh to me! + What attractions are these beyond any before? what bloom more + than the bloom of youth? + What beauty is this that descends upon me and rises out of me? + + O the orator’s joys! + To inflate the chest, to roll the thunder of the voice out from the + ribs and throat, + To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with yourself, + To lead America—to quell America with a great tongue. + + O the joy of my soul leaning pois’d on itself, receiving identity through + materials and loving them, observing characters and absorbing them, + My soul vibrated back to me from them, from sight, hearing, touch, + reason, articulation, comparison, memory, and the like, + The real life of my senses and flesh transcending my senses and flesh, + My body done with materials, my sight done with my material eyes, + Proved to me this day beyond cavil that it is not my material eyes + which finally see, + Nor my material body which finally loves, walks, laughs, shouts, + embraces, procreates. + + O the farmer’s joys! + Ohioan’s, Illinoisian’s, Wisconsinese’, Kanadian’s, Iowan’s, + Kansian’s, Missourian’s, Oregonese’ joys! + To rise at peep of day and pass forth nimbly to work, + To plough land in the fall for winter-sown crops, + To plough land in the spring for maize, + To train orchards, to graft the trees, to gather apples in the fall. + + O to bathe in the swimming-bath, or in a good place along shore, + To splash the water! to walk ankle-deep, or race naked along the shore. + + O to realize space! + The plenteousness of all, that there are no bounds, + To emerge and be of the sky, of the sun and moon and flying + clouds, as one with them. + + O the joy a manly self-hood! + To be servile to none, to defer to none, not to any tyrant known or unknown, + To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and elastic, + To look with calm gaze or with a flashing eye, + To speak with a full and sonorous voice out of a broad chest, + To confront with your personality all the other personalities of the earth. + + Knowist thou the excellent joys of youth? + Joys of the dear companions and of the merry word and laughing face? + Joy of the glad light-beaming day, joy of the wide-breath’d games? + Joy of sweet music, joy of the lighted ball-room and the dancers? + Joy of the plenteous dinner, strong carouse and drinking? + + Yet O my soul supreme! + Knowist thou the joys of pensive thought? + Joys of the free and lonesome heart, the tender, gloomy heart? + Joys of the solitary walk, the spirit bow’d yet proud, the suffering + and the struggle? + The agonistic throes, the ecstasies, joys of the solemn musings day + or night? + Joys of the thought of Death, the great spheres Time and Space? + Prophetic joys of better, loftier love’s ideals, the divine wife, + the sweet, eternal, perfect comrade? + Joys all thine own undying one, joys worthy thee O soul. + + O while I live to be the ruler of life, not a slave, + To meet life as a powerful conqueror, + No fumes, no ennui, no more complaints or scornful criticisms, + To these proud laws of the air, the water and the ground, proving + my interior soul impregnable, + And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me. + + For not life’s joys alone I sing, repeating—the joy of death! + The beautiful touch of Death, soothing and benumbing a few moments, + for reasons, + Myself discharging my excrementitious body to be burn’d, or render’d + to powder, or buried, + My real body doubtless left to me for other spheres, + My voided body nothing more to me, returning to the purifications, + further offices, eternal uses of the earth. + + O to attract by more than attraction! + How it is I know not—yet behold! the something which obeys none + of the rest, + It is offensive, never defensive—yet how magnetic it draws. + + O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted! + To be entirely alone with them, to find how much one can stand! + To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to face! + To mount the scaffold, to advance to the muzzles of guns with + perfect nonchalance! + To be indeed a God! + + O to sail to sea in a ship! + To leave this steady unendurable land, + To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the sidewalks and the + houses, + To leave you O you solid motionless land, and entering a ship, + To sail and sail and sail! + + O to have life henceforth a poem of new joys! + To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on, float on! + To be a sailor of the world bound for all ports, + A ship itself, (see indeed these sails I spread to the sun and air,) + A swift and swelling ship full of rich words, full of joys. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0089" id="link2H_4_0089"></a> + BOOK XII + </h2> + <p> + Song of the Broad-Axe + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Weapon shapely, naked, wan, + Head from the mother’s bowels drawn, + Wooded flesh and metal bone, limb only one and lip only one, + Gray-blue leaf by red-heat grown, helve produced from a little seed sown, + Resting the grass amid and upon, + To be lean’d and to lean on. + + Strong shapes and attributes of strong shapes, masculine trades, + sights and sounds. + Long varied train of an emblem, dabs of music, + Fingers of the organist skipping staccato over the keys of the great organ. + + 2 + Welcome are all earth’s lands, each for its kind, + Welcome are lands of pine and oak, + Welcome are lands of the lemon and fig, + Welcome are lands of gold, + Welcome are lands of wheat and maize, welcome those of the grape, + Welcome are lands of sugar and rice, + Welcome the cotton-lands, welcome those of the white potato and + sweet potato, + Welcome are mountains, flats, sands, forests, prairies, + Welcome the rich borders of rivers, table-lands, openings, + Welcome the measureless grazing-lands, welcome the teeming soil of + orchards, flax, honey, hemp; + Welcome just as much the other more hard-faced lands, + Lands rich as lands of gold or wheat and fruit lands, + Lands of mines, lands of the manly and rugged ores, + Lands of coal, copper, lead, tin, zinc, + Lands of iron—lands of the make of the axe. + + 3 + The log at the wood-pile, the axe supported by it, + The sylvan hut, the vine over the doorway, the space clear’d for garden, + The irregular tapping of rain down on the leaves after the storm is lull’d, + The walling and moaning at intervals, the thought of the sea, + The thought of ships struck in the storm and put on their beam ends, + and the cutting away of masts, + The sentiment of the huge timbers of old-fashion’d houses and barns, + The remember’d print or narrative, the voyage at a venture of men, + families, goods, + The disembarkation, the founding of a new city, + The voyage of those who sought a New England and found it, the outset + anywhere, + The settlements of the Arkansas, Colorado, Ottawa, Willamette, + The slow progress, the scant fare, the axe, rifle, saddle-bags; + The beauty of all adventurous and daring persons, + The beauty of wood-boys and wood-men with their clear untrimm’d faces, + The beauty of independence, departure, actions that rely on themselves, + The American contempt for statutes and ceremonies, the boundless + impatience of restraint, + The loose drift of character, the inkling through random types, the + solidification; + The butcher in the slaughter-house, the hands aboard schooners and + sloops, the raftsman, the pioneer, + Lumbermen in their winter camp, daybreak in the woods, stripes of + snow on the limbs of trees, the occasional snapping, + The glad clear sound of one’s own voice, the merry song, the natural + life of the woods, the strong day’s work, + The blazing fire at night, the sweet taste of supper, the talk, the + bed of hemlock-boughs and the bear-skin; + The house-builder at work in cities or anywhere, + The preparatory jointing, squaring, sawing, mortising, + The hoist-up of beams, the push of them in their places, laying them + regular, + Setting the studs by their tenons in the mortises according as they + were prepared, + The blows of mallets and hammers, the attitudes of the men, their + curv’d limbs, + Bending, standing, astride the beams, driving in pins, holding on by + posts and braces, + The hook’d arm over the plate, the other arm wielding the axe, + The floor-men forcing the planks close to be nail’d, + Their postures bringing their weapons downward on the bearers, + The echoes resounding through the vacant building: + The huge storehouse carried up in the city well under way, + The six framing-men, two in the middle and two at each end, carefully + bearing on their shoulders a heavy stick for a cross-beam, + The crowded line of masons with trowels in their right hands rapidly + laying the long side-wall, two hundred feet from front to rear, + The flexible rise and fall of backs, the continual click of the + trowels striking the bricks, + The bricks one after another each laid so workmanlike in its place, + and set with a knock of the trowel-handle, + The piles of materials, the mortar on the mortar-boards, and the + steady replenishing by the hod-men; + Spar-makers in the spar-yard, the swarming row of well-grown apprentices, + The swing of their axes on the square-hew’d log shaping it toward + the shape of a mast, + The brisk short crackle of the steel driven slantingly into the pine, + The butter-color’d chips flying off in great flakes and slivers, + The limber motion of brawny young arms and hips in easy costumes, + The constructor of wharves, bridges, piers, bulk-heads, floats, + stays against the sea; + The city fireman, the fire that suddenly bursts forth in the + close-pack’d square, + The arriving engines, the hoarse shouts, the nimble stepping and daring, + The strong command through the fire-trumpets, the falling in line, + the rise and fall of the arms forcing the water, + The slender, spasmic, blue-white jets, the bringing to bear of the + hooks and ladders and their execution, + The crash and cut away of connecting wood-work, or through floors + if the fire smoulders under them, + The crowd with their lit faces watching, the glare and dense shadows; + The forger at his forge-furnace and the user of iron after him, + The maker of the axe large and small, and the welder and temperer, + The chooser breathing his breath on the cold steel and trying the + edge with his thumb, + The one who clean-shapes the handle and sets it firmly in the socket; + The shadowy processions of the portraits of the past users also, + The primal patient mechanics, the architects and engineers, + The far-off Assyrian edifice and Mizra edifice, + The Roman lictors preceding the consuls, + The antique European warrior with his axe in combat, + The uplifted arm, the clatter of blows on the helmeted head, + The death-howl, the limpsy tumbling body, the rush of friend and foe + thither, + The siege of revolted lieges determin’d for liberty, + The summons to surrender, the battering at castle gates, the truce + and parley, + The sack of an old city in its time, + The bursting in of mercenaries and bigots tumultuously and disorderly, + Roar, flames, blood, drunkenness, madness, + Goods freely rifled from houses and temples, screams of women in the + gripe of brigands, + Craft and thievery of camp-followers, men running, old persons despairing, + The hell of war, the cruelties of creeds, + The list of all executive deeds and words just or unjust, + The power of personality just or unjust. + + 4 + Muscle and pluck forever! + What invigorates life invigorates death, + And the dead advance as much as the living advance, + And the future is no more uncertain than the present, + For the roughness of the earth and of man encloses as much as the + delicatesse of the earth and of man, + And nothing endures but personal qualities. + + What do you think endures? + Do you think a great city endures? + Or a teeming manufacturing state? or a prepared constitution? or the + best built steamships? + Or hotels of granite and iron? or any chef-d’œuvres of engineering, + forts, armaments? + + Away! these are not to be cherish’d for themselves, + They fill their hour, the dancers dance, the musicians play for them, + The show passes, all does well enough of course, + All does very well till one flash of defiance. + + A great city is that which has the greatest men and women, + If it be a few ragged huts it is still the greatest city in the + whole world. + + 5 + The place where a great city stands is not the place of stretch’d + wharves, docks, manufactures, deposits of produce merely, + Nor the place of ceaseless salutes of new-comers or the + anchor-lifters of the departing, + Nor the place of the tallest and costliest buildings or shops + selling goods from the rest of the earth, + Nor the place of the best libraries and schools, nor the place where + money is plentiest, + Nor the place of the most numerous population. + + Where the city stands with the brawniest breed of orators and bards, + Where the city stands that is belov’d by these, and loves them in + return and understands them, + Where no monuments exist to heroes but in the common words and deeds, + Where thrift is in its place, and prudence is in its place, + Where the men and women think lightly of the laws, + Where the slave ceases, and the master of slaves ceases, + Where the populace rise at once against the never-ending audacity of + elected persons, + Where fierce men and women pour forth as the sea to the whistle of + death pours its sweeping and unript waves, + Where outside authority enters always after the precedence of inside + authority, + Where the citizen is always the head and ideal, and President, + Mayor, Governor and what not, are agents for pay, + Where children are taught to be laws to themselves, and to depend on + themselves, + Where equanimity is illustrated in affairs, + Where speculations on the soul are encouraged, + Where women walk in public processions in the streets the same as the men, + Where they enter the public assembly and take places the same as the men; + Where the city of the faithfulest friends stands, + Where the city of the cleanliness of the sexes stands, + Where the city of the healthiest fathers stands, + Where the city of the best-bodied mothers stands, + There the great city stands. + + 6 + How beggarly appear arguments before a defiant deed! + How the floridness of the materials of cities shrivels before a + man’s or woman’s look! + + All waits or goes by default till a strong being appears; + A strong being is the proof of the race and of the ability of the universe, + When he or she appears materials are overaw’d, + The dispute on the soul stops, + The old customs and phrases are confronted, turn’d back, or laid away. + + What is your money-making now? what can it do now? + What is your respectability now? + What are your theology, tuition, society, traditions, statute-books, now? + Where are your jibes of being now? + Where are your cavils about the soul now? + + 7 + A sterile landscape covers the ore, there is as good as the best for + all the forbidding appearance, + There is the mine, there are the miners, + The forge-furnace is there, the melt is accomplish’d, the hammersmen + are at hand with their tongs and hammers, + What always served and always serves is at hand. + + Than this nothing has better served, it has served all, + Served the fluent-tongued and subtle-sensed Greek, and long ere the Greek, + Served in building the buildings that last longer than any, + Served the Hebrew, the Persian, the most ancient Hindustanee, + Served the mound-raiser on the Mississippi, served those whose + relics remain in Central America, + Served Albic temples in woods or on plains, with unhewn pillars and + the druids, + Served the artificial clefts, vast, high, silent, on the + snow-cover’d hills of Scandinavia, + Served those who time out of mind made on the granite walls rough + sketches of the sun, moon, stars, ships, ocean waves, + Served the paths of the irruptions of the Goths, served the pastoral + tribes and nomads, + Served the long distant Kelt, served the hardy pirates of the Baltic, + Served before any of those the venerable and harmless men of Ethiopia, + Served the making of helms for the galleys of pleasure and the + making of those for war, + Served all great works on land and all great works on the sea, + For the mediaeval ages and before the mediaeval ages, + Served not the living only then as now, but served the dead. + + 8 + I see the European headsman, + He stands mask’d, clothed in red, with huge legs and strong naked arms, + And leans on a ponderous axe. + + (Whom have you slaughter’d lately European headsman? + Whose is that blood upon you so wet and sticky?) + + I see the clear sunsets of the martyrs, + I see from the scaffolds the descending ghosts, + Ghosts of dead lords, uncrown’d ladies, impeach’d ministers, rejected kings, + Rivals, traitors, poisoners, disgraced chieftains and the rest. + + I see those who in any land have died for the good cause, + The seed is spare, nevertheless the crop shall never run out, + (Mind you O foreign kings, O priests, the crop shall never run out.) + + I see the blood wash’d entirely away from the axe, + Both blade and helve are clean, + They spirt no more the blood of European nobles, they clasp no more + the necks of queens. + + I see the headsman withdraw and become useless, + I see the scaffold untrodden and mouldy, I see no longer any axe upon it, + + I see the mighty and friendly emblem of the power of my own race, + the newest, largest race. + + 9 + (America! I do not vaunt my love for you, + I have what I have.) + + The axe leaps! + The solid forest gives fluid utterances, + They tumble forth, they rise and form, + Hut, tent, landing, survey, + Flail, plough, pick, crowbar, spade, + Shingle, rail, prop, wainscot, lamb, lath, panel, gable, + Citadel, ceiling, saloon, academy, organ, exhibition-house, library, + Cornice, trellis, pilaster, balcony, window, turret, porch, + Hoe, rake, pitchfork, pencil, wagon, staff, saw, jack-plane, mallet, + wedge, rounce, + Chair, tub, hoop, table, wicket, vane, sash, floor, + Work-box, chest, string’d instrument, boat, frame, and what not, + Capitols of States, and capitol of the nation of States, + Long stately rows in avenues, hospitals for orphans or for the poor or sick, + Manhattan steamboats and clippers taking the measure of all seas. + + The shapes arise! + Shapes of the using of axes anyhow, and the users and all that + neighbors them, + Cutters down of wood and haulers of it to the Penobscot or Kenebec, + Dwellers in cabins among the Californian mountains or by the little + lakes, or on the Columbia, + Dwellers south on the banks of the Gila or Rio Grande, friendly + gatherings, the characters and fun, + Dwellers along the St. Lawrence, or north in Kanada, or down by the + Yellowstone, dwellers on coasts and off coasts, + Seal-fishers, whalers, arctic seamen breaking passages through the ice. + + The shapes arise! + Shapes of factories, arsenals, foundries, markets, + Shapes of the two-threaded tracks of railroads, + Shapes of the sleepers of bridges, vast frameworks, girders, arches, + Shapes of the fleets of barges, tows, lake and canal craft, river craft, + Ship-yards and dry-docks along the Eastern and Western seas, and in + many a bay and by-place, + The live-oak kelsons, the pine planks, the spars, the + hackmatack-roots for knees, + The ships themselves on their ways, the tiers of scaffolds, the + workmen busy outside and inside, + The tools lying around, the great auger and little auger, the adze, + bolt, line, square, gouge, and bead-plane. + + 10 + The shapes arise! + The shape measur’d, saw’d, jack’d, join’d, stain’d, + The coffin-shape for the dead to lie within in his shroud, + The shape got out in posts, in the bedstead posts, in the posts of + the bride’s bed, + The shape of the little trough, the shape of the rockers beneath, + the shape of the babe’s cradle, + The shape of the floor-planks, the floor-planks for dancers’ feet, + The shape of the planks of the family home, the home of the friendly + parents and children, + The shape of the roof of the home of the happy young man and + woman, the roof over the well-married young man and woman, + The roof over the supper joyously cook’d by the chaste wife, and joyously + eaten by the chaste husband, content after his day’s work. + + The shapes arise! + The shape of the prisoner’s place in the court-room, and of him or + her seated in the place, + The shape of the liquor-bar lean’d against by the young rum-drinker + and the old rum-drinker, + The shape of the shamed and angry stairs trod by sneaking foot- steps, + The shape of the sly settee, and the adulterous unwholesome couple, + The shape of the gambling-board with its devilish winnings and losings, + The shape of the step-ladder for the convicted and sentenced + murderer, the murderer with haggard face and pinion’d arms, + The sheriff at hand with his deputies, the silent and white-lipp’d + crowd, the dangling of the rope. + + The shapes arise! + Shapes of doors giving many exits and entrances, + The door passing the dissever’d friend flush’d and in haste, + The door that admits good news and bad news, + The door whence the son left home confident and puff’d up, + The door he enter’d again from a long and scandalous absence, + diseas’d, broken down, without innocence, without means. + + 11 + Her shape arises, + She less guarded than ever, yet more guarded than ever, + The gross and soil’d she moves among do not make her gross and soil’d, + She knows the thoughts as she passes, nothing is conceal’d from her, + She is none the less considerate or friendly therefor, + She is the best belov’d, it is without exception, she has no reason + to fear and she does not fear, + Oaths, quarrels, hiccupp’d songs, smutty expressions, are idle to + her as she passes, + She is silent, she is possess’d of herself, they do not offend her, + She receives them as the laws of Nature receive them, she is strong, + She too is a law of Nature—there is no law stronger than she is. + + 12 + The main shapes arise! + Shapes of Democracy total, result of centuries, + Shapes ever projecting other shapes, + Shapes of turbulent manly cities, + Shapes of the friends and home-givers of the whole earth, + Shapes bracing the earth and braced with the whole earth. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0090" id="link2H_4_0090"></a> + BOOK XIII + </h2> + <p> + Song of the Exposition + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + (Ah little recks the laborer, + How near his work is holding him to God, + The loving Laborer through space and time.) + + After all not to create only, or found only, + But to bring perhaps from afar what is already founded, + To give it our own identity, average, limitless, free, + To fill the gross the torpid bulk with vital religious fire, + Not to repel or destroy so much as accept, fuse, rehabilitate, + To obey as well as command, to follow more than to lead, + These also are the lessons of our New World; + While how little the New after all, how much the Old, Old World! + + Long and long has the grass been growing, + Long and long has the rain been falling, + Long has the globe been rolling round. + + 2 + Come Muse migrate from Greece and Ionia, + Cross out please those immensely overpaid accounts, + That matter of Troy and Achilles’ wrath, and AEneas’, Odysseus’ wanderings, + Placard “Removed” and “To Let” on the rocks of your snowy Parnassus, + Repeat at Jerusalem, place the notice high on jaffa’s gate and on + Mount Moriah, + The same on the walls of your German, French and Spanish castles, + and Italian collections, + For know a better, fresher, busier sphere, a wide, untried domain + awaits, demands you. + + 3 + Responsive to our summons, + Or rather to her long-nurs’d inclination, + Join’d with an irresistible, natural gravitation, + She comes! I hear the rustling of her gown, + I scent the odor of her breath’s delicious fragrance, + I mark her step divine, her curious eyes a-turning, rolling, + Upon this very scene. + + The dame of dames! can I believe then, + Those ancient temples, sculptures classic, could none of them retain her? + Nor shades of Virgil and Dante, nor myriad memories, poems, old + associations, magnetize and hold on to her? + But that she’s left them all—and here? + + Yes, if you will allow me to say so, + I, my friends, if you do not, can plainly see her, + The same undying soul of earth’s, activity’s, beauty’s, heroism’s + expression, + Out from her evolutions hither come, ended the strata of her former themes, + Hidden and cover’d by to-day’s, foundation of to-day’s, + Ended, deceas’d through time, her voice by Castaly’s fountain, + Silent the broken-lipp’d Sphynx in Egypt, silent all those century- + baffling tombs, + Ended for aye the epics of Asia’s, Europe’s helmeted warriors, ended + the primitive call of the muses, + Calliope’s call forever closed, Clio, Melpomene, Thalia dead, + Ended the stately rhythmus of Una and Oriana, ended the quest of the + holy Graal, + Jerusalem a handful of ashes blown by the wind, extinct, + The Crusaders’ streams of shadowy midnight troops sped with the sunrise, + Amadis, Tancred, utterly gone, Charlemagne, Roland, Oliver gone, + Palmerin, ogre, departed, vanish’d the turrets that Usk from its + waters reflected, + Arthur vanish’d with all his knights, Merlin and Lancelot and + Galahad, all gone, dissolv’d utterly like an exhalation; + Pass’d! pass’d! for us, forever pass’d, that once so mighty world, + now void, inanimate, phantom world, + Embroider’d, dazzling, foreign world, with all its gorgeous legends, myths, + Its kings and castles proud, its priests and warlike lords and + courtly dames, + Pass’d to its charnel vault, coffin’d with crown and armor on, + Blazon’d with Shakspere’s purple page, + And dirged by Tennyson’s sweet sad rhyme. + + I say I see, my friends, if you do not, the illustrious emigre, (having it + is true in her day, although the same, changed, journey’d considerable,) + Making directly for this rendezvous, vigorously clearing a path for + herself, striding through the confusion, + By thud of machinery and shrill steam-whistle undismay’d, + Bluff’d not a bit by drain-pipe, gasometers, artificial fertilizers, + Smiling and pleas’d with palpable intent to stay, + She’s here, install’d amid the kitchen ware! + + 4 + But hold—don’t I forget my manners? + To introduce the stranger, (what else indeed do I live to chant + for?) to thee Columbia; + In liberty’s name welcome immortal! clasp hands, + And ever henceforth sisters dear be both. + + Fear not O Muse! truly new ways and days receive, surround you, + I candidly confess a queer, queer race, of novel fashion, + And yet the same old human race, the same within, without, + Faces and hearts the same, feelings the same, yearnings the same, + The same old love, beauty and use the same. + + 5 + We do not blame thee elder World, nor really separate ourselves from thee, + (Would the son separate himself from the father?) + Looking back on thee, seeing thee to thy duties, grandeurs, through + past ages bending, building, + We build to ours to-day. + + Mightier than Egypt’s tombs, + Fairer than Grecia’s, Roma’s temples, + Prouder than Milan’s statued, spired cathedral, + More picturesque than Rhenish castle-keeps, + We plan even now to raise, beyond them all, + Thy great cathedral sacred industry, no tomb, + A keep for life for practical invention. + + As in a waking vision, + E’en while I chant I see it rise, I scan and prophesy outside and in, + Its manifold ensemble. + + Around a palace, loftier, fairer, ampler than any yet, + Earth’s modern wonder, history’s seven outstripping, + High rising tier on tier with glass and iron facades, + Gladdening the sun and sky, enhued in cheerfulest hues, + Bronze, lilac, robin’s-egg, marine and crimson, + Over whose golden roof shall flaunt, beneath thy banner Freedom, + The banners of the States and flags of every land, + A brood of lofty, fair, but lesser palaces shall cluster. + + Somewhere within their walls shall all that forwards perfect human + life be started, + Tried, taught, advanced, visibly exhibited. + + Not only all the world of works, trade, products, + But all the workmen of the world here to be represented. + + Here shall you trace in flowing operation, + In every state of practical, busy movement, the rills of civilization, + Materials here under your eye shall change their shape as if by magic, + The cotton shall be pick’d almost in the very field, + Shall be dried, clean’d, ginn’d, baled, spun into thread and cloth + before you, + You shall see hands at work at all the old processes and all the new ones, + You shall see the various grains and how flour is made and then + bread baked by the bakers, + You shall see the crude ores of California and Nevada passing on and + on till they become bullion, + You shall watch how the printer sets type, and learn what a + composing-stick is, + You shall mark in amazement the Hoe press whirling its cylinders, + shedding the printed leaves steady and fast, + The photograph, model, watch, pin, nail, shall be created before you. + + In large calm halls, a stately museum shall teach you the infinite + lessons of minerals, + In another, woods, plants, vegetation shall be illustrated—in + another animals, animal life and development. + + One stately house shall be the music house, + Others for other arts—learning, the sciences, shall all be here, + None shall be slighted, none but shall here be honor’d, help’d, exampled. + + 6 + (This, this and these, America, shall be your pyramids and obelisks, + Your Alexandrian Pharos, gardens of Babylon, + Your temple at Olympia.) + + The male and female many laboring not, + Shall ever here confront the laboring many, + With precious benefits to both, glory to all, + To thee America, and thee eternal Muse. + + And here shall ye inhabit powerful Matrons! + In your vast state vaster than all the old, + Echoed through long, long centuries to come, + To sound of different, prouder songs, with stronger themes, + Practical, peaceful life, the people’s life, the People themselves, + Lifted, illumin’d, bathed in peace—elate, secure in peace. + + 7 + Away with themes of war! away with war itself! + Hence from my shuddering sight to never more return that show of + blacken’d, mutilated corpses! + That hell unpent and raid of blood, fit for wild tigers or for + lop-tongued wolves, not reasoning men, + And in its stead speed industry’s campaigns, + With thy undaunted armies, engineering, + Thy pennants labor, loosen’d to the breeze, + Thy bugles sounding loud and clear. + + Away with old romance! + Away with novels, plots and plays of foreign courts, + Away with love-verses sugar’d in rhyme, the intrigues, amours of idlers, + Fitted for only banquets of the night where dancers to late music slide, + The unhealthy pleasures, extravagant dissipations of the few, + With perfumes, heat and wine, beneath the dazzling chandeliers. + + To you ye reverent sane sisters, + I raise a voice for far superber themes for poets and for art, + To exalt the present and the real, + To teach the average man the glory of his daily walk and trade, + To sing in songs how exercise and chemical life are never to be baffled, + To manual work for each and all, to plough, hoe, dig, + To plant and tend the tree, the berry, vegetables, flowers, + For every man to see to it that he really do something, for every woman too; + To use the hammer and the saw, (rip, or cross-cut,) + To cultivate a turn for carpentering, plastering, painting, + To work as tailor, tailoress, nurse, hostler, porter, + To invent a little, something ingenious, to aid the washing, cooking, + cleaning, + And hold it no disgrace to take a hand at them themselves. + + I say I bring thee Muse to-day and here, + All occupations, duties broad and close, + Toil, healthy toil and sweat, endless, without cessation, + The old, old practical burdens, interests, joys, + The family, parentage, childhood, husband and wife, + The house-comforts, the house itself and all its belongings, + Food and its preservation, chemistry applied to it, + Whatever forms the average, strong, complete, sweet-blooded man or + woman, the perfect longeve personality, + And helps its present life to health and happiness, and shapes its soul, + For the eternal real life to come. + + With latest connections, works, the inter-transportation of the world, + Steam-power, the great express lines, gas, petroleum, + These triumphs of our time, the Atlantic’s delicate cable, + The Pacific railroad, the Suez canal, the Mont Cenis and Gothard and + Hoosac tunnels, the Brooklyn bridge, + This earth all spann’d with iron rails, with lines of steamships + threading in every sea, + Our own rondure, the current globe I bring. + + 8 + And thou America, + Thy offspring towering e’er so high, yet higher Thee above all towering, + With Victory on thy left, and at thy right hand Law; + Thou Union holding all, fusing, absorbing, tolerating all, + Thee, ever thee, I sing. + + Thou, also thou, a World, + With all thy wide geographies, manifold, different, distant, + Rounded by thee in one—one common orbic language, + One common indivisible destiny for All. + + And by the spells which ye vouchsafe to those your ministers in earnest, + I here personify and call my themes, to make them pass before ye. + + Behold, America! (and thou, ineffable guest and sister!) + For thee come trooping up thy waters and thy lands; + Behold! thy fields and farms, thy far-off woods and mountains, + As in procession coming. + + Behold, the sea itself, + And on its limitless, heaving breast, the ships; + See, where their white sails, bellying in the wind, speckle the + green and blue, + See, the steamers coming and going, steaming in or out of port, + See, dusky and undulating, the long pennants of smoke. + + Behold, in Oregon, far in the north and west, + Or in Maine, far in the north and east, thy cheerful axemen, + Wielding all day their axes. + + Behold, on the lakes, thy pilots at their wheels, thy oarsmen, + How the ash writhes under those muscular arms! + + There by the furnace, and there by the anvil, + Behold thy sturdy blacksmiths swinging their sledges, + Overhand so steady, overhand they turn and fall with joyous clank, + Like a tumult of laughter. + + Mark the spirit of invention everywhere, thy rapid patents, + Thy continual workshops, foundries, risen or rising, + See, from their chimneys how the tall flame-fires stream. + + Mark, thy interminable farms, North, South, + Thy wealthy daughter-states, Eastern and Western, + The varied products of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri, Georgia, Texas, + and the rest, + Thy limitless crops, grass, wheat, sugar, oil, corn, rice, hemp, hops, + Thy barns all fill’d, the endless freight-train and the bulging store-house, + The grapes that ripen on thy vines, the apples in thy orchards, + Thy incalculable lumber, beef, pork, potatoes, thy coal, thy gold + and silver, + The inexhaustible iron in thy mines. + + All thine O sacred Union! + Ships, farms, shops, barns, factories, mines, + City and State, North, South, item and aggregate, + We dedicate, dread Mother, all to thee! + + Protectress absolute, thou! bulwark of all! + For well we know that while thou givest each and all, (generous as God,) + Without thee neither all nor each, nor land, home, + Nor ship, nor mine, nor any here this day secure, + Nor aught, nor any day secure. + + 9 + And thou, the Emblem waving over all! + Delicate beauty, a word to thee, (it may be salutary,) + Remember thou hast not always been as here to-day so comfortably + ensovereign’d, + In other scenes than these have I observ’d thee flag, + Not quite so trim and whole and freshly blooming in folds of + stainless silk, + But I have seen thee bunting, to tatters torn upon thy splinter’d staff, + Or clutch’d to some young color-bearer’s breast with desperate hands, + Savagely struggled for, for life or death, fought over long, + ’Mid cannons’ thunder-crash and many a curse and groan and yell, and + rifle-volleys cracking sharp, + And moving masses as wild demons surging, and lives as nothing risk’d, + For thy mere remnant grimed with dirt and smoke and sopp’d in blood, + For sake of that, my beauty, and that thou might’st dally as now + secure up there, + Many a good man have I seen go under. + + Now here and these and hence in peace, all thine O Flag! + And here and hence for thee, O universal Muse! and thou for them! + And here and hence O Union, all the work and workmen thine! + None separate from thee—henceforth One only, we and thou, + (For the blood of the children, what is it, only the blood maternal? + And lives and works, what are they all at last, except the roads to + faith and death?) + + While we rehearse our measureless wealth, it is for thee, dear Mother, + We own it all and several to-day indissoluble in thee; + Think not our chant, our show, merely for products gross or lucre— + it is for thee, the soul in thee, electric, spiritual! + Our farms, inventions, crops, we own in thee! cities and States in thee! + Our freedom all in thee! our very lives in thee! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0091" id="link2H_4_0091"></a> + BOOK XIV + </h2> + <p> + Song of the Redwood-Tree + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + A California song, + A prophecy and indirection, a thought impalpable to breathe as air, + A chorus of dryads, fading, departing, or hamadryads departing, + A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky, + Voice of a mighty dying tree in the redwood forest dense. + + Farewell my brethren, + Farewell O earth and sky, farewell ye neighboring waters, + My time has ended, my term has come. + + Along the northern coast, + Just back from the rock-bound shore and the caves, + In the saline air from the sea in the Mendocino country, + With the surge for base and accompaniment low and hoarse, + With crackling blows of axes sounding musically driven by strong arms, + Riven deep by the sharp tongues of the axes, there in the redwood + forest dense, + I heard the might tree its death-chant chanting. + + The choppers heard not, the camp shanties echoed not, + The quick-ear’d teamsters and chain and jack-screw men heard not, + As the wood-spirits came from their haunts of a thousand years to + join the refrain, + But in my soul I plainly heard. + + Murmuring out of its myriad leaves, + Down from its lofty top rising two hundred feet high, + Out of its stalwart trunk and limbs, out of its foot-thick bark, + That chant of the seasons and time, chant not of the past only but + the future. + + You untold life of me, + And all you venerable and innocent joys, + Perennial hardy life of me with joys ’mid rain and many a summer sun, + And the white snows and night and the wild winds; + O the great patient rugged joys, my soul’s strong joys unreck’d by man, + (For know I bear the soul befitting me, I too have consciousness, identity, + And all the rocks and mountains have, and all the earth,) + Joys of the life befitting me and brothers mine, + Our time, our term has come. + + Nor yield we mournfully majestic brothers, + We who have grandly fill’d our time, + With Nature’s calm content, with tacit huge delight, + We welcome what we wrought for through the past, + And leave the field for them. + + For them predicted long, + For a superber race, they too to grandly fill their time, + For them we abdicate, in them ourselves ye forest kings.’ + In them these skies and airs, these mountain peaks, Shasta, Nevadas, + These huge precipitous cliffs, this amplitude, these valleys, far Yosemite, + To be in them absorb’d, assimilated. + + Then to a loftier strain, + Still prouder, more ecstatic rose the chant, + As if the heirs, the deities of the West, + Joining with master-tongue bore part. + + Not wan from Asia’s fetiches, + Nor red from Europe’s old dynastic slaughter-house, + (Area of murder-plots of thrones, with scent left yet of wars and + scaffolds everywhere, + But come from Nature’s long and harmless throes, peacefully builded thence, + These virgin lands, lands of the Western shore, + To the new culminating man, to you, the empire new, + You promis’d long, we pledge, we dedicate. + + You occult deep volitions, + You average spiritual manhood, purpose of all, pois’d on yourself, + giving not taking law, + You womanhood divine, mistress and source of all, whence life and + love and aught that comes from life and love, + You unseen moral essence of all the vast materials of America, age + upon age working in death the same as life,) + You that, sometimes known, oftener unknown, really shape and mould + the New World, adjusting it to Time and Space, + You hidden national will lying in your abysms, conceal’d but ever alert, + You past and present purposes tenaciously pursued, may-be + unconscious of yourselves, + Unswerv’d by all the passing errors, perturbations of the surface; + You vital, universal, deathless germs, beneath all creeds, arts, + statutes, literatures, + Here build your homes for good, establish here, these areas entire, + lands of the Western shore, + We pledge, we dedicate to you. + + For man of you, your characteristic race, + Here may he hardy, sweet, gigantic grow, here tower proportionate to Nature, + Here climb the vast pure spaces unconfined, uncheck’d by wall or roof, + Here laugh with storm or sun, here joy, here patiently inure, + Here heed himself, unfold himself, (not others’ formulas heed,) + here fill his time, + To duly fall, to aid, unreck’d at last, + To disappear, to serve. + + Thus on the northern coast, + In the echo of teamsters’ calls and the clinking chains, and the + music of choppers’ axes, + The falling trunk and limbs, the crash, the muffled shriek, the groan, + Such words combined from the redwood-tree, as of voices ecstatic, + ancient and rustling, + The century-lasting, unseen dryads, singing, withdrawing, + All their recesses of forests and mountains leaving, + From the Cascade range to the Wahsatch, or Idaho far, or Utah, + To the deities of the modern henceforth yielding, + The chorus and indications, the vistas of coming humanity, the + settlements, features all, + In the Mendocino woods I caught. + + 2 + The flashing and golden pageant of California, + The sudden and gorgeous drama, the sunny and ample lands, + The long and varied stretch from Puget sound to Colorado south, + Lands bathed in sweeter, rarer, healthier air, valleys and mountain cliffs, + The fields of Nature long prepared and fallow, the silent, cyclic chemistry, + The slow and steady ages plodding, the unoccupied surface ripening, + the rich ores forming beneath; + At last the New arriving, assuming, taking possession, + A swarming and busy race settling and organizing everywhere, + Ships coming in from the whole round world, and going out to the + whole world, + To India and China and Australia and the thousand island paradises + of the Pacific, + Populous cities, the latest inventions, the steamers on the rivers, + the railroads, with many a thrifty farm, with machinery, + And wool and wheat and the grape, and diggings of yellow gold. + + 3 + But more in you than these, lands of the Western shore, + (These but the means, the implements, the standing-ground,) + I see in you, certain to come, the promise of thousands of years, + till now deferr’d, + Promis’d to be fulfill’d, our common kind, the race. + + The new society at last, proportionate to Nature, + In man of you, more than your mountain peaks or stalwart trees imperial, + In woman more, far more, than all your gold or vines, or even vital air. + + Fresh come, to a new world indeed, yet long prepared, + I see the genius of the modern, child of the real and ideal, + Clearing the ground for broad humanity, the true America, heir of + the past so grand, + To build a grander future. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0092" id="link2H_4_0092"></a> + BOOK XV + </h2> + <p> + A Song for Occupations + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + A song for occupations! + In the labor of engines and trades and the labor of fields I find + the developments, + And find the eternal meanings. + + Workmen and Workwomen! + Were all educations practical and ornamental well display’d out of + me, what would it amount to? + Were I as the head teacher, charitable proprietor, wise statesman, + what would it amount to? + Were I to you as the boss employing and paying you, would that satisfy you? + + The learn’d, virtuous, benevolent, and the usual terms, + A man like me and never the usual terms. + + Neither a servant nor a master I, + I take no sooner a large price than a small price, I will have my + own whoever enjoys me, + I will be even with you and you shall be even with me. + + If you stand at work in a shop I stand as nigh as the nighest in the + same shop, + If you bestow gifts on your brother or dearest friend I demand as + good as your brother or dearest friend, + If your lover, husband, wife, is welcome by day or night, I must be + personally as welcome, + If you become degraded, criminal, ill, then I become so for your sake, + If you remember your foolish and outlaw’d deeds, do you think I + cannot remember my own foolish and outlaw’d deeds? + If you carouse at the table I carouse at the opposite side of the table, + If you meet some stranger in the streets and love him or her, why + I often meet strangers in the street and love them. + + Why what have you thought of yourself? + Is it you then that thought yourself less? + Is it you that thought the President greater than you? + Or the rich better off than you? or the educated wiser than you? + + (Because you are greasy or pimpled, or were once drunk, or a thief, + Or that you are diseas’d, or rheumatic, or a prostitute, + Or from frivolity or impotence, or that you are no scholar and never + saw your name in print, + Do you give in that you are any less immortal?) + + 2 + Souls of men and women! it is not you I call unseen, unheard, + untouchable and untouching, + It is not you I go argue pro and con about, and to settle whether + you are alive or no, + I own publicly who you are, if nobody else owns. + + Grown, half-grown and babe, of this country and every country, + in-doors and out-doors, one just as much as the other, I see, + And all else behind or through them. + + The wife, and she is not one jot less than the husband, + The daughter, and she is just as good as the son, + The mother, and she is every bit as much as the father. + + Offspring of ignorant and poor, boys apprenticed to trades, + Young fellows working on farms and old fellows working on farms, + Sailor-men, merchant-men, coasters, immigrants, + All these I see, but nigher and farther the same I see, + None shall escape me and none shall wish to escape me. + + I bring what you much need yet always have, + Not money, amours, dress, eating, erudition, but as good, + I send no agent or medium, offer no representative of value, but + offer the value itself. + + There is something that comes to one now and perpetually, + It is not what is printed, preach’d, discussed, it eludes discussion + and print, + It is not to be put in a book, it is not in this book, + It is for you whoever you are, it is no farther from you than your + hearing and sight are from you, + It is hinted by nearest, commonest, readiest, it is ever provoked by them. + + You may read in many languages, yet read nothing about it, + You may read the President’s message and read nothing about it there, + Nothing in the reports from the State department or Treasury + department, or in the daily papers or weekly papers, + Or in the census or revenue returns, prices current, or any accounts + of stock. + + 3 + The sun and stars that float in the open air, + The apple-shaped earth and we upon it, surely the drift of them is + something grand, + I do not know what it is except that it is grand, and that it is happiness, + And that the enclosing purport of us here is not a speculation or + bon-mot or reconnoissance, + And that it is not something which by luck may turn out well for us, + and without luck must be a failure for us, + And not something which may yet be retracted in a certain contingency. + + The light and shade, the curious sense of body and identity, the + greed that with perfect complaisance devours all things, + The endless pride and outstretching of man, unspeakable joys and sorrows, + The wonder every one sees in every one else he sees, and the wonders + that fill each minute of time forever, + What have you reckon’d them for, camerado? + Have you reckon’d them for your trade or farm-work? or for the + profits of your store? + Or to achieve yourself a position? or to fill a gentleman’s leisure, + or a lady’s leisure? + + Have you reckon’d that the landscape took substance and form that it + might be painted in a picture? + Or men and women that they might be written of, and songs sung? + Or the attraction of gravity, and the great laws and harmonious combinations + and the fluids of the air, as subjects for the savans? + Or the brown land and the blue sea for maps and charts? + Or the stars to be put in constellations and named fancy names? + Or that the growth of seeds is for agricultural tables, or + agriculture itself? + + Old institutions, these arts, libraries, legends, collections, and + the practice handed along in manufactures, will we rate them so high? + Will we rate our cash and business high? I have no objection, + I rate them as high as the highest—then a child born of a woman and + man I rate beyond all rate. + + We thought our Union grand, and our Constitution grand, + I do not say they are not grand and good, for they are, + I am this day just as much in love with them as you, + Then I am in love with You, and with all my fellows upon the earth. + + We consider bibles and religions divine—I do not say they are not divine, + I say they have all grown out of you, and may grow out of you still, + It is not they who give the life, it is you who give the life, + Leaves are not more shed from the trees, or trees from the earth, + than they are shed out of you. + + 4 + The sum of all known reverence I add up in you whoever you are, + The President is there in the White House for you, it is not you who + are here for him, + The Secretaries act in their bureaus for you, not you here for them, + The Congress convenes every Twelfth-month for you, + Laws, courts, the forming of States, the charters of cities, the + going and coming of commerce and malls, are all for you. + + List close my scholars dear, + Doctrines, politics and civilization exurge from you, + Sculpture and monuments and any thing inscribed anywhere are tallied in you, + The gist of histories and statistics as far back as the records + reach is in you this hour, and myths and tales the same, + If you were not breathing and walking here, where would they all be? + The most renown’d poems would be ashes, orations and plays would + be vacuums. + + All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it, + (Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of + the arches and cornices?) + + All music is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the instruments, + It is not the violins and the cornets, it is not the oboe nor the + beating drums, nor the score of the baritone singer singing his + sweet romanza, nor that of the men’s chorus, nor that of the + women’s chorus, + It is nearer and farther than they. + + 5 + Will the whole come back then? + Can each see signs of the best by a look in the looking-glass? is + there nothing greater or more? + Does all sit there with you, with the mystic unseen soul? + + Strange and hard that paradox true I give, + Objects gross and the unseen soul are one. + + House-building, measuring, sawing the boards, + Blacksmithing, glass-blowing, nail-making, coopering, tin-roofing, + shingle-dressing, + Ship-joining, dock-building, fish-curing, flagging of sidewalks by flaggers, + The pump, the pile-driver, the great derrick, the coal-kiln and brickkiln, + Coal-mines and all that is down there, the lamps in the darkness, + echoes, songs, what meditations, what vast native thoughts + looking through smutch’d faces, + Iron-works, forge-fires in the mountains or by river-banks, men + around feeling the melt with huge crowbars, lumps of ore, the + due combining of ore, limestone, coal, + The blast-furnace and the puddling-furnace, the loup-lump at the + bottom of the melt at last, the rolling-mill, the stumpy bars + of pig-iron, the strong clean-shaped Trail for railroads, + Oil-works, silk-works, white-lead-works, the sugar-house, + steam-saws, the great mills and factories, + Stone-cutting, shapely trimmings for facades or window or door-lintels, + the mallet, the tooth-chisel, the jib to protect the thumb, + The calking-iron, the kettle of boiling vault-cement, and the fire + under the kettle, + The cotton-bale, the stevedore’s hook, the saw and buck of the + sawyer, the mould of the moulder, the working-knife of the + butcher, the ice-saw, and all the work with ice, + The work and tools of the rigger, grappler, sail-maker, block-maker, + Goods of gutta-percha, papier-mache, colors, brushes, brush-making, + glazier’s implements, + The veneer and glue-pot, the confectioner’s ornaments, the decanter + and glasses, the shears and flat-iron, + The awl and knee-strap, the pint measure and quart measure, the + counter and stool, the writing-pen of quill or metal, the making + of all sorts of edged tools, + The brewery, brewing, the malt, the vats, every thing that is done + by brewers, wine-makers, vinegar-makers, + Leather-dressing, coach-making, boiler-making, rope-twisting, + distilling, sign-painting, lime-burning, cotton-picking, + electroplating, electrotyping, stereotyping, + Stave-machines, planing-machines, reaping-machines, + ploughing-machines, thrashing-machines, steam wagons, + The cart of the carman, the omnibus, the ponderous dray, + Pyrotechny, letting off color’d fireworks at night, fancy figures and jets; + Beef on the butcher’s stall, the slaughter-house of the butcher, the + butcher in his killing-clothes, + The pens of live pork, the killing-hammer, the hog-hook, the + scalder’s tub, gutting, the cutter’s cleaver, the packer’s maul, + and the plenteous winterwork of pork-packing, + Flour-works, grinding of wheat, rye, maize, rice, the barrels and + the half and quarter barrels, the loaded barges, the high piles + on wharves and levees, + The men and the work of the men on ferries, railroads, coasters, + fish-boats, canals; + The hourly routine of your own or any man’s life, the shop, yard, + store, or factory, + These shows all near you by day and night—workman! whoever you + are, your daily life! + + In that and them the heft of the heaviest—in that and them far more + than you estimated, (and far less also,) + In them realities for you and me, in them poems for you and me, + In them, not yourself-you and your soul enclose all things, + regardless of estimation, + In them the development good—in them all themes, hints, possibilities. + + I do not affirm that what you see beyond is futile, I do not advise + you to stop, + I do not say leadings you thought great are not great, + But I say that none lead to greater than these lead to. + + 6 + Will you seek afar off? you surely come back at last, + In things best known to you finding the best, or as good as the best, + In folks nearest to you finding the sweetest, strongest, lovingest, + Happiness, knowledge, not in another place but this place, not for + another hour but this hour, + Man in the first you see or touch, always in friend, brother, + nighest neighbor—woman in mother, sister, wife, + The popular tastes and employments taking precedence in poems or anywhere, + You workwomen and workmen of these States having your own divine + and strong life, + And all else giving place to men and women like you. + When the psalm sings instead of the singer, + + When the script preaches instead of the preacher, + When the pulpit descends and goes instead of the carver that carved + the supporting desk, + When I can touch the body of books by night or by day, and when they + touch my body back again, + When a university course convinces like a slumbering woman and child + convince, + When the minted gold in the vault smiles like the night-watchman’s daughter, + When warrantee deeds loafe in chairs opposite and are my friendly + companions, + I intend to reach them my hand, and make as much of them as I do + of men and women like you. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0093" id="link2H_4_0093"></a> + BOOK XVI + </h2> + <p> + A Song of the Rolling Earth + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + A song of the rolling earth, and of words according, + Were you thinking that those were the words, those upright lines? + those curves, angles, dots? + No, those are not the words, the substantial words are in the ground + and sea, + They are in the air, they are in you. + + Were you thinking that those were the words, those delicious sounds + out of your friends’ mouths? + No, the real words are more delicious than they. + + Human bodies are words, myriads of words, + (In the best poems re-appears the body, man’s or woman’s, + well-shaped, natural, gay, + Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.) + + Air, soil, water, fire—those are words, + I myself am a word with them—my qualities interpenetrate with + theirs—my name is nothing to them, + Though it were told in the three thousand languages, what would + air, soil, water, fire, know of my name? + + A healthy presence, a friendly or commanding gesture, are words, + sayings, meanings, + The charms that go with the mere looks of some men and women, + are sayings and meanings also. + + The workmanship of souls is by those inaudible words of the earth, + The masters know the earth’s words and use them more than audible words. + + Amelioration is one of the earth’s words, + The earth neither lags nor hastens, + It has all attributes, growths, effects, latent in itself from the jump, + It is not half beautiful only, defects and excrescences show just as + much as perfections show. + + The earth does not withhold, it is generous enough, + The truths of the earth continually wait, they are not so conceal’d either, + They are calm, subtle, untransmissible by print, + They are imbued through all things conveying themselves willingly, + Conveying a sentiment and invitation, I utter and utter, + I speak not, yet if you hear me not of what avail am I to you? + To bear, to better, lacking these of what avail am I? + + (Accouche! accouchez! + Will you rot your own fruit in yourself there? + Will you squat and stifle there?) + + The earth does not argue, + Is not pathetic, has no arrangements, + Does not scream, haste, persuade, threaten, promise, + Makes no discriminations, has no conceivable failures, + Closes nothing, refuses nothing, shuts none out, + Of all the powers, objects, states, it notifies, shuts none out. + + The earth does not exhibit itself nor refuse to exhibit itself, + possesses still underneath, + Underneath the ostensible sounds, the august chorus of heroes, the + wail of slaves, + Persuasions of lovers, curses, gasps of the dying, laughter of young + people, accents of bargainers, + Underneath these possessing words that never fall. + + To her children the words of the eloquent dumb great mother never fail, + The true words do not fail, for motion does not fail and reflection + does not fall, + Also the day and night do not fall, and the voyage we pursue does not fall. + + Of the interminable sisters, + Of the ceaseless cotillons of sisters, + Of the centripetal and centrifugal sisters, the elder and younger sisters, + The beautiful sister we know dances on with the rest. + + With her ample back towards every beholder, + With the fascinations of youth and the equal fascinations of age, + Sits she whom I too love like the rest, sits undisturb’d, + Holding up in her hand what has the character of a mirror, while her + eyes glance back from it, + Glance as she sits, inviting none, denying none, + Holding a mirror day and night tirelessly before her own face. + + Seen at hand or seen at a distance, + Duly the twenty-four appear in public every day, + Duly approach and pass with their companions or a companion, + Looking from no countenances of their own, but from the countenances + of those who are with them, + From the countenances of children or women or the manly countenance, + From the open countenances of animals or from inanimate things, + From the landscape or waters or from the exquisite apparition of the sky, + From our countenances, mine and yours, faithfully returning them, + Every day in public appearing without fall, but never twice with the + same companions. + + Embracing man, embracing all, proceed the three hundred and + sixty-five resistlessly round the sun; + Embracing all, soothing, supporting, follow close three hundred and + sixty-five offsets of the first, sure and necessary as they. + + Tumbling on steadily, nothing dreading, + Sunshine, storm, cold, heat, forever withstanding, passing, carrying, + The soul’s realization and determination still inheriting, + The fluid vacuum around and ahead still entering and dividing, + No balk retarding, no anchor anchoring, on no rock striking, + Swift, glad, content, unbereav’d, nothing losing, + Of all able and ready at any time to give strict account, + The divine ship sails the divine sea. + + 2 + Whoever you are! motion and reflection are especially for you, + The divine ship sails the divine sea for you. + + Whoever you are! you are he or she for whom the earth is solid and liquid, + You are he or she for whom the sun and moon hang in the sky, + For none more than you are the present and the past, + For none more than you is immortality. + + Each man to himself and each woman to herself, is the word of the + past and present, and the true word of immortality; + No one can acquire for another—not one, + Not one can grow for another—not one. + + The song is to the singer, and comes back most to him, + The teaching is to the teacher, and comes back most to him, + The murder is to the murderer, and comes back most to him, + The theft is to the thief, and comes back most to him, + The love is to the lover, and comes back most to him, + The gift is to the giver, and comes back most to him—it cannot fail, + The oration is to the orator, the acting is to the actor and actress + not to the audience, + And no man understands any greatness or goodness but his own, or + the indication of his own. + + 3 + I swear the earth shall surely be complete to him or her who shall + be complete, + The earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains + jagged and broken. + + I swear there is no greatness or power that does not emulate those + of the earth, + There can be no theory of any account unless it corroborate the + theory of the earth, + No politics, song, religion, behavior, or what not, is of account, + unless it compare with the amplitude of the earth, + Unless it face the exactness, vitality, impartiality, rectitude of + the earth. + + I swear I begin to see love with sweeter spasms than that which + responds love, + It is that which contains itself, which never invites and never refuses. + + I swear I begin to see little or nothing in audible words, + All merges toward the presentation of the unspoken meanings of the earth, + Toward him who sings the songs of the body and of the truths of the earth, + Toward him who makes the dictionaries of words that print cannot touch. + + I swear I see what is better than to tell the best, + It is always to leave the best untold. + + When I undertake to tell the best I find I cannot, + My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots, + My breath will not be obedient to its organs, + I become a dumb man. + + The best of the earth cannot be told anyhow, all or any is best, + It is not what you anticipated, it is cheaper, easier, nearer, + Things are not dismiss’d from the places they held before, + The earth is just as positive and direct as it was before, + Facts, religions, improvements, politics, trades, are as real as before, + But the soul is also real, it too is positive and direct, + No reasoning, no proof has establish’d it, + Undeniable growth has establish’d it. + + 4 + These to echo the tones of souls and the phrases of souls, + (If they did not echo the phrases of souls what were they then? + If they had not reference to you in especial what were they then?) + + I swear I will never henceforth have to do with the faith that tells + the best, + I will have to do only with that faith that leaves the best untold. + + Say on, sayers! sing on, singers! + Delve! mould! pile the words of the earth! + Work on, age after age, nothing is to be lost, + It may have to wait long, but it will certainly come in use, + When the materials are all prepared and ready, the architects shall appear. + + I swear to you the architects shall appear without fall, + I swear to you they will understand you and justify you, + The greatest among them shall be he who best knows you, and encloses + all and is faithful to all, + He and the rest shall not forget you, they shall perceive that you + are not an iota less than they, + You shall be fully glorified in them. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0094" id="link2H_4_0094"></a> + Youth, Day, Old Age and Night + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Youth, large, lusty, loving—youth full of grace, force, fascination, + Do you know that Old Age may come after you with equal grace, + force, fascination? + + Day full-blown and splendid-day of the immense sun, action, + ambition, laughter, + The Night follows close with millions of suns, and sleep and + restoring darkness. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0095" id="link2H_4_0095"></a> + BOOK XVII. BIRDS OF PASSAGE + </h2> + <p> + Song of the Universal + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Come said the Muse, + Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted, + Sing me the universal. + + In this broad earth of ours, + Amid the measureless grossness and the slag, + Enclosed and safe within its central heart, + Nestles the seed perfection. + + By every life a share or more or less, + None born but it is born, conceal’d or unconceal’d the seed is waiting. + + 2 + Lo! keen-eyed towering science, + As from tall peaks the modern overlooking, + Successive absolute fiats issuing. + + Yet again, lo! the soul, above all science, + For it has history gather’d like husks around the globe, + For it the entire star-myriads roll through the sky. + + In spiral routes by long detours, + (As a much-tacking ship upon the sea,) + For it the partial to the permanent flowing, + For it the real to the ideal tends. + + For it the mystic evolution, + Not the right only justified, what we call evil also justified. + + Forth from their masks, no matter what, + From the huge festering trunk, from craft and guile and tears, + Health to emerge and joy, joy universal. + + Out of the bulk, the morbid and the shallow, + Out of the bad majority, the varied countless frauds of men and states, + Electric, antiseptic yet, cleaving, suffusing all, + Only the good is universal. + + 3 + Over the mountain-growths disease and sorrow, + An uncaught bird is ever hovering, hovering, + High in the purer, happier air. + + From imperfection’s murkiest cloud, + Darts always forth one ray of perfect light, + One flash of heaven’s glory. + + To fashion’s, custom’s discord, + To the mad Babel-din, the deafening orgies, + Soothing each lull a strain is heard, just heard, + From some far shore the final chorus sounding. + + O the blest eyes, the happy hearts, + That see, that know the guiding thread so fine, + Along the mighty labyrinth. + + 4 + And thou America, + For the scheme’s culmination, its thought and its reality, + For these (not for thyself) thou hast arrived. + + Thou too surroundest all, + Embracing carrying welcoming all, thou too by pathways broad and new, + To the ideal tendest. + + The measure’d faiths of other lands, the grandeurs of the past, + Are not for thee, but grandeurs of thine own, + Deific faiths and amplitudes, absorbing, comprehending all, + All eligible to all. + + All, all for immortality, + Love like the light silently wrapping all, + Nature’s amelioration blessing all, + The blossoms, fruits of ages, orchards divine and certain, + Forms, objects, growths, humanities, to spiritual images ripening. + + Give me O God to sing that thought, + Give me, give him or her I love this quenchless faith, + In Thy ensemble, whatever else withheld withhold not from us, + Belief in plan of Thee enclosed in Time and Space, + Health, peace, salvation universal. + + Is it a dream? + Nay but the lack of it the dream, + And failing it life’s lore and wealth a dream, + And all the world a dream. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0096" id="link2H_4_0096"></a> + Pioneers! O Pioneers! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Come my tan-faced children, + Follow well in order, get your weapons ready, + Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes? + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + For we cannot tarry here, + We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, + We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + O you youths, Western youths, + So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship, + Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + Have the elder races halted? + Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas? + We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + All the past we leave behind, + We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world, + Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + We detachments steady throwing, + Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep, + Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + We primeval forests felling, + We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within, + We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + Colorado men are we, + From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus, + From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + From Nebraska, from Arkansas, + Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental + blood intervein’d, + All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the Northern, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + O resistless restless race! + O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all! + O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + Raise the mighty mother mistress, + Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress, + (bend your heads all,) + Raise the fang’d and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon’d mistress, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + See my children, resolute children, + By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter, + Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + On and on the compact ranks, + With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly fill’d, + Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + O to die advancing on! + Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come? + Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill’d. + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + All the pulses of the world, + Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat, + Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + Life’s involv’d and varied pageants, + All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work, + All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + All the hapless silent lovers, + All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked, + All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + I too with my soul and body, + We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way, + Through these shores amid the shadows, with the apparitions pressing, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + Lo, the darting bowling orb! + Lo, the brother orbs around, all the clustering suns and planets, + All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + These are of us, they are with us, + All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait behind, + We to-day’s procession heading, we the route for travel clearing, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + O you daughters of the West! + O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives! + Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + Minstrels latent on the prairies! + (Shrouded bards of other lands, you may rest, you have done your work,) + Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + Not for delectations sweet, + Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious, + Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + Do the feasters gluttonous feast? + Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock’d and bolted doors? + Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + Has the night descended? + Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged nodding + on our way? + Yet a passing hour I yield you in your tracks to pause oblivious, + Pioneers! O pioneers! + + Till with sound of trumpet, + Far, far off the daybreak call—hark! how loud and clear I hear it wind, + Swift! to the head of the army!—swift! spring to your places, + Pioneers! O pioneers! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0097" id="link2H_4_0097"></a> + To You + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams, + I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet and hands, + Even now your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, + troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away from you, + Your true soul and body appear before me. + They stand forth out of affairs, out of commerce, shops, work, + farms, clothes, the house, buying, selling, eating, drinking, + suffering, dying. + + Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, + I whisper with my lips close to your ear. + I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you. + + O I have been dilatory and dumb, + I should have made my way straight to you long ago, + I should have blabb’d nothing but you, I should have chanted nothing + but you. + + I will leave all and come and make the hymns of you, + None has understood you, but I understand you, + None has done justice to you, you have not done justice to yourself, + None but has found you imperfect, I only find no imperfection in you, + None but would subordinate you, I only am he who will never consent + to subordinate you, + I only am he who places over you no master, owner, better, God, + beyond what waits intrinsically in yourself. + + Painters have painted their swarming groups and the centre-figure of all, + From the head of the centre-figure spreading a nimbus of gold-color’d light, + But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its nimbus + of gold-color’d light, + From my hand from the brain of every man and woman it streams, + effulgently flowing forever. + + O I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you! + You have not known what you are, you have slumber’d upon yourself + all your life, + Your eyelids have been the same as closed most of the time, + What you have done returns already in mockeries, + (Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not return in + mockeries, what is their return?) + + The mockeries are not you, + Underneath them and within them I see you lurk, + I pursue you where none else has pursued you, + Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the + accustom’d routine, if these conceal you from others or from + yourself, they do not conceal you from me, + The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure complexion, if these + balk others they do not balk me, + The pert apparel, the deform’d attitude, drunkenness, greed, + premature death, all these I part aside. + + There is no endowment in man or woman that is not tallied in you, + There is no virtue, no beauty in man or woman, but as good is in you, + No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in you, + No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure waits for you. + + As for me, I give nothing to any one except I give the like carefully + to you, + I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner than I sing + the songs of the glory of you. + + Whoever you are! claim your own at any hazard! + These shows of the East and West are tame compared to you, + These immense meadows, these interminable rivers, you are immense + and interminable as they, + These furies, elements, storms, motions of Nature, throes of apparent + dissolution, you are he or she who is master or mistress over them, + Master or mistress in your own right over Nature, elements, pain, + passion, dissolution. + + The hopples fall from your ankles, you find an unfailing sufficiency, + Old or young, male or female, rude, low, rejected by the rest, + whatever you are promulges itself, + Through birth, life, death, burial, the means are provided, nothing + is scanted, + Through angers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui, what you are + picks its way. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0098" id="link2H_4_0098"></a> + France [the 18th Year of these States + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A great year and place + A harsh discordant natal scream out-sounding, to touch the mother’s + heart closer than any yet. + + I walk’d the shores of my Eastern sea, + Heard over the waves the little voice, + Saw the divine infant where she woke mournfully wailing, amid the + roar of cannon, curses, shouts, crash of falling buildings, + Was not so sick from the blood in the gutters running, nor from the single + corpses, nor those in heaps, nor those borne away in the tumbrils, + Was not so desperate at the battues of death—was not so shock’d at + the repeated fusillades of the guns. + + Pale, silent, stern, what could I say to that long-accrued retribution? + Could I wish humanity different? + Could I wish the people made of wood and stone? + Or that there be no justice in destiny or time? + + O Liberty! O mate for me! + Here too the blaze, the grape-shot and the axe, in reserve, to fetch + them out in case of need, + Here too, though long represt, can never be destroy’d, + Here too could rise at last murdering and ecstatic, + Here too demanding full arrears of vengeance. + + Hence I sign this salute over the sea, + And I do not deny that terrible red birth and baptism, + But remember the little voice that I heard wailing, and wait with + perfect trust, no matter how long, + And from to-day sad and cogent I maintain the bequeath’d cause, as + for all lands, + And I send these words to Paris with my love, + And I guess some chansonniers there will understand them, + For I guess there is latent music yet in France, floods of it, + O I hear already the bustle of instruments, they will soon be + drowning all that would interrupt them, + O I think the east wind brings a triumphal and free march, + It reaches hither, it swells me to Joyful madness, + I will run transpose it in words, to justify + I will yet sing a song for you ma femme. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0099" id="link2H_4_0099"></a> + Myself and Mine + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Myself and mine gymnastic ever, + To stand the cold or heat, to take good aim with a gun, to sail a + boat, to manage horses, to beget superb children, + To speak readily and clearly, to feel at home among common people, + And to hold our own in terrible positions on land and sea. + + Not for an embroiderer, + (There will always be plenty of embroiderers, I welcome them also,) + But for the fibre of things and for inherent men and women. + + Not to chisel ornaments, + But to chisel with free stroke the heads and limbs of plenteous + supreme Gods, that the States may realize them walking and talking. + + Let me have my own way, + Let others promulge the laws, I will make no account of the laws, + Let others praise eminent men and hold up peace, I hold up agitation + and conflict, + I praise no eminent man, I rebuke to his face the one that was + thought most worthy. + + (Who are you? and what are you secretly guilty of all your life? + Will you turn aside all your life? will you grub and chatter all + your life? + And who are you, blabbing by rote, years, pages, languages, reminiscences, + Unwitting to-day that you do not know how to speak properly a single word?) + + Let others finish specimens, I never finish specimens, + I start them by exhaustless laws as Nature does, fresh and modern + continually. + + I give nothing as duties, + What others give as duties I give as living impulses, + (Shall I give the heart’s action as a duty?) + + Let others dispose of questions, I dispose of nothing, I arouse + unanswerable questions, + Who are they I see and touch, and what about them? + What about these likes of myself that draw me so close by tender + directions and indirections? + + I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my friends, but + listen to my enemies, as I myself do, + I charge you forever reject those who would expound me, for I cannot + expound myself, + I charge that there be no theory or school founded out of me, + I charge you to leave all free, as I have left all free. + + After me, vista! + O I see life is not short, but immeasurably long, + I henceforth tread the world chaste, temperate, an early riser, a + steady grower, + Every hour the semen of centuries, and still of centuries. + + I must follow up these continual lessons of the air, water, earth, + I perceive I have no time to lose. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0100" id="link2H_4_0100"></a> + Year of Meteors [1859-60 + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Year of meteors! brooding year! + I would bind in words retrospective some of your deeds and signs, + I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidentiad, + I would sing how an old man, tall, with white hair, mounted the + scaffold in Virginia, + (I was at hand, silent I stood with teeth shut close, I watch’d, + I stood very near you old man when cool and indifferent, but trembling + with age and your unheal’d wounds you mounted the scaffold;) + I would sing in my copious song your census returns of the States, + The tables of population and products, I would sing of your ships + and their cargoes, + The proud black ships of Manhattan arriving, some fill’d with + immigrants, some from the isthmus with cargoes of gold, + Songs thereof would I sing, to all that hitherward comes would welcome give, + And you would I sing, fair stripling! welcome to you from me, young + prince of England! + (Remember you surging Manhattan’s crowds as you pass’d with your + cortege of nobles? + There in the crowds stood I, and singled you out with attachment;) + Nor forget I to sing of the wonder, the ship as she swam up my bay, + Well-shaped and stately the Great Eastern swam up my bay, she was + 600 feet long, + Her moving swiftly surrounded by myriads of small craft I forget not + to sing; + Nor the comet that came unannounced out of the north flaring in heaven, + Nor the strange huge meteor-procession dazzling and clear shooting + over our heads, + (A moment, a moment long it sail’d its balls of unearthly light over + our heads, + Then departed, dropt in the night, and was gone;) + Of such, and fitful as they, I sing—with gleams from them would + gleam and patch these chants, + Your chants, O year all mottled with evil and good—year of forebodings! + Year of comets and meteors transient and strange—lo! even here one + equally transient and strange! + As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone, what is this chant, + What am I myself but one of your meteors? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0101" id="link2H_4_0101"></a> + With Antecedents + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + With antecedents, + With my fathers and mothers and the accumulations of past ages, + With all which, had it not been, I would not now be here, as I am, + With Egypt, India, Phenicia, Greece and Rome, + With the Kelt, the Scandinavian, the Alb and the Saxon, + With antique maritime ventures, laws, artisanship, wars and journeys, + With the poet, the skald, the saga, the myth, and the oracle, + With the sale of slaves, with enthusiasts, with the troubadour, the + crusader, and the monk, + With those old continents whence we have come to this new continent, + With the fading kingdoms and kings over there, + With the fading religions and priests, + With the small shores we look back to from our own large and present shores, + With countless years drawing themselves onward and arrived at these years, + You and me arrived—America arrived and making this year, + This year! sending itself ahead countless years to come. + + 2 + O but it is not the years—it is I, it is You, + We touch all laws and tally all antecedents, + We are the skald, the oracle, the monk and the knight, we easily + include them and more, + We stand amid time beginningless and endless, we stand amid evil and good, + All swings around us, there is as much darkness as light, + The very sun swings itself and its system of planets around us, + Its sun, and its again, all swing around us. + + As for me, (torn, stormy, amid these vehement days,) + I have the idea of all, and am all and believe in all, + I believe materialism is true and spiritualism is true, I reject no part. + + (Have I forgotten any part? any thing in the past? + Come to me whoever and whatever, till I give you recognition.) + + I respect Assyria, China, Teutonia, and the Hebrews, + I adopt each theory, myth, god, and demigod, + I see that the old accounts, bibles, genealogies, are true, without + exception, + I assert that all past days were what they must have been, + And that they could no-how have been better than they were, + And that to-day is what it must be, and that America is, + And that to-day and America could no-how be better than they are. + + 3 + In the name of these States and in your and my name, the Past, + And in the name of these States and in your and my name, the Present time. + + I know that the past was great and the future will be great, + And I know that both curiously conjoint in the present time, + (For the sake of him I typify, for the common average man’s sake, + your sake if you are he,) + And that where I am or you are this present day, there is the centre + of all days, all races, + And there is the meaning to us of all that has ever come of races + and days, or ever will come. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0102" id="link2H_4_0102"></a> + BOOK XVIII + </h2> + <p> + A Broadway Pageant + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Over the Western sea hither from Niphon come, + Courteous, the swart-cheek’d two-sworded envoys, + Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive, + Ride to-day through Manhattan. + + Libertad! I do not know whether others behold what I behold, + In the procession along with the nobles of Niphon, the errand-bearers, + Bringing up the rear, hovering above, around, or in the ranks marching, + But I will sing you a song of what I behold Libertad. + + When million-footed Manhattan unpent descends to her pavements, + When the thunder-cracking guns arouse me with the proud roar love, + When the round-mouth’d guns out of the smoke and smell I love + spit their salutes, + When the fire-flashing guns have fully alerted me, and + heaven-clouds canopy my city with a delicate thin haze, + When gorgeous the countless straight stems, the forests at the + wharves, thicken with colors, + When every ship richly drest carries her flag at the peak, + When pennants trail and street-festoons hang from the windows, + When Broadway is entirely given up to foot-passengers and + foot-standers, when the mass is densest, + When the facades of the houses are alive with people, when eyes + gaze riveted tens of thousands at a time, + When the guests from the islands advance, when the pageant moves + forward visible, + When the summons is made, when the answer that waited thousands + of years answers, + I too arising, answering, descend to the pavements, merge with the + crowd, and gaze with them. + + 2 + Superb-faced Manhattan! + Comrade Americanos! to us, then at last the Orient comes. + To us, my city, + Where our tall-topt marble and iron beauties range on opposite + sides, to walk in the space between, + To-day our Antipodes comes. + + The Originatress comes, + The nest of languages, the bequeather of poems, the race of eld, + Florid with blood, pensive, rapt with musings, hot with passion, + Sultry with perfume, with ample and flowing garments, + With sunburnt visage, with intense soul and glittering eyes, + The race of Brahma comes. + + See my cantabile! these and more are flashing to us from the procession, + As it moves changing, a kaleidoscope divine it moves changing before us. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For not the envoys nor the tann’d Japanee from his island only, + Lithe and silent the Hindoo appears, the Asiatic continent itself + appears, the past, the dead, + The murky night-morning of wonder and fable inscrutable, + The envelop’d mysteries, the old and unknown hive-bees, + The north, the sweltering south, eastern Assyria, the Hebrews, the + ancient of ancients, + Vast desolated cities, the gliding present, all of these and more + are in the pageant-procession. + + Geography, the world, is in it, + The Great Sea, the brood of islands, Polynesia, the coast beyond, + The coast you henceforth are facing—you Libertad! from your Western + golden shores, + The countries there with their populations, the millions en-masse + are curiously here, + The swarming market-places, the temples with idols ranged along the + sides or at the end, bonze, brahmin, and llama, + Mandarin, farmer, merchant, mechanic, and fisherman, + The singing-girl and the dancing-girl, the ecstatic persons, the + secluded emperors, + Confucius himself, the great poets and heroes, the warriors, the castes, + all, + Trooping up, crowding from all directions, from the Altay mountains, + From Thibet, from the four winding and far-flowing rivers of China, + From the southern peninsulas and the demi-continental islands, from + Malaysia, + These and whatever belongs to them palpable show forth to me, and + are seiz’d by me, + And I am seiz’d by them, and friendlily held by them, + Till as here them all I chant, Libertad! for themselves and for you. + + For I too raising my voice join the ranks of this pageant, + I am the chanter, I chant aloud over the pageant, + I chant the world on my Western sea, + I chant copious the islands beyond, thick as stars in the sky, + I chant the new empire grander than any before, as in a vision it + comes to me, + I chant America the mistress, I chant a greater supremacy, + I chant projected a thousand blooming cities yet in time on those + groups of sea-islands, + My sail-ships and steam-ships threading the archipelagoes, + My stars and stripes fluttering in the wind, + Commerce opening, the sleep of ages having done its work, races + reborn, refresh’d, + Lives, works resumed—the object I know not—but the old, the Asiatic + renew’d as it must be, + Commencing from this day surrounded by the world. + + 3 + And you Libertad of the world! + You shall sit in the middle well-pois’d thousands and thousands of years, + As to-day from one side the nobles of Asia come to you, + As to-morrow from the other side the queen of England sends her + eldest son to you. + + The sign is reversing, the orb is enclosed, + The ring is circled, the journey is done, + The box-lid is but perceptibly open’d, nevertheless the perfume + pours copiously out of the whole box. + + Young Libertad! with the venerable Asia, the all-mother, + Be considerate with her now and ever hot Libertad, for you are all, + Bend your proud neck to the long-off mother now sending messages + over the archipelagoes to you, + Bend your proud neck low for once, young Libertad. + + Here the children straying westward so long? so wide the tramping? + Were the precedent dim ages debouching westward from Paradise so long? + Were the centuries steadily footing it that way, all the while + unknown, for you, for reasons? + + They are justified, they are accomplish’d, they shall now be turn’d + the other way also, to travel toward you thence, + They shall now also march obediently eastward for your sake Libertad. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0103" id="link2H_4_0103"></a> + BOOK XIX. SEA-DRIFT + </h2> + <p> + Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, + Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle, + Out of the Ninth-month midnight, + Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child + leaving his bed wander’d alone, bareheaded, barefoot, + Down from the shower’d halo, + Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they + were alive, + Out from the patches of briers and blackberries, + From the memories of the bird that chanted to me, + From your memories sad brother, from the fitful risings and fallings I heard, + From under that yellow half-moon late-risen and swollen as if with tears, + From those beginning notes of yearning and love there in the mist, + From the thousand responses of my heart never to cease, + From the myriad thence-arous’d words, + From the word stronger and more delicious than any, + From such as now they start the scene revisiting, + As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing, + Borne hither, ere all eludes me, hurriedly, + A man, yet by these tears a little boy again, + Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves, + I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter, + Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them, + A reminiscence sing. + + Once Paumanok, + When the lilac-scent was in the air and Fifth-month grass was growing, + Up this seashore in some briers, + Two feather’d guests from Alabama, two together, + And their nest, and four light-green eggs spotted with brown, + And every day the he-bird to and fro near at hand, + And every day the she-bird crouch’d on her nest, silent, with bright eyes, + And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing + them, + Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating. + + Shine! shine! shine! + Pour down your warmth, great sun.’ + While we bask, we two together. + + Two together! + Winds blow south, or winds blow north, + Day come white, or night come black, + Home, or rivers and mountains from home, + Singing all time, minding no time, + While we two keep together. + + Till of a sudden, + May-be kill’d, unknown to her mate, + One forenoon the she-bird crouch’d not on the nest, + Nor return’d that afternoon, nor the next, + Nor ever appear’d again. + + And thenceforward all summer in the sound of the sea, + And at night under the full of the moon in calmer weather, + Over the hoarse surging of the sea, + Or flitting from brier to brier by day, + I saw, I heard at intervals the remaining one, the he-bird, + The solitary guest from Alabama. + + Blow! blow! blow! + Blow up sea-winds along Paumanok’s shore; + I wait and I wait till you blow my mate to me. + + Yes, when the stars glisten’d, + All night long on the prong of a moss-scallop’d stake, + Down almost amid the slapping waves, + Sat the lone singer wonderful causing tears. + + He call’d on his mate, + He pour’d forth the meanings which I of all men know. + + Yes my brother I know, + The rest might not, but I have treasur’d every note, + For more than once dimly down to the beach gliding, + Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows, + Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights + after their sorts, + The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, + I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, + Listen’d long and long. + + Listen’d to keep, to sing, now translating the notes, + Following you my brother. + + Soothe! soothe! soothe! + Close on its wave soothes the wave behind, + And again another behind embracing and lapping, every one close, + But my love soothes not me, not me. + + Low hangs the moon, it rose late, + It is lagging—O I think it is heavy with love, with love. + + O madly the sea pushes upon the land, + With love, with love. + + O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among the breakers? + What is that little black thing I see there in the white? + + Loud! loud! loud! + Loud I call to you, my love! + High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves, + Surely you must know who is here, is here, + You must know who I am, my love. + + Low-hanging moon! + What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow? + O it is the shape, the shape of my mate.’ + O moon do not keep her from me any longer. + + Land! land! O land! + Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again + if you only would, + For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look. + + O rising stars! + Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you. + + O throat! O trembling throat! + Sound clearer through the atmosphere! + Pierce the woods, the earth, + Somewhere listening to catch you must be the one I want. + + Shake out carols! + Solitary here, the night’s carols! + Carols of lonesome love! death’s carols! + Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon! + O under that moon where she droops almost down into the sea! + O reckless despairing carols. + + But soft! sink low! + Soft! let me just murmur, + And do you wait a moment you husky-nois’d sea, + For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me, + So faint, I must be still, be still to listen, + But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me. + + Hither my love! + Here I am! here! + With this just-sustain’d note I announce myself to you, + This gentle call is for you my love, for you. + + Do not be decoy’d elsewhere, + That is the whistle of the wind, it is not my voice, + That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray, + Those are the shadows of leaves. + + O darkness! O in vain! + O I am very sick and sorrowful + + O brown halo in the sky near the moon, drooping upon the sea! + O troubled reflection in the sea! + O throat! O throbbing heart! + And I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night. + + O past! O happy life! O songs of joy! + In the air, in the woods, over fields, + Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved! + But my mate no more, no more with me! + We two together no more. + + The aria sinking, + All else continuing, the stars shining, + The winds blowing, the notes of the bird continuous echoing, + With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning, + On the sands of Paumanok’s shore gray and rustling, + The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of + the sea almost touching, + The boy ecstatic, with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the + atmosphere dallying, + The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously + bursting, + The aria’s meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly depositing, + The strange tears down the cheeks coursing, + The colloquy there, the trio, each uttering, + The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying, + To the boy’s soul’s questions sullenly timing, some drown’d secret hissing, + To the outsetting bard. + + Demon or bird! (said the boy’s soul,) + Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it really to me? + For I, that was a child, my tongue’s use sleeping, now I have heard you, + Now in a moment I know what I am for, I awake, + And already a thousand singers, a thousand songs, clearer, louder + and more sorrowful than yours, + A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me, never to die. + + O you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me, + O solitary me listening, never more shall I cease perpetuating you, + Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations, + Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me, + Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what + there in the night, + By the sea under the yellow and sagging moon, + The messenger there arous’d, the fire, the sweet hell within, + The unknown want, the destiny of me. + + O give me the clue! (it lurks in the night here somewhere,) + O if I am to have so much, let me have more! + + A word then, (for I will conquer it,) + The word final, superior to all, + Subtle, sent up—what is it?—I listen; + Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves? + Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands? + + Whereto answering, the sea, + Delaying not, hurrying not, + Whisper’d me through the night, and very plainly before daybreak, + Lisp’d to me the low and delicious word death, + And again death, death, death, death + Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my arous’d child’s heart, + But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet, + Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over, + Death, death, death, death, death. + + Which I do not forget. + But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother, + That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok’s gray beach, + With the thousand responsive songs at random, + My own songs awaked from that hour, + And with them the key, the word up from the waves, + The word of the sweetest song and all songs, + That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet, + (Or like some old crone rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet + garments, bending aside,) + The sea whisper’d me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0104" id="link2H_4_0104"></a> + As I Ebb’d with the Ocean of Life + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + As I ebb’d with the ocean of life, + As I wended the shores I know, + As I walk’d where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok, + Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant, + Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways, + I musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward, + Held by this electric self out of the pride of which I utter poems, + Was seiz’d by the spirit that trails in the lines underfoot, + The rim, the sediment that stands for all the water and all the land + of the globe. + + Fascinated, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt, to follow those + slender windrows, + Chaff, straw, splinters of wood, weeds, and the sea-gluten, + Scum, scales from shining rocks, leaves of salt-lettuce, left by the tide, + Miles walking, the sound of breaking waves the other side of me, + Paumanok there and then as I thought the old thought of likenesses, + These you presented to me you fish-shaped island, + As I wended the shores I know, + As I walk’d with that electric self seeking types. + + 2 + As I wend to the shores I know not, + As I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women wreck’d, + As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me, + As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer, + I too but signify at the utmost a little wash’d-up drift, + A few sands and dead leaves to gather, + Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift. + + O baffled, balk’d, bent to the very earth, + Oppress’d with myself that I have dared to open my mouth, + Aware now that amid all that blab whose echoes recoil upon me I have + not once had the least idea who or what I am, + But that before all my arrogant poems the real Me stands yet + untouch’d, untold, altogether unreach’d, + Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory signs and bows, + With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written, + Pointing in silence to these songs, and then to the sand beneath. + + I perceive I have not really understood any thing, not a single + object, and that no man ever can, + Nature here in sight of the sea taking advantage of me to dart upon + me and sting me, + Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all. + + 3 + You oceans both, I close with you, + We murmur alike reproachfully rolling sands and drift, knowing not why, + These little shreds indeed standing for you and me and all. + + You friable shore with trails of debris, + You fish-shaped island, I take what is underfoot, + What is yours is mine my father. + + I too Paumanok, + I too have bubbled up, floated the measureless float, and been + wash’d on your shores, + I too am but a trail of drift and debris, + I too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish-shaped island. + + I throw myself upon your breast my father, + I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me, + I hold you so firm till you answer me something. + + Kiss me my father, + Touch me with your lips as I touch those I love, + Breathe to me while I hold you close the secret of the murmuring I envy. + + 4 + Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will return,) + Cease not your moaning you fierce old mother, + Endlessly cry for your castaways, but fear not, deny not me, + Rustle not up so hoarse and angry against my feet as I touch you or + gather from you. + + I mean tenderly by you and all, + I gather for myself and for this phantom looking down where we lead, + and following me and mine. + + Me and mine, loose windrows, little corpses, + Froth, snowy white, and bubbles, + (See, from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last, + See, the prismatic colors glistening and rolling,) + Tufts of straw, sands, fragments, + Buoy’d hither from many moods, one contradicting another, + From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the swell, + Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of liquid or soil, + Up just as much out of fathomless workings fermented and thrown, + A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves floating, + drifted at random, + Just as much for us that sobbing dirge of Nature, + Just as much whence we come that blare of the cloud-trumpets, + We, capricious, brought hither we know not whence, spread out before you, + You up there walking or sitting, + Whoever you are, we too lie in drifts at your feet. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0105" id="link2H_4_0105"></a> + Tears + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Tears! tears! tears! + In the night, in solitude, tears, + On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck’d in by the sand, + Tears, not a star shining, all dark and desolate, + Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head; + O who is that ghost? that form in the dark, with tears? + What shapeless lump is that, bent, crouch’d there on the sand? + Streaming tears, sobbing tears, throes, choked with wild cries; + O storm, embodied, rising, careering with swift steps along the beach! + O wild and dismal night storm, with wind—O belching and desperate! + O shade so sedate and decorous by day, with calm countenance and + regulated pace, + But away at night as you fly, none looking—O then the unloosen’d ocean, + Of tears! tears! tears! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0106" id="link2H_4_0106"></a> + To the Man-of-War-Bird + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm, + Waking renew’d on thy prodigious pinions, + (Burst the wild storm? above it thou ascended’st, + And rested on the sky, thy slave that cradled thee,) + Now a blue point, far, far in heaven floating, + As to the light emerging here on deck I watch thee, + (Myself a speck, a point on the world’s floating vast.) + + Far, far at sea, + After the night’s fierce drifts have strewn the shore with wrecks, + With re-appearing day as now so happy and serene, + The rosy and elastic dawn, the flashing sun, + The limpid spread of air cerulean, + Thou also re-appearest. + + Thou born to match the gale, (thou art all wings,) + To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane, + Thou ship of air that never furl’st thy sails, + Days, even weeks untired and onward, through spaces, realms gyrating, + At dusk that lookist on Senegal, at morn America, + That sport’st amid the lightning-flash and thunder-cloud, + In them, in thy experiences, had’st thou my soul, + What joys! what joys were thine! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0107" id="link2H_4_0107"></a> + Aboard at a Ship’s Helm + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Aboard at a ship’s helm, + A young steersman steering with care. + + Through fog on a sea-coast dolefully ringing, + An ocean-bell—O a warning bell, rock’d by the waves. + + O you give good notice indeed, you bell by the sea-reefs ringing, + Ringing, ringing, to warn the ship from its wreck-place. + + For as on the alert O steersman, you mind the loud admonition, + The bows turn, the freighted ship tacking speeds away under her gray sails, + The beautiful and noble ship with all her precious wealth speeds + away gayly and safe. + + But O the ship, the immortal ship! O ship aboard the ship! + Ship of the body, ship of the soul, voyaging, voyaging, voyaging. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0108" id="link2H_4_0108"></a> + On the Beach at Night + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On the beach at night, + Stands a child with her father, + Watching the east, the autumn sky. + + Up through the darkness, + While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading, + Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky, + Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east, + Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter, + And nigh at hand, only a very little above, + Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades. + + From the beach the child holding the hand of her father, + Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all, + Watching, silently weeps. + + Weep not, child, + Weep not, my darling, + With these kisses let me remove your tears, + The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious, + They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in + apparition, + Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night, the + Pleiades shall emerge, + They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall + shine out again, + The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure, + The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall + again shine. + + Then dearest child mournest thou only for jupiter? + Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars? + + Something there is, + (With my lips soothing thee, adding I whisper, + I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection,) + Something there is more immortal even than the stars, + (Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,) + Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter + Longer than sun or any revolving satellite, + Or the radiant sisters the Pleiades. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0109" id="link2H_4_0109"></a> + The World below the Brine + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The world below the brine, + Forests at the bottom of the sea, the branches and leaves, + Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seeds, the thick + tangle openings, and pink turf, + Different colors, pale gray and green, purple, white, and gold, the + play of light through the water, + Dumb swimmers there among the rocks, coral, gluten, grass, rushes, + and the aliment of the swimmers, + Sluggish existences grazing there suspended, or slowly crawling + close to the bottom, + The sperm-whale at the surface blowing air and spray, or disporting + with his flukes, + The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle, the hairy + sea-leopard, and the sting-ray, + Passions there, wars, pursuits, tribes, sight in those ocean-depths, + breathing that thick-breathing air, as so many do, + The change thence to the sight here, and to the subtle air breathed + by beings like us who walk this sphere, + The change onward from ours to that of beings who walk other spheres. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0110" id="link2H_4_0110"></a> + On the Beach at Night Alone + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On the beach at night alone, + As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song, + As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef + of the universes and of the future. + + A vast similitude interlocks all, + All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets, + All distances of place however wide, + All distances of time, all inanimate forms, + All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in + different worlds, + All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes, + All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages, + All identities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe, + All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future, + This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann’d, + And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0111" id="link2H_4_0111"></a> + Song for All Seas, All Ships + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + To-day a rude brief recitative, + Of ships sailing the seas, each with its special flag or ship-signal, + Of unnamed heroes in the ships—of waves spreading and spreading + far as the eye can reach, + Of dashing spray, and the winds piping and blowing, + And out of these a chant for the sailors of all nations, + Fitful, like a surge. + + Of sea-captains young or old, and the mates, and of all intrepid sailors, + Of the few, very choice, taciturn, whom fate can never surprise nor + death dismay. + Pick’d sparingly without noise by thee old ocean, chosen by thee, + Thou sea that pickest and cullest the race in time, and unitest nations, + Suckled by thee, old husky nurse, embodying thee, + Indomitable, untamed as thee. + + (Ever the heroes on water or on land, by ones or twos appearing, + Ever the stock preserv’d and never lost, though rare, enough for + seed preserv’d.) + + 2 + Flaunt out O sea your separate flags of nations! + Flaunt out visible as ever the various ship-signals! + But do you reserve especially for yourself and for the soul of man + one flag above all the rest, + A spiritual woven signal for all nations, emblem of man elate above death, + Token of all brave captains and all intrepid sailors and mates, + And all that went down doing their duty, + Reminiscent of them, twined from all intrepid captains young or old, + A pennant universal, subtly waving all time, o’er all brave sailors, + All seas, all ships. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0112" id="link2H_4_0112"></a> + Patroling Barnegat + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wild, wild the storm, and the sea high running, + Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering, + Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing, + Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing, + Out in the shadows there milk-white combs careering, + On beachy slush and sand spirts of snow fierce slanting, + Where through the murk the easterly death-wind breasting, + Through cutting swirl and spray watchful and firm advancing, + (That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal flaring?) + Slush and sand of the beach tireless till daylight wending, + Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting, + Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering, + A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting, + That savage trinity warily watching. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0113" id="link2H_4_0113"></a> + After the Sea-Ship + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + After the sea-ship, after the whistling winds, + After the white-gray sails taut to their spars and ropes, + Below, a myriad myriad waves hastening, lifting up their necks, + Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship, + Waves of the ocean bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying, + Waves, undulating waves, liquid, uneven, emulous waves, + Toward that whirling current, laughing and buoyant, with curves, + Where the great vessel sailing and tacking displaced the surface, + Larger and smaller waves in the spread of the ocean yearnfully flowing, + The wake of the sea-ship after she passes, flashing and frolicsome + under the sun, + A motley procession with many a fleck of foam and many fragments, + Following the stately and rapid ship, in the wake following. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0114" id="link2H_4_0114"></a> + BOOK XX. BY THE ROADSIDE + </h2> + <p> + A Boston Ballad [1854] + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To get betimes in Boston town I rose this morning early, + Here’s a good place at the corner, I must stand and see the show. + + Clear the way there Jonathan! + Way for the President’s marshal—way for the government cannon! + Way for the Federal foot and dragoons, (and the apparitions + copiously tumbling.) + + I love to look on the Stars and Stripes, I hope the fifes will play + Yankee Doodle. + How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost troops! + Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff through Boston town. + + A fog follows, antiques of the same come limping, + Some appear wooden-legged, and some appear bandaged and bloodless. + + Why this is indeed a show—it has called the dead out of the earth! + The old graveyards of the hills have hurried to see! + Phantoms! phantoms countless by flank and rear! + Cock’d hats of mothy mould—crutches made of mist! + Arms in slings—old men leaning on young men’s shoulders. + + What troubles you Yankee phantoms? what is all this chattering of + bare gums? + Does the ague convulse your limbs? do you mistake your crutches for + firelocks and level them? + + If you blind your eyes with tears you will not see the President’s marshal, + If you groan such groans you might balk the government cannon. + + For shame old maniacs—bring down those toss’d arms, and let your + white hair be, + Here gape your great grandsons, their wives gaze at them from the windows, + See how well dress’d, see how orderly they conduct themselves. + + Worse and worse—can’t you stand it? are you retreating? + Is this hour with the living too dead for you? + + Retreat then—pell-mell! + To your graves—back—back to the hills old limpers! + I do not think you belong here anyhow. + + But there is one thing that belongs here—shall I tell you what it + is, gentlemen of Boston? + + I will whisper it to the Mayor, he shall send a committee to England, + They shall get a grant from the Parliament, go with a cart to the + royal vault, + Dig out King George’s coffin, unwrap him quick from the + graveclothes, box up his bones for a journey, + Find a swift Yankee clipper—here is freight for you, black-bellied clipper, + Up with your anchor—shake out your sails—steer straight toward + Boston bay. + + Now call for the President’s marshal again, bring out the government cannon, + Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make another procession, + guard it with foot and dragoons. + + This centre-piece for them; + Look, all orderly citizens—look from the windows, women! + + The committee open the box, set up the regal ribs, glue those that + will not stay, + Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clap a crown on top of the skull. + You have got your revenge, old buster—the crown is come to its own, + and more than its own. + + Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan—you are a made man from + this day, + You are mighty cute—and here is one of your bargains. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0115" id="link2H_4_0115"></a> + Europe [The 72d and 73d Years of These States] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Suddenly out of its stale and drowsy lair, the lair of slaves, + Like lightning it le’pt forth half startled at itself, + Its feet upon the ashes and the rags, its hands tight to the throats + of kings. + + O hope and faith! + O aching close of exiled patriots’ lives! + O many a sicken’d heart! + Turn back unto this day and make yourselves afresh. + + And you, paid to defile the People—you liars, mark! + Not for numberless agonies, murders, lusts, + For court thieving in its manifold mean forms, worming from his + simplicity the poor man’s wages, + For many a promise sworn by royal lips and broken and laugh’d at in + the breaking, + + Then in their power not for all these did the blows strike revenge, + or the heads of the nobles fall; + The People scorn’d the ferocity of kings. + + But the sweetness of mercy brew’d bitter destruction, and the + frighten’d monarchs come back, + Each comes in state with his train, hangman, priest, tax-gatherer, + Soldier, lawyer, lord, jailer, and sycophant. + + Yet behind all lowering stealing, lo, a shape, + Vague as the night, draped interminably, head, front and form, in + scarlet folds, + Whose face and eyes none may see, + Out of its robes only this, the red robes lifted by the arm, + One finger crook’d pointed high over the top, like the head of a + snake appears. + + Meanwhile corpses lie in new-made graves, bloody corpses of young men, + The rope of the gibbet hangs heavily, the bullets of princes are + flying, the creatures of power laugh aloud, + And all these things bear fruits, and they are good. + + Those corpses of young men, + Those martyrs that hang from the gibbets, those hearts pierc’d by + the gray lead, + Cold and motionless as they seem live elsewhere with unslaughter’d vitality. + + They live in other young men O kings! + They live in brothers again ready to defy you, + They were purified by death, they were taught and exalted. + + Not a grave of the murder’d for freedom but grows seed for freedom, + in its turn to bear seed, + Which the winds carry afar and re-sow, and the rains and the snows nourish. + + Not a disembodied spirit can the weapons of tyrants let loose, + But it stalks invisibly over the earth, whispering, counseling, cautioning. + Liberty, let others despair of you—I never despair of you. + + Is the house shut? is the master away? + Nevertheless, be ready, be not weary of watching, + He will soon return, his messengers come anon. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0116" id="link2H_4_0116"></a> + A Hand-Mirror + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hold it up sternly—see this it sends back, (who is it? is it you?) + Outside fair costume, within ashes and filth, + No more a flashing eye, no more a sonorous voice or springy step, + Now some slave’s eye, voice, hands, step, + A drunkard’s breath, unwholesome eater’s face, venerealee’s flesh, + Lungs rotting away piecemeal, stomach sour and cankerous, + Joints rheumatic, bowels clogged with abomination, + Blood circulating dark and poisonous streams, + Words babble, hearing and touch callous, + No brain, no heart left, no magnetism of sex; + Such from one look in this looking-glass ere you go hence, + Such a result so soon—and from such a beginning! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0117" id="link2H_4_0117"></a> + Gods + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Lover divine and perfect Comrade, + Waiting content, invisible yet, but certain, + Be thou my God. + + Thou, thou, the Ideal Man, + Fair, able, beautiful, content, and loving, + Complete in body and dilate in spirit, + Be thou my God. + + O Death, (for Life has served its turn,) + Opener and usher to the heavenly mansion, + Be thou my God. + + Aught, aught of mightiest, best I see, conceive, or know, + (To break the stagnant tie—thee, thee to free, O soul,) + Be thou my God. + + All great ideas, the races’ aspirations, + All heroisms, deeds of rapt enthusiasts, + Be ye my Gods. + + Or Time and Space, + Or shape of Earth divine and wondrous, + Or some fair shape I viewing, worship, + Or lustrous orb of sun or star by night, + Be ye my Gods. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0118" id="link2H_4_0118"></a> + Germs + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Forms, qualities, lives, humanity, language, thoughts, + The ones known, and the ones unknown, the ones on the stars, + The stars themselves, some shaped, others unshaped, + Wonders as of those countries, the soil, trees, cities, inhabitants, + whatever they may be, + Splendid suns, the moons and rings, the countless combinations and effects, + Such-like, and as good as such-like, visible here or anywhere, stand + provided for a handful of space, which I extend my arm and + half enclose with my hand, + That containing the start of each and all, the virtue, the germs of all. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0119" id="link2H_4_0119"></a> + Thoughts + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of ownership—as if one fit to own things could not at pleasure enter + upon all, and incorporate them into himself or herself; + Of vista—suppose some sight in arriere through the formative chaos, + presuming the growth, fulness, life, now attain’d on the journey, + (But I see the road continued, and the journey ever continued;) + Of what was once lacking on earth, and in due time has become + supplied—and of what will yet be supplied, + Because all I see and know I believe to have its main purport in + what will yet be supplied. +</pre> + <p> + When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I heard the learn’d astronomer, + When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, + When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them, + When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much + applause in the lecture-room, + How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, + Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself, + In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, + Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0120" id="link2H_4_0120"></a> + Perfections + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves, + As souls only understand souls. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0121" id="link2H_4_0121"></a> + O Me! O Life! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring, + Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, + Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, + and who more faithless?) + Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the + struggle ever renew’d, + Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see + around me, + Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined, + The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life? + + Answer. + That you are here—that life exists and identity, + That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0122" id="link2H_4_0122"></a> + To a President + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All you are doing and saying is to America dangled mirages, + You have not learn’d of Nature—of the politics of Nature you have + not learn’d the great amplitude, rectitude, impartiality, + You have not seen that only such as they are for these States, + And that what is less than they must sooner or later lift off from + these States. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0123" id="link2H_4_0123"></a> + I Sit and Look Out + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all + oppression and shame, + I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men at anguish with + themselves, remorseful after deeds done, + I see in low life the mother misused by her children, dying, + neglected, gaunt, desperate, + I see the wife misused by her husband, I see the treacherous seducer + of young women, + I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love attempted to be + hid, I see these sights on the earth, + I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny, I see martyrs and + prisoners, + I observe a famine at sea, I observe the sailors casting lots who + shall be kill’d to preserve the lives of the rest, + I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon + laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like; + All these—all the meanness and agony without end I sitting look out upon, + See, hear, and am silent. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0124" id="link2H_4_0124"></a> + To Rich Givers + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What you give me I cheerfully accept, + A little sustenance, a hut and garden, a little money, as I + rendezvous with my poems, + A traveler’s lodging and breakfast as journey through the States,— + why should I be ashamed to own such gifts? why to advertise for them? + For I myself am not one who bestows nothing upon man and woman, + For I bestow upon any man or woman the entrance to all the gifts of + the universe. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0125" id="link2H_4_0125"></a> + The Dalliance of the Eagles + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,) + Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles, + The rushing amorous contact high in space together, + The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel, + Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling, + In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling, + Till o’er the river pois’d, the twain yet one, a moment’s lull, + A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing, + Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse flight, + She hers, he his, pursuing. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0126" id="link2H_4_0126"></a> + Roaming in Thought [After reading Hegel] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is Good + steadily hastening towards immortality, + And the vast all that is call’d Evil I saw hastening to merge itself + and become lost and dead. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0127" id="link2H_4_0127"></a> + A Farm Picture + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn, + A sunlit pasture field with cattle and horses feeding, + And haze and vista, and the far horizon fading away. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0128" id="link2H_4_0128"></a> + A Child’s Amaze + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Silent and amazed even when a little boy, + I remember I heard the preacher every Sunday put God in his statements, + As contending against some being or influence. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0129" id="link2H_4_0129"></a> + The Runner + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On a flat road runs the well-train’d runner, + He is lean and sinewy with muscular legs, + He is thinly clothed, he leans forward as he runs, + With lightly closed fists and arms partially rais’d. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0130" id="link2H_4_0130"></a> + Beautiful Women + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Women sit or move to and fro, some old, some young, + The young are beautiful—but the old are more beautiful than the young. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0131" id="link2H_4_0131"></a> + Mother and Babe + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I see the sleeping babe nestling the breast of its mother, + The sleeping mother and babe—hush’d, I study them long and long. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0132" id="link2H_4_0132"></a> + Thought + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of obedience, faith, adhesiveness; + As I stand aloof and look there is to me something profoundly + affecting in large masses of men following the lead of those who + do not believe in men. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0133" id="link2H_4_0133"></a> + Visor’d + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A mask, a perpetual natural disguiser of herself, + Concealing her face, concealing her form, + Changes and transformations every hour, every moment, + Falling upon her even when she sleeps. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0134" id="link2H_4_0134"></a> + Thought + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of justice—as If could be any thing but the same ample law, + expounded by natural judges and saviors, + As if it might be this thing or that thing, according to decisions. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0135" id="link2H_4_0135"></a> + Gliding O’er all + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Gliding o’er all, through all, + Through Nature, Time, and Space, + As a ship on the waters advancing, + The voyage of the soul—not life alone, + Death, many deaths I’ll sing. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0136" id="link2H_4_0136"></a> + Hast Never Come to Thee an Hour + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hast never come to thee an hour, + A sudden gleam divine, precipitating, bursting all these bubbles, + fashions, wealth? + These eager business aims—books, politics, art, amours, + To utter nothingness? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0137" id="link2H_4_0137"></a> + Thought + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of Equality—as if it harm’d me, giving others the same chances and + rights as myself—as if it were not indispensable to my own + rights that others possess the same. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0138" id="link2H_4_0138"></a> + To Old Age + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I see in you the estuary that enlarges and spreads itself grandly as + it pours in the great sea. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0139" id="link2H_4_0139"></a> + Locations and Times + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Locations and times—what is it in me that meets them all, whenever + and wherever, and makes me at home? + Forms, colors, densities, odors—what is it in me that corresponds + with them? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0140" id="link2H_4_0140"></a> + Offerings + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A thousand perfect men and women appear, + Around each gathers a cluster of friends, and gay children and + youths, with offerings. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0141" id="link2H_4_0141"></a> + To The States [To Identify the 16th, 17th, or 18th Presidentiad] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Why reclining, interrogating? why myself and all drowsing? + What deepening twilight-scum floating atop of the waters, + Who are they as bats and night-dogs askant in the capitol? + What a filthy Presidentiad! (O South, your torrid suns! O North, + your arctic freezings!) + Are those really Congressmen? are those the great Judges? is that + the President? + Then I will sleep awhile yet, for I see that these States sleep, for + reasons; + (With gathering murk, with muttering thunder and lambent shoots we + all duly awake, + South, North, East, West, inland and seaboard, we will surely awake.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0142" id="link2H_4_0142"></a> + BOOK XXI. DRUM-TAPS + </h2> + <p> + First O Songs for a Prelude + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + First O songs for a prelude, + Lightly strike on the stretch’d tympanum pride and joy in my city, + How she led the rest to arms, how she gave the cue, + How at once with lithe limbs unwaiting a moment she sprang, + (O superb! O Manhattan, my own, my peerless! + O strongest you in the hour of danger, in crisis! O truer than steel!) + How you sprang—how you threw off the costumes of peace with + indifferent hand, + How your soft opera-music changed, and the drum and fife were heard + in their stead, + How you led to the war, (that shall serve for our prelude, songs of + soldiers,) + How Manhattan drum-taps led. + + Forty years had I in my city seen soldiers parading, + Forty years as a pageant, till unawares the lady of this teeming and + turbulent city, + Sleepless amid her ships, her houses, her incalculable wealth, + With her million children around her, suddenly, + At dead of night, at news from the south, + Incens’d struck with clinch’d hand the pavement. + + A shock electric, the night sustain’d it, + Till with ominous hum our hive at daybreak pour’d out its myriads. + + From the houses then and the workshops, and through all the doorways, + Leapt they tumultuous, and lo! Manhattan arming. + + To the drum-taps prompt, + The young men falling in and arming, + The mechanics arming, (the trowel, the jack-plane, the blacksmith’s + hammer, tost aside with precipitation,) + The lawyer leaving his office and arming, the judge leaving the court, + The driver deserting his wagon in the street, jumping down, throwing + the reins abruptly down on the horses’ backs, + The salesman leaving the store, the boss, book-keeper, porter, all leaving; + Squads gather everywhere by common consent and arm, + The new recruits, even boys, the old men show them how to wear their + accoutrements, they buckle the straps carefully, + Outdoors arming, indoors arming, the flash of the musket-barrels, + The white tents cluster in camps, the arm’d sentries around, the + sunrise cannon and again at sunset, + Arm’d regiments arrive every day, pass through the city, and embark + from the wharves, + (How good they look as they tramp down to the river, sweaty, with + their guns on their shoulders! + How I love them! how I could hug them, with their brown faces and + their clothes and knapsacks cover’d with dust!) + The blood of the city up-arm’d! arm’d! the cry everywhere, + The flags flung out from the steeples of churches and from all the + public buildings and stores, + The tearful parting, the mother kisses her son, the son kisses his mother, + (Loth is the mother to part, yet not a word does she speak to detain him,) + The tumultuous escort, the ranks of policemen preceding, clearing the way, + The unpent enthusiasm, the wild cheers of the crowd for their favorites, + The artillery, the silent cannons bright as gold, drawn along, + rumble lightly over the stones, + (Silent cannons, soon to cease your silence, + Soon unlimber’d to begin the red business;) + All the mutter of preparation, all the determin’d arming, + The hospital service, the lint, bandages and medicines, + The women volunteering for nurses, the work begun for in earnest, no + mere parade now; + War! an arm’d race is advancing! the welcome for battle, no turning away! + War! be it weeks, months, or years, an arm’d race is advancing to + welcome it. + + Mannahatta a-march—and it’s O to sing it well! + It’s O for a manly life in the camp. + + And the sturdy artillery, + The guns bright as gold, the work for giants, to serve well the guns, + Unlimber them! (no more as the past forty years for salutes for + courtesies merely, + Put in something now besides powder and wadding.) + + And you lady of ships, you Mannahatta, + Old matron of this proud, friendly, turbulent city, + Often in peace and wealth you were pensive or covertly frown’d amid + all your children, + But now you smile with joy exulting old Mannahatta. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0143" id="link2H_4_0143"></a> + Eighteen Sixty-One + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Arm’d year—year of the struggle, + No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you terrible year, + Not you as some pale poetling seated at a desk lisping cadenzas piano, + But as a strong man erect, clothed in blue clothes, advancing, + carrying rifle on your shoulder, + With well-gristled body and sunburnt face and hands, with a knife in + the belt at your side, + As I heard you shouting loud, your sonorous voice ringing across the + continent, + Your masculine voice O year, as rising amid the great cities, + Amid the men of Manhattan I saw you as one of the workmen, the + dwellers in Manhattan, + Or with large steps crossing the prairies out of Illinois and Indiana, + Rapidly crossing the West with springy gait and descending the Allghanies, + Or down from the great lakes or in Pennsylvania, or on deck along + the Ohio river, + Or southward along the Tennessee or Cumberland rivers, or at + Chattanooga on the mountain top, + Saw I your gait and saw I your sinewy limbs clothed in blue, bearing + weapons, robust year, + Heard your determin’d voice launch’d forth again and again, + Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round-lipp’d cannon, + I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0144" id="link2H_4_0144"></a> + Beat! Beat! Drums! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow! + Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force, + Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation, + Into the school where the scholar is studying; + Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with + his bride, + Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering + his grain, + So fierce you whirr and pound you drums—so shrill you bugles blow. + + Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow! + Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets; + Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers + must sleep in those beds, + No bargainers’ bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—would + they continue? + Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing? + Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge? + Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow. + + Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow! + Make no parley—stop for no expostulation, + Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer, + Mind not the old man beseeching the young man, + Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties, + Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the + hearses, + So strong you thump O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0145" id="link2H_4_0145"></a> + From Paumanok Starting I Fly Like a Bird + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + From Paumanok starting I fly like a bird, + Around and around to soar to sing the idea of all, + To the north betaking myself to sing there arctic songs, + To Kanada till I absorb Kanada in myself, to Michigan then, + To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs, (they are inimitable;) + Then to Ohio and Indiana to sing theirs, to Missouri and Kansas and + Arkansas to sing theirs, + To Tennessee and Kentucky, to the Carolinas and Georgia to sing theirs, + To Texas and so along up toward California, to roam accepted everywhere; + To sing first, (to the tap of the war-drum if need be,) + The idea of all, of the Western world one and inseparable, + And then the song of each member of these States. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0146" id="link2H_4_0146"></a> + Song of the Banner at Daybreak + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Poet: + O A new song, a free song, + Flapping, flapping, flapping, flapping, by sounds, by voices clearer, + By the wind’s voice and that of the drum, + By the banner’s voice and child’s voice and sea’s voice and father’s voice, + Low on the ground and high in the air, + On the ground where father and child stand, + In the upward air where their eyes turn, + Where the banner at daybreak is flapping. + + Words! book-words! what are you? + Words no more, for hearken and see, + My song is there in the open air, and I must sing, + With the banner and pennant a-flapping. + + I’ll weave the chord and twine in, + Man’s desire and babe’s desire, I’ll twine them in, I’ll put in life, + I’ll put the bayonet’s flashing point, I’ll let bullets and slugs whizz, + (As one carrying a symbol and menace far into the future, + Crying with trumpet voice, Arouse and beware! Beware and arouse!) + I’ll pour the verse with streams of blood, full of volition, full of joy, + Then loosen, launch forth, to go and compete, + With the banner and pennant a-flapping. + + Pennant: + Come up here, bard, bard, + Come up here, soul, soul, + Come up here, dear little child, + To fly in the clouds and winds with me, and play with the measureless light. + + Child: + Father what is that in the sky beckoning to me with long finger? + And what does it say to me all the while? + + Father: + Nothing my babe you see in the sky, + And nothing at all to you it says—but look you my babe, + Look at these dazzling things in the houses, and see you the money- + shops opening, + And see you the vehicles preparing to crawl along the streets with goods; + These, ah these, how valued and toil’d for these! + How envied by all the earth. + + Poet: + Fresh and rosy red the sun is mounting high, + On floats the sea in distant blue careering through its channels, + On floats the wind over the breast of the sea setting in toward land, + The great steady wind from west or west-by-south, + Floating so buoyant with milk-white foam on the waters. + + But I am not the sea nor the red sun, + I am not the wind with girlish laughter, + Not the immense wind which strengthens, not the wind which lashes, + Not the spirit that ever lashes its own body to terror and death, + But I am that which unseen comes and sings, sings, sings, + Which babbles in brooks and scoots in showers on the land, + Which the birds know in the woods mornings and evenings, + And the shore-sands know and the hissing wave, and that banner and pennant, + Aloft there flapping and flapping. + + Child: + O father it is alive—it is full of people—it has children, + O now it seems to me it is talking to its children, + I hear it—it talks to me—O it is wonderful! + O it stretches—it spreads and runs so fast—O my father, + It is so broad it covers the whole sky. + + Father: + Cease, cease, my foolish babe, + What you are saying is sorrowful to me, much ’t displeases me; + Behold with the rest again I say, behold not banners and pennants aloft, + But the well-prepared pavements behold, and mark the solid-wall’d houses. + + Banner and Pennant: + Speak to the child O bard out of Manhattan, + To our children all, or north or south of Manhattan, + Point this day, leaving all the rest, to us over all—and yet we know + not why, + For what are we, mere strips of cloth profiting nothing, + Only flapping in the wind? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Poet: + I hear and see not strips of cloth alone, + I hear the tramp of armies, I hear the challenging sentry, + I hear the jubilant shouts of millions of men, I hear Liberty! + I hear the drums beat and the trumpets blowing, + I myself move abroad swift-rising flying then, + I use the wings of the land-bird and use the wings of the sea-bird, + and look down as from a height, + I do not deny the precious results of peace, I see populous cities + with wealth incalculable, + I see numberless farms, I see the farmers working in their fields or barns, + I see mechanics working, I see buildings everywhere founded, going + up, or finish’d, + I see trains of cars swiftly speeding along railroad tracks drawn by + the locomotives, + I see the stores, depots, of Boston, Baltimore, Charleston, New Orleans, + I see far in the West the immense area of grain, I dwell awhile hovering, + I pass to the lumber forests of the North, and again to the Southern + plantation, and again to California; + Sweeping the whole I see the countless profit, the busy gatherings, + earn’d wages, + See the Identity formed out of thirty-eight spacious and haughty + States, (and many more to come,) + See forts on the shores of harbors, see ships sailing in and out; + Then over all, (aye! aye!) my little and lengthen’d pennant shaped + like a sword, + Runs swiftly up indicating war and defiance—and now the halyards + have rais’d it, + Side of my banner broad and blue, side of my starry banner, + Discarding peace over all the sea and land. + + Banner and Pennant: + Yet louder, higher, stronger, bard! yet farther, wider cleave! + No longer let our children deem us riches and peace alone, + We may be terror and carnage, and are so now, + Not now are we any one of these spacious and haughty States, (nor + any five, nor ten,) + Nor market nor depot we, nor money-bank in the city, + But these and all, and the brown and spreading land, and the mines + below, are ours, + And the shores of the sea are ours, and the rivers great and small, + And the fields they moisten, and the crops and the fruits are ours, + Bays and channels and ships sailing in and out are ours—while we over all, + Over the area spread below, the three or four millions of square + miles, the capitals, + The forty millions of people,—O bard! in life and death supreme, + We, even we, henceforth flaunt out masterful, high up above, + Not for the present alone, for a thousand years chanting through you, + This song to the soul of one poor little child. + + Child: + O my father I like not the houses, + They will never to me be any thing, nor do I like money, + But to mount up there I would like, O father dear, that banner I like, + That pennant I would be and must be. + + Father: + Child of mine you fill me with anguish, + To be that pennant would be too fearful, + Little you know what it is this day, and after this day, forever, + It is to gain nothing, but risk and defy every thing, + Forward to stand in front of wars—and O, such wars!—what have you + to do with them? + With passions of demons, slaughter, premature death? + + Banner: + Demons and death then I sing, + Put in all, aye all will I, sword-shaped pennant for war, + And a pleasure new and ecstatic, and the prattled yearning of children, + Blent with the sounds of the peaceful land and the liquid wash of the sea, + And the black ships fighting on the sea envelop’d in smoke, + And the icy cool of the far, far north, with rustling cedars and pines, + And the whirr of drums and the sound of soldiers marching, and the + hot sun shining south, + And the beach-waves combing over the beach on my Eastern shore, + and my Western shore the same, + And all between those shores, and my ever running Mississippi with + bends and chutes, + And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my fields of Missouri, + The Continent, devoting the whole identity without reserving an atom, + Pour in! whelm that which asks, which sings, with all and the yield of all, + Fusing and holding, claiming, devouring the whole, + No more with tender lip, nor musical labial sound, + But out of the night emerging for good, our voice persuasive no more, + Croaking like crows here in the wind. + + Poet: + My limbs, my veins dilate, my theme is clear at last, + Banner so broad advancing out of the night, I sing you haughty and resolute, + I burst through where I waited long, too long, deafen’d and blinded, + My hearing and tongue are come to me, (a little child taught me,) + I hear from above O pennant of war your ironical call and demand, + Insensate! insensate! (yet I at any rate chant you,) O banner! + Not houses of peace indeed are you, nor any nor all their + prosperity, (if need be, you shall again have every one of those + houses to destroy them, + You thought not to destroy those valuable houses, standing fast, + full of comfort, built with money, + May they stand fast, then? not an hour except you above them and all + stand fast;) + O banner, not money so precious are you, not farm produce you, nor + the material good nutriment, + Nor excellent stores, nor landed on wharves from the ships, + Not the superb ships with sail-power or steam-power, fetching and + carrying cargoes, + Nor machinery, vehicles, trade, nor revenues—but you as henceforth + I see you, + Running up out of the night, bringing your cluster of stars, + (ever-enlarging stars,) + Divider of daybreak you, cutting the air, touch’d by the sun, + measuring the sky, + (Passionately seen and yearn’d for by one poor little child, + While others remain busy or smartly talking, forever teaching + thrift, thrift;) + O you up there! O pennant! where you undulate like a snake hissing + so curious, + Out of reach, an idea only, yet furiously fought for, risking bloody + death, loved by me, + So loved—O you banner leading the day with stars brought from the night! + Valueless, object of eyes, over all and demanding all—(absolute + owner of all)—O banner and pennant! + I too leave the rest—great as it is, it is nothing—houses, machines + are nothing—I see them not, + I see but you, O warlike pennant! O banner so broad, with stripes, + sing you only, + Flapping up there in the wind. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0147" id="link2H_4_0147"></a> + Rise O Days from Your Fathomless Deeps + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Rise O days from your fathomless deeps, till you loftier, fiercer sweep, + Long for my soul hungering gymnastic I devour’d what the earth gave me, + Long I roam’d amid the woods of the north, long I watch’d Niagara pouring, + I travel’d the prairies over and slept on their breast, I cross’d + the Nevadas, I cross’d the plateaus, + I ascended the towering rocks along the Pacific, I sail’d out to sea, + I sail’d through the storm, I was refresh’d by the storm, + I watch’d with joy the threatening maws of the waves, + + I mark’d the white combs where they career’d so high, curling over, + I heard the wind piping, I saw the black clouds, + Saw from below what arose and mounted, (O superb! O wild as my + heart, and powerful!) + Heard the continuous thunder as it bellow’d after the lightning, + Noted the slender and jagged threads of lightning as sudden and + fast amid the din they chased each other across the sky; + These, and such as these, I, elate, saw—saw with wonder, yet pensive + and masterful, + All the menacing might of the globe uprisen around me, + Yet there with my soul I fed, I fed content, supercilious. + + 2 + ’Twas well, O soul—’twas a good preparation you gave me, + Now we advance our latent and ampler hunger to fill, + Now we go forth to receive what the earth and the sea never gave us, + Not through the mighty woods we go, but through the mightier cities, + Something for us is pouring now more than Niagara pouring, + Torrents of men, (sources and rills of the Northwest are you indeed + inexhaustible?) + What, to pavements and homesteads here, what were those storms of + the mountains and sea? + What, to passions I witness around me to-day? was the sea risen? + Was the wind piping the pipe of death under the black clouds? + Lo! from deeps more unfathomable, something more deadly and savage, + Manhattan rising, advancing with menacing front—Cincinnati, Chicago, + unchain’d; + What was that swell I saw on the ocean? behold what comes here, + How it climbs with daring feet and hands—how it dashes! + How the true thunder bellows after the lightning—how bright the + flashes of lightning! + How Democracy with desperate vengeful port strides on, shown + through the dark by those flashes of lightning! + (Yet a mournful wall and low sob I fancied I heard through the dark, + In a lull of the deafening confusion.) + + 3 + Thunder on! stride on, Democracy! strike with vengeful stroke! + And do you rise higher than ever yet O days, O cities! + Crash heavier, heavier yet O storms! you have done me good, + My soul prepared in the mountains absorbs your immortal strong nutriment, + Long had I walk’d my cities, my country roads through farms, only + half satisfied, + One doubt nauseous undulating like a snake, crawl’d on the ground before me, + Continually preceding my steps, turning upon me oft, ironically hissing low; + The cities I loved so well I abandon’d and left, I sped to the + certainties suitable to me, + Hungering, hungering, hungering, for primal energies and Nature’s + dauntlessness, + I refresh’d myself with it only, I could relish it only, + I waited the bursting forth of the pent fire—on the water and air + waited long; + But now I no longer wait, I am fully satisfied, I am glutted, + I have witness’d the true lightning, I have witness’d my cities electric, + I have lived to behold man burst forth and warlike America rise, + Hence I will seek no more the food of the northern solitary wilds, + No more the mountains roam or sail the stormy sea. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0148" id="link2H_4_0148"></a> + Virginia—The West + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The noble sire fallen on evil days, + I saw with hand uplifted, menacing, brandishing, + (Memories of old in abeyance, love and faith in abeyance,) + The insane knife toward the Mother of All. + + The noble son on sinewy feet advancing, + I saw, out of the land of prairies, land of Ohio’s waters and of Indiana, + To the rescue the stalwart giant hurry his plenteous offspring, + Drest in blue, bearing their trusty rifles on their shoulders. + + Then the Mother of All with calm voice speaking, + As to you Rebellious, (I seemed to hear her say,) why strive against + me, and why seek my life? + When you yourself forever provide to defend me? + For you provided me Washington—and now these also. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0149" id="link2H_4_0149"></a> + City of Ships + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + City of ships! + (O the black ships! O the fierce ships! + O the beautiful sharp-bow’d steam-ships and sail-ships!) + City of the world! (for all races are here, + All the lands of the earth make contributions here;) + City of the sea! city of hurried and glittering tides! + City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, whirling in and + out with eddies and foam! + City of wharves and stores—city of tall facades of marble and iron! + Proud and passionate city—mettlesome, mad, extravagant city! + Spring up O city—not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself, warlike! + Fear not—submit to no models but your own O city! + Behold me—incarnate me as I have incarnated you! + I have rejected nothing you offer’d me—whom you adopted I have adopted, + Good or bad I never question you—I love all—I do not condemn any thing, + I chant and celebrate all that is yours—yet peace no more, + In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine, + War, red war is my song through your streets, O city! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0150" id="link2H_4_0150"></a> + The Centenarian’s Story + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [Volunteer of 1861-2, at Washington Park, Brooklyn, assisting + the Centenarian.] + Give me your hand old Revolutionary, + The hill-top is nigh, but a few steps, (make room gentlemen,) + Up the path you have follow’d me well, spite of your hundred and + extra years, + You can walk old man, though your eyes are almost done, + Your faculties serve you, and presently I must have them serve me. + + Rest, while I tell what the crowd around us means, + On the plain below recruits are drilling and exercising, + There is the camp, one regiment departs to-morrow, + Do you hear the officers giving their orders? + Do you hear the clank of the muskets? + Why what comes over you now old man? + Why do you tremble and clutch my hand so convulsively? + The troops are but drilling, they are yet surrounded with smiles, + Around them at hand the well-drest friends and the women, + While splendid and warm the afternoon sun shines down, + Green the midsummer verdure and fresh blows the dallying breeze, + O’er proud and peaceful cities and arm of the sea between. + + But drill and parade are over, they march back to quarters, + Only hear that approval of hands! hear what a clapping! + + As wending the crowds now part and disperse—but we old man, + Not for nothing have I brought you hither—we must remain, + You to speak in your turn, and I to listen and tell. + + [The Centenarian] + When I clutch’d your hand it was not with terror, + But suddenly pouring about me here on every side, + And below there where the boys were drilling, and up the slopes they ran, + And where tents are pitch’d, and wherever you see south and south- + east and south-west, + Over hills, across lowlands, and in the skirts of woods, + And along the shores, in mire (now fill’d over) came again and + suddenly raged, + As eighty-five years agone no mere parade receiv’d with applause of friends, + But a battle which I took part in myself—aye, long ago as it is, I + took part in it, + Walking then this hilltop, this same ground. + + Aye, this is the ground, + My blind eyes even as I speak behold it re-peopled from graves, + The years recede, pavements and stately houses disappear, + Rude forts appear again, the old hoop’d guns are mounted, + I see the lines of rais’d earth stretching from river to bay, + I mark the vista of waters, I mark the uplands and slopes; + Here we lay encamp’d, it was this time in summer also. + + As I talk I remember all, I remember the Declaration, + It was read here, the whole army paraded, it was read to us here, + By his staff surrounded the General stood in the middle, he held up + his unsheath’d sword, + It glitter’d in the sun in full sight of the army. + + ’Twas a bold act then—the English war-ships had just arrived, + We could watch down the lower bay where they lay at anchor, + And the transports swarming with soldiers. + + A few days more and they landed, and then the battle. + + Twenty thousand were brought against us, + A veteran force furnish’d with good artillery. + + I tell not now the whole of the battle, + But one brigade early in the forenoon order’d forward to engage the + red-coats, + Of that brigade I tell, and how steadily it march’d, + And how long and well it stood confronting death. + + Who do you think that was marching steadily sternly confronting death? + It was the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong, + Rais’d in Virginia and Maryland, and most of them known personally + to the General. + + Jauntily forward they went with quick step toward Gowanus’ waters, + Till of a sudden unlook’d for by defiles through the woods, gain’d at night, + The British advancing, rounding in from the east, fiercely playing + their guns, + That brigade of the youngest was cut off and at the enemy’s mercy. + + The General watch’d them from this hill, + They made repeated desperate attempts to burst their environment, + Then drew close together, very compact, their flag flying in the middle, + But O from the hills how the cannon were thinning and thinning them! + + It sickens me yet, that slaughter! + I saw the moisture gather in drops on the face of the General. + I saw how he wrung his hands in anguish. + + Meanwhile the British manœuvr’d to draw us out for a pitch’d battle, + But we dared not trust the chances of a pitch’d battle. + + We fought the fight in detachments, + Sallying forth we fought at several points, but in each the luck was + against us, + Our foe advancing, steadily getting the best of it, push’d us back + to the works on this hill, + Till we turn’d menacing here, and then he left us. + + That was the going out of the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand + strong, + Few return’d, nearly all remain in Brooklyn. + + That and here my General’s first battle, + No women looking on nor sunshine to bask in, it did not conclude + with applause, + Nobody clapp’d hands here then. + + But in darkness in mist on the ground under a chill rain, + Wearied that night we lay foil’d and sullen, + While scornfully laugh’d many an arrogant lord off against us encamp’d, + Quite within hearing, feasting, clinking wineglasses together over + their victory. + + So dull and damp and another day, + But the night of that, mist lifting, rain ceasing, + Silent as a ghost while they thought they were sure of him, my + General retreated. + + I saw him at the river-side, + Down by the ferry lit by torches, hastening the embarcation; + My General waited till the soldiers and wounded were all pass’d over, + And then, (it was just ere sunrise,) these eyes rested on him for + the last time. + + Every one else seem’d fill’d with gloom, + Many no doubt thought of capitulation. + + But when my General pass’d me, + As he stood in his boat and look’d toward the coming sun, + I saw something different from capitulation. + + [Terminus] + Enough, the Centenarian’s story ends, + The two, the past and present, have interchanged, + I myself as connecter, as chansonnier of a great future, am now speaking. + + And is this the ground Washington trod? + And these waters I listlessly daily cross, are these the waters he cross’d, + As resolute in defeat as other generals in their proudest triumphs? + + I must copy the story, and send it eastward and westward, + I must preserve that look as it beam’d on you rivers of Brooklyn. + + See—as the annual round returns the phantoms return, + It is the 27th of August and the British have landed, + The battle begins and goes against us, behold through the smoke + Washington’s face, + The brigade of Virginia and Maryland have march’d forth to intercept + the enemy, + They are cut off, murderous artillery from the hills plays upon them, + Rank after rank falls, while over them silently droops the flag, + Baptized that day in many a young man’s bloody wounds. + In death, defeat, and sisters’, mothers’ tears. + + Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn! I perceive you are more valuable + than your owners supposed; + In the midst of you stands an encampment very old, + Stands forever the camp of that dead brigade. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0151" id="link2H_4_0151"></a> + Cavalry Crossing a Ford + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A line in long array where they wind betwixt green islands, + They take a serpentine course, their arms flash in the sun—hark to + the musical clank, + Behold the silvery river, in it the splashing horses loitering stop + to drink, + Behold the brown-faced men, each group, each person a picture, the + negligent rest on the saddles, + Some emerge on the opposite bank, others are just entering the ford—while, + Scarlet and blue and snowy white, + The guidon flags flutter gayly in the wind. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0152" id="link2H_4_0152"></a> + Bivouac on a Mountain Side + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I see before me now a traveling army halting, + Below a fertile valley spread, with barns and the orchards of summer, + Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt, in places rising high, + Broken, with rocks, with clinging cedars, with tall shapes dingily seen, + The numerous camp-fires scatter’d near and far, some away up on the + mountain, + The shadowy forms of men and horses, looming, large-sized, flickering, + And over all the sky—the sky! far, far out of reach, studded, + breaking out, the eternal stars. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0153" id="link2H_4_0153"></a> + An Army Corps on the March + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With its cloud of skirmishers in advance, + With now the sound of a single shot snapping like a whip, and now an + irregular volley, + The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on, + Glittering dimly, toiling under the sun—the dust-cover’d men, + In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the ground, + With artillery interspers’d—the wheels rumble, the horses sweat, + As the army corps advances. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0154" id="link2H_4_0154"></a> + By the Bivouac’s Fitful Flame + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + By the bivouac’s fitful flame, + A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow—but + first I note, + The tents of the sleeping army, the fields’ and woods’ dim outline, + The darkness lit by spots of kindled fire, the silence, + Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving, + The shrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily + watching me,) + While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wondrous thoughts, + Of life and death, of home and the past and loved, and of those that + are far away; + A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground, + By the bivouac’s fitful flame. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0155" id="link2H_4_0155"></a> + Come Up from the Fields Father + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Come up from the fields father, here’s a letter from our Pete, + And come to the front door mother, here’s a letter from thy dear son. + + Lo, ’tis autumn, + Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder, + Cool and sweeten Ohio’s villages with leaves fluttering in the + moderate wind, + Where apples ripe in the orchards hang and grapes on the trellis’d vines, + (Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines? + Smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately buzzing?) + + Above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain, and + with wondrous clouds, + Below too, all calm, all vital and beautiful, and the farm prospers well. + + Down in the fields all prospers well, + But now from the fields come father, come at the daughter’s call. + And come to the entry mother, to the front door come right away. + + Fast as she can she hurries, something ominous, her steps trembling, + She does not tarry to smooth her hair nor adjust her cap. + + Open the envelope quickly, + O this is not our son’s writing, yet his name is sign’d, + O a strange hand writes for our dear son, O stricken mother’s soul! + All swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she catches the main + words only, + Sentences broken, gunshot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish, + taken to hospital, + At present low, but will soon be better. + + Ah now the single figure to me, + Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio with all its cities and farms, + Sickly white in the face and dull in the head, very faint, + By the jamb of a door leans. + + Grieve not so, dear mother, (the just-grown daughter speaks through + her sobs, + The little sisters huddle around speechless and dismay’d,) + See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better. + + Alas poor boy, he will never be better, (nor may-be needs to be + better, that brave and simple soul,) + While they stand at home at the door he is dead already, + The only son is dead. + + But the mother needs to be better, + She with thin form presently drest in black, + By day her meals untouch’d, then at night fitfully sleeping, often waking, + In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longing, + O that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life escape and withdraw, + To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0156" id="link2H_4_0156"></a> + Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vigil strange I kept on the field one night; + When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day, + One look I but gave which your dear eyes return’d with a look I + shall never forget, + One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach’d up as you lay on the ground, + Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle, + Till late in the night reliev’d to the place at last again I made my way, + Found you in death so cold dear comrade, found your body son of + responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,) + Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool blew the + moderate night-wind, + Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the + battlefield spreading, + Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night, + But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh, long, long I gazed, + Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side leaning my + chin in my hands, + Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you dearest + comrade—not a tear, not a word, + Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son and my soldier, + As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole, + Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death, + I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall + surely meet again,) + Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appear’d, + My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop’d well his form, + Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and + carefully under feet, + And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his + grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited, + Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battle-field dim, + Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,) + Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as day + brighten’d, + I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his blanket, + And buried him where he fell. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0157" id="link2H_4_0157"></a> + A March in the Ranks Hard-Prest, and the Road Unknown + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A march in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown, + A route through a heavy wood with muffled steps in the darkness, + Our army foil’d with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating, + Till after midnight glimmer upon us the lights of a dim-lighted building, + We come to an open space in the woods, and halt by the dim-lighted building, + ’Tis a large old church at the crossing roads, now an impromptu hospital, + Entering but for a minute I see a sight beyond all the pictures and + poems ever made, + Shadows of deepest, deepest black, just lit by moving candles and lamps, + And by one great pitchy torch stationary with wild red flame and + clouds of smoke, + By these, crowds, groups of forms vaguely I see on the floor, some + in the pews laid down, + At my feet more distinctly a soldier, a mere lad, in danger of + bleeding to death, (he is shot in the abdomen,) + I stanch the blood temporarily, (the youngster’s face is white as a lily,) + Then before I depart I sweep my eyes o’er the scene fain to absorb it all, + Faces, varieties, postures beyond description, most in obscurity, + some of them dead, + Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell of ether, + odor of blood, + The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms, the yard outside also fill’d, + Some on the bare ground, some on planks or stretchers, some in the + death-spasm sweating, + An occasional scream or cry, the doctor’s shouted orders or calls, + The glisten of the little steel instruments catching the glint of + the torches, + These I resume as I chant, I see again the forms, I smell the odor, + Then hear outside the orders given, Fall in, my men, fall in; + But first I bend to the dying lad, his eyes open, a half-smile gives he me, + Then the eyes close, calmly close, and I speed forth to the darkness, + Resuming, marching, ever in darkness marching, on in the ranks, + The unknown road still marching. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0158" id="link2H_4_0158"></a> + A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim, + As from my tent I emerge so early sleepless, + As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the hospital tent, + Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there untended lying, + Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woolen blanket, + Gray and heavy blanket, folding, covering all. + + Curious I halt and silent stand, + Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest the first + just lift the blanket; + Who are you elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well-gray’d hair, + and flesh all sunken about the eyes? + Who are you my dear comrade? + Then to the second I step—and who are you my child and darling? + Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming? + Then to the third—a face nor child nor old, very calm, as of + beautiful yellow-white ivory; + Young man I think I know you—I think this face is the face of the + Christ himself, + Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0159" id="link2H_4_0159"></a> + As Toilsome I Wander’d Virginia’s Woods + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As toilsome I wander’d Virginia’s woods, + To the music of rustling leaves kick’d by my feet, (for ’twas autumn,) + I mark’d at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier; + Mortally wounded he and buried on the retreat, (easily all could + understand,) + The halt of a mid-day hour, when up! no time to lose—yet this sign left, + On a tablet scrawl’d and nail’d on the tree by the grave, + Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade. + + Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering, + Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life, + Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt, alone, or + in the crowded street, + Comes before me the unknown soldier’s grave, comes the inscription + rude in Virginia’s woods, + Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0160" id="link2H_4_0160"></a> + Not the Pilot + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not the pilot has charged himself to bring his ship into port, + though beaten back and many times baffled; + Not the pathfinder penetrating inland weary and long, + By deserts parch’d, snows chill’d, rivers wet, perseveres till he + reaches his destination, + More than I have charged myself, heeded or unheeded, to compose + march for these States, + For a battle-call, rousing to arms if need be, years, centuries hence. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0161" id="link2H_4_0161"></a> + Year That Trembled and Reel’d Beneath Me + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Year that trembled and reel’d beneath me! + Your summer wind was warm enough, yet the air I breathed froze me, + A thick gloom fell through the sunshine and darken’d me, + Must I change my triumphant songs? said I to myself, + Must I indeed learn to chant the cold dirges of the baffled? + And sullen hymns of defeat? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0162" id="link2H_4_0162"></a> + The Wound-Dresser + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + An old man bending I come among new faces, + Years looking backward resuming in answer to children, + Come tell us old man, as from young men and maidens that love me, + (Arous’d and angry, I’d thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war, + But soon my fingers fail’d me, my face droop’d and I resign’d myself, + To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead;) + Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances, + Of unsurpass’d heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was equally brave;) + Now be witness again, paint the mightiest armies of earth, + Of those armies so rapid so wondrous what saw you to tell us? + What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics, + Of hard-fought engagements or sieges tremendous what deepest remains? + + 2 + O maidens and young men I love and that love me, + What you ask of my days those the strangest and sudden your talking recalls, + Soldier alert I arrive after a long march cover’d with sweat and dust, + In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the + rush of successful charge, + Enter the captur’d works—yet lo, like a swift-running river they fade, + Pass and are gone they fade—I dwell not on soldiers’ perils or + soldiers’ joys, + (Both I remember well—many the hardships, few the joys, yet I was content.) + + But in silence, in dreams’ projections, + While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on, + So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand, + With hinged knees returning I enter the doors, (while for you up there, + Whoever you are, follow without noise and be of strong heart.) + + Bearing the bandages, water and sponge, + Straight and swift to my wounded I go, + Where they lie on the ground after the battle brought in, + Where their priceless blood reddens the grass the ground, + Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof’d hospital, + To the long rows of cots up and down each side I return, + To each and all one after another I draw near, not one do I miss, + An attendant follows holding a tray, he carries a refuse pail, + Soon to be fill’d with clotted rags and blood, emptied, and fill’d again. + + I onward go, I stop, + With hinged knees and steady hand to dress wounds, + I am firm with each, the pangs are sharp yet unavoidable, + One turns to me his appealing eyes—poor boy! I never knew you, + Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that + would save you. + + 3 + On, on I go, (open doors of time! open hospital doors!) + The crush’d head I dress, (poor crazed hand tear not the bandage away,) + The neck of the cavalry-man with the bullet through and through examine, + Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life + struggles hard, + (Come sweet death! be persuaded O beautiful death! + In mercy come quickly.) + + From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand, + I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood, + Back on his pillow the soldier bends with curv’d neck and side falling head, + His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the + bloody stump, + And has not yet look’d on it. + + I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep, + But a day or two more, for see the frame all wasted and sinking, + And the yellow-blue countenance see. + + I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet-wound, + Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, + so offensive, + While the attendant stands behind aside me holding the tray and pail. + + I am faithful, I do not give out, + The fractur’d thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen, + These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my breast + a fire, a burning flame.) + + 4 + Thus in silence in dreams’ projections, + Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals, + The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand, + I sit by the restless all the dark night, some are so young, + Some suffer so much, I recall the experience sweet and sad, + (Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested, + Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0163" id="link2H_4_0163"></a> + Long, Too Long America + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Long, too long America, + Traveling roads all even and peaceful you learn’d from joys and + prosperity only, + But now, ah now, to learn from crises of anguish, advancing, + grappling with direst fate and recoiling not, + And now to conceive and show to the world what your children + en-masse really are, + (For who except myself has yet conceiv’d what your children en-masse + really are?) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0164" id="link2H_4_0164"></a> + Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Give me the splendid silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling, + Give me autumnal fruit ripe and red from the orchard, + Give me a field where the unmow’d grass grows, + Give me an arbor, give me the trellis’d grape, + Give me fresh corn and wheat, give me serene-moving animals teaching + content, + Give me nights perfectly quiet as on high plateaus west of the + Mississippi, and I looking up at the stars, + Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can + walk undisturb’d, + Give me for marriage a sweet-breath’d woman of whom I should never tire, + Give me a perfect child, give me away aside from the noise of the + world a rural domestic life, + Give me to warble spontaneous songs recluse by myself, for my own ears only, + Give me solitude, give me Nature, give me again O Nature your primal + sanities! + + These demanding to have them, (tired with ceaseless excitement, and + rack’d by the war-strife,) + These to procure incessantly asking, rising in cries from my heart, + While yet incessantly asking still I adhere to my city, + Day upon day and year upon year O city, walking your streets, + Where you hold me enchain’d a certain time refusing to give me up, + Yet giving to make me glutted, enrich’d of soul, you give me forever faces; + (O I see what I sought to escape, confronting, reversing my cries, + see my own soul trampling down what it ask’d for.) + + 2 + Keep your splendid silent sun, + Keep your woods O Nature, and the quiet places by the woods, + Keep your fields of clover and timothy, and your corn-fields and orchards, + Keep the blossoming buckwheat fields where the Ninth-month bees hum; + Give me faces and streets—give me these phantoms incessant and + endless along the trottoirs! + Give me interminable eyes—give me women—give me comrades and + lovers by the thousand! + Let me see new ones every day—let me hold new ones by the hand every day! + Give me such shows—give me the streets of Manhattan! + Give me Broadway, with the soldiers marching—give me the sound of + the trumpets and drums! + (The soldiers in companies or regiments—some starting away, flush’d + and reckless, + Some, their time up, returning with thinn’d ranks, young, yet very + old, worn, marching, noticing nothing;) + Give me the shores and wharves heavy-fringed with black ships! + O such for me! O an intense life, full to repletion and varied! + The life of the theatre, bar-room, huge hotel, for me! + The saloon of the steamer! the crowded excursion for me! the + torchlight procession! + The dense brigade bound for the war, with high piled military wagons + following; + People, endless, streaming, with strong voices, passions, pageants, + Manhattan streets with their powerful throbs, with beating drums as now, + The endless and noisy chorus, the rustle and clank of muskets, (even + the sight of the wounded,) + Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus! + Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0165" id="link2H_4_0165"></a> + Dirge for Two Veterans + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The last sunbeam + Lightly falls from the finish’d Sabbath, + On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking, + Down a new-made double grave. + + Lo, the moon ascending, + Up from the east the silvery round moon, + Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon, + Immense and silent moon. + + I see a sad procession, + And I hear the sound of coming full-key’d bugles, + All the channels of the city streets they’re flooding, + As with voices and with tears. + + I hear the great drums pounding, + And the small drums steady whirring, + And every blow of the great convulsive drums, + Strikes me through and through. + + For the son is brought with the father, + (In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell, + Two veterans son and father dropt together, + And the double grave awaits them.) + + Now nearer blow the bugles, + And the drums strike more convulsive, + And the daylight o’er the pavement quite has faded, + And the strong dead-march enwraps me. + + In the eastern sky up-buoying, + The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin’d, + (’Tis some mother’s large transparent face, + In heaven brighter growing.) + + O strong dead-march you please me! + O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me! + O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial! + What I have I also give you. + + The moon gives you light, + And the bugles and the drums give you music, + And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, + My heart gives you love. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0166" id="link2H_4_0166"></a> + Over the Carnage Rose Prophetic a Voice + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Over the carnage rose prophetic a voice, + Be not dishearten’d, affection shall solve the problems of freedom yet, + Those who love each other shall become invincible, + They shall yet make Columbia victorious. + + Sons of the Mother of All, you shall yet be victorious, + You shall yet laugh to scorn the attacks of all the remainder of the earth. + + No danger shall balk Columbia’s lovers, + If need be a thousand shall sternly immolate themselves for one. + + One from Massachusetts shall be a Missourian’s comrade, + From Maine and from hot Carolina, and another an Oregonese, shall + be friends triune, + More precious to each other than all the riches of the earth. + + To Michigan, Florida perfumes shall tenderly come, + Not the perfumes of flowers, but sweeter, and wafted beyond death. + + It shall be customary in the houses and streets to see manly affection, + The most dauntless and rude shall touch face to face lightly, + The dependence of Liberty shall be lovers, + The continuance of Equality shall be comrades. + + These shall tie you and band you stronger than hoops of iron, + I, ecstatic, O partners! O lands! with the love of lovers tie you. + + (Were you looking to be held together by lawyers? + Or by an agreement on a paper? or by arms? + Nay, nor the world, nor any living thing, will so cohere.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0167" id="link2H_4_0167"></a> + I Saw Old General at Bay + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I saw old General at bay, + (Old as he was, his gray eyes yet shone out in battle like stars,) + His small force was now completely hemm’d in, in his works, + He call’d for volunteers to run the enemy’s lines, a desperate emergency, + I saw a hundred and more step forth from the ranks, but two or three + were selected, + I saw them receive their orders aside, they listen’d with care, the + adjutant was very grave, + I saw them depart with cheerfulness, freely risking their lives. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0168" id="link2H_4_0168"></a> + The Artilleryman’s Vision + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + While my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long, + And my head on the pillow rests at home, and the vacant midnight passes, + And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear, the + breath of my infant, + There in the room as I wake from sleep this vision presses upon me; + The engagement opens there and then in fantasy unreal, + The skirmishers begin, they crawl cautiously ahead, I hear the + irregular snap! snap! + I hear the sounds of the different missiles, the short t-h-t! t-h-t! + of the rifle-balls, + I see the shells exploding leaving small white clouds, I hear the + great shells shrieking as they pass, + The grape like the hum and whirr of wind through the trees, + (tumultuous now the contest rages,) + All the scenes at the batteries rise in detail before me again, + The crashing and smoking, the pride of the men in their pieces, + The chief-gunner ranges and sights his piece and selects a fuse of + the right time, + After firing I see him lean aside and look eagerly off to note the effect; + Elsewhere I hear the cry of a regiment charging, (the young colonel + leads himself this time with brandish’d sword,) + I see the gaps cut by the enemy’s volleys, (quickly fill’d up, no delay,) + I breathe the suffocating smoke, then the flat clouds hover low + concealing all; + Now a strange lull for a few seconds, not a shot fired on either side, + Then resumed the chaos louder than ever, with eager calls and + orders of officers, + While from some distant part of the field the wind wafts to my ears + a shout of applause, (some special success,) + And ever the sound of the cannon far or near, (rousing even in + dreams a devilish exultation and all the old mad joy in the + depths of my soul,) + And ever the hastening of infantry shifting positions, batteries, + cavalry, moving hither and thither, + (The falling, dying, I heed not, the wounded dripping and red + heed not, some to the rear are hobbling,) + Grime, heat, rush, aide-de-camps galloping by or on a full run, + With the patter of small arms, the warning s-s-t of the rifles, + (these in my vision I hear or see,) + And bombs bursting in air, and at night the vari-color’d rockets. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0169" id="link2H_4_0169"></a> + Ethiopia Saluting the Colors + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Who are you dusky woman, so ancient hardly human, + With your woolly-white and turban’d head, and bare bony feet? + Why rising by the roadside here, do you the colors greet? + + (’Tis while our army lines Carolina’s sands and pines, + Forth from thy hovel door thou Ethiopia com’st to me, + As under doughty Sherman I march toward the sea.) + + Me master years a hundred since from my parents sunder’d, + A little child, they caught me as the savage beast is caught, + Then hither me across the sea the cruel slaver brought. + + No further does she say, but lingering all the day, + Her high-borne turban’d head she wags, and rolls her darkling eye, + And courtesies to the regiments, the guidons moving by. + + What is it fateful woman, so blear, hardly human? + Why wag your head with turban bound, yellow, red and green? + Are the things so strange and marvelous you see or have seen? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0170" id="link2H_4_0170"></a> + Not Youth Pertains to Me + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not youth pertains to me, + Nor delicatesse, I cannot beguile the time with talk, + Awkward in the parlor, neither a dancer nor elegant, + In the learn’d coterie sitting constrain’d and still, for learning + inures not to me, + Beauty, knowledge, inure not to me—yet there are two or three things + inure to me, + I have nourish’d the wounded and sooth’d many a dying soldier, + And at intervals waiting or in the midst of camp, + Composed these songs. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0171" id="link2H_4_0171"></a> + Race of Veterans + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Race of veterans—race of victors! + Race of the soil, ready for conflict—race of the conquering march! + (No more credulity’s race, abiding-temper’d race,) + Race henceforth owning no law but the law of itself, + Race of passion and the storm. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0172" id="link2H_4_0172"></a> + World Take Good Notice + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + World take good notice, silver stars fading, + Milky hue ript, wet of white detaching, + Coals thirty-eight, baleful and burning, + Scarlet, significant, hands off warning, + Now and henceforth flaunt from these shores. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0173" id="link2H_4_0173"></a> + O Tan-Faced Prairie-Boy + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O tan-faced prairie-boy, + Before you came to camp came many a welcome gift, + Praises and presents came and nourishing food, till at last among + the recruits, + You came, taciturn, with nothing to give—we but look’d on each other, + When lo! more than all the gifts of the world you gave me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0174" id="link2H_4_0174"></a> + Look Down Fair Moon + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Look down fair moon and bathe this scene, + Pour softly down night’s nimbus floods on faces ghastly, swollen, purple, + On the dead on their backs with arms toss’d wide, + Pour down your unstinted nimbus sacred moon. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0175" id="link2H_4_0175"></a> + Reconciliation + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Word over all, beautiful as the sky, + Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time be + utterly lost, + That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly + wash again, and ever again, this solid world; + For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead, + I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin—I draw near, + Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0176" id="link2H_4_0176"></a> + How Solemn As One by One [Washington City, 1865] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How solemn as one by one, + As the ranks returning worn and sweaty, as the men file by where stand, + As the faces the masks appear, as I glance at the faces studying the masks, + (As I glance upward out of this page studying you, dear friend, + whoever you are,) + How solemn the thought of my whispering soul to each in the ranks, + and to you, + I see behind each mask that wonder a kindred soul, + O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend, + Nor the bayonet stab what you really are; + The soul! yourself I see, great as any, good as the best, + Waiting secure and content, which the bullet could never kill, + Nor the bayonet stab O friend. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0177" id="link2H_4_0177"></a> + As I Lay with My Head in Your Lap Camerado + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I lay with my head in your lap camerado, + The confession I made I resume, what I said to you and the open air + I resume, + I know I am restless and make others so, + I know my words are weapons full of danger, full of death, + For I confront peace, security, and all the settled laws, to + unsettle them, + I am more resolute because all have denied me than I could ever have + been had all accepted me, + I heed not and have never heeded either experience, cautions, + majorities, nor ridicule, + And the threat of what is call’d hell is little or nothing to me, + And the lure of what is call’d heaven is little or nothing to me; + Dear camerado! I confess I have urged you onward with me, and still + urge you, without the least idea what is our destination, + Or whether we shall be victorious, or utterly quell’d and defeated. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0178" id="link2H_4_0178"></a> + Delicate Cluster + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Delicate cluster! flag of teeming life! + Covering all my lands—all my seashores lining! + Flag of death! (how I watch’d you through the smoke of battle pressing! + How I heard you flap and rustle, cloth defiant!) + Flag cerulean—sunny flag, with the orbs of night dappled! + Ah my silvery beauty—ah my woolly white and crimson! + Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty! + My sacred one, my mother. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0179" id="link2H_4_0179"></a> + To a Certain Civilian + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Did you ask dulcet rhymes from me? + Did you seek the civilian’s peaceful and languishing rhymes? + Did you find what I sang erewhile so hard to follow? + Why I was not singing erewhile for you to follow, to understand—nor + am I now; + (I have been born of the same as the war was born, + The drum-corps’ rattle is ever to me sweet music, I love well the + martial dirge, + With slow wail and convulsive throb leading the officer’s funeral;) + What to such as you anyhow such a poet as I? therefore leave my works, + And go lull yourself with what you can understand, and with piano-tunes, + For I lull nobody, and you will never understand me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0180" id="link2H_4_0180"></a> + Lo, Victress on the Peaks + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Lo, Victress on the peaks, + Where thou with mighty brow regarding the world, + (The world O Libertad, that vainly conspired against thee,) + Out of its countless beleaguering toils, after thwarting them all, + Dominant, with the dazzling sun around thee, + Flauntest now unharm’d in immortal soundness and bloom—lo, in + these hours supreme, + No poem proud, I chanting bring to thee, nor mastery’s rapturous verse, + But a cluster containing night’s darkness and blood-dripping wounds, + And psalms of the dead. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0181" id="link2H_4_0181"></a> + Spirit Whose Work Is Done [Washington City, 1865] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Spirit whose work is done—spirit of dreadful hours! + Ere departing fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets; + Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet onward ever unfaltering + pressing,) + Spirit of many a solemn day and many a savage scene—electric spirit, + That with muttering voice through the war now closed, like a + tireless phantom flitted, + Rousing the land with breath of flame, while you beat and beat the drum, + Now as the sound of the drum, hollow and harsh to the last, + reverberates round me, + As your ranks, your immortal ranks, return, return from the battles, + As the muskets of the young men yet lean over their shoulders, + As I look on the bayonets bristling over their shoulders, + As those slanted bayonets, whole forests of them appearing in the + distance, approach and pass on, returning homeward, + Moving with steady motion, swaying to and fro to the right and left, + Evenly lightly rising and falling while the steps keep time; + Spirit of hours I knew, all hectic red one day, but pale as death next day, + Touch my mouth ere you depart, press my lips close, + Leave me your pulses of rage—bequeath them to me—fill me with + currents convulsive, + Let them scorch and blister out of my chants when you are gone, + Let them identify you to the future in these songs. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0182" id="link2H_4_0182"></a> + Adieu to a Soldier + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Adieu O soldier, + You of the rude campaigning, (which we shared,) + The rapid march, the life of the camp, + The hot contention of opposing fronts, the long manœuvre, + Red battles with their slaughter, the stimulus, the strong terrific game, + Spell of all brave and manly hearts, the trains of time through you + and like of you all fill’d, + With war and war’s expression. + + Adieu dear comrade, + Your mission is fulfill’d—but I, more warlike, + Myself and this contentious soul of mine, + Still on our own campaigning bound, + Through untried roads with ambushes opponents lined, + Through many a sharp defeat and many a crisis, often baffled, + Here marching, ever marching on, a war fight out—aye here, + To fiercer, weightier battles give expression. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0183" id="link2H_4_0183"></a> + Turn O Libertad + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Turn O Libertad, for the war is over, + From it and all henceforth expanding, doubting no more, resolute, + sweeping the world, + Turn from lands retrospective recording proofs of the past, + From the singers that sing the trailing glories of the past, + From the chants of the feudal world, the triumphs of kings, slavery, caste, + Turn to the world, the triumphs reserv’d and to come—give up that + backward world, + Leave to the singers of hitherto, give them the trailing past, + But what remains remains for singers for you—wars to come are for you, + (Lo, how the wars of the past have duly inured to you, and the wars + of the present also inure;) + Then turn, and be not alarm’d O Libertad—turn your undying face, + To where the future, greater than all the past, + Is swiftly, surely preparing for you. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0184" id="link2H_4_0184"></a> + To the Leaven’d Soil They Trod + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To the leaven’d soil they trod calling I sing for the last, + (Forth from my tent emerging for good, loosing, untying the tent-ropes,) + In the freshness the forenoon air, in the far-stretching circuits + and vistas again to peace restored, + To the fiery fields emanative and the endless vistas beyond, to the + South and the North, + To the leaven’d soil of the general Western world to attest my songs, + To the Alleghanian hills and the tireless Mississippi, + To the rocks I calling sing, and all the trees in the woods, + To the plains of the poems of heroes, to the prairies spreading wide, + To the far-off sea and the unseen winds, and the sane impalpable air; + And responding they answer all, (but not in words,) + The average earth, the witness of war and peace, acknowledges mutely, + The prairie draws me close, as the father to bosom broad the son, + The Northern ice and rain that began me nourish me to the end, + But the hot sun of the South is to fully ripen my songs. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0185" id="link2H_4_0185"></a> + BOOK XXII. MEMORIES OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN + </h2> + <p> + When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d, + And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night, + I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. + + Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, + Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, + And thought of him I love. + + 2 + O powerful western fallen star! + O shades of night—O moody, tearful night! + O great star disappear’d—O the black murk that hides the star! + O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me! + O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 3 + In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash’d palings, + Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, + With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love, + With every leaf a miracle—and from this bush in the dooryard, + With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, + A sprig with its flower I break. + + 4 + In the swamp in secluded recesses, + A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. + + Solitary the thrush, + The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, + Sings by himself a song. + + Song of the bleeding throat, + Death’s outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know, + If thou wast not granted to sing thou wouldst surely die.) + + 5 + Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities, + Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep’d + from the ground, spotting the gray debris, + Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the + endless grass, + Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the + dark-brown fields uprisen, + Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards, + Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave, + Night and day journeys a coffin. + + 6 + Coffin that passes through lanes and streets, + Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land, + With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in black, + With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil’d women standing, + With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night, + With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the + unbared heads, + With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces, + With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong + and solemn, + With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour’d around the coffin, + The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—where amid these + you journey, + With the tolling tolling bells’ perpetual clang, + Here, coffin that slowly passes, + I give you my sprig of lilac. + + 7 + (Nor for you, for one alone, + Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring, + For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane + and sacred death. + + All over bouquets of roses, + O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies, + But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first, + Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes, + With loaded arms I come, pouring for you, + For you and the coffins all of you O death.) + + 8 + O western orb sailing the heaven, + Now I know what you must have meant as a month since I walk’d, + As I walk’d in silence the transparent shadowy night, + As I saw you had something to tell as you bent to me night after night, + As you droop’d from the sky low down as if to my side, (while the + other stars all look’d on,) + As we wander’d together the solemn night, (for something I know not + what kept me from sleep,) + As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west how full you + were of woe, + As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze in the cool transparent night, + As I watch’d where you pass’d and was lost in the netherward black + of the night, + As my soul in its trouble dissatisfied sank, as where you sad orb, + Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone. + + 9 + Sing on there in the swamp, + O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call, + I hear, I come presently, I understand you, + But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain’d me, + The star my departing comrade holds and detains me. + + 10 + O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved? + And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone? + And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love? + + Sea-winds blown from east and west, + Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till + there on the prairies meeting, + These and with these and the breath of my chant, + I’ll perfume the grave of him I love. + + 11 + O what shall I hang on the chamber walls? + And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls, + To adorn the burial-house of him I love? + Pictures of growing spring and farms and homes, + With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright, + With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking + sun, burning, expanding the air, + With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves + of the trees prolific, + In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a + wind-dapple here and there, + With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, + and shadows, + And the city at hand with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys, + And all the scenes of life and the workshops, and the workmen + homeward returning. + + 12 + Lo, body and soul—this land, + My own Manhattan with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, + and the ships, + The varied and ample land, the South and the North in the light, + Ohio’s shores and flashing Missouri, + And ever the far-spreading prairies cover’d with grass and corn. + + Lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty, + The violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes, + The gentle soft-born measureless light, + The miracle spreading bathing all, the fulfill’d noon, + The coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars, + Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land. + + 13 + Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird, + Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes, + Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines. + + Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song, + Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe. + + O liquid and free and tender! + O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer! + You only I hear—yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,) + Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me. + + 14 + Now while I sat in the day and look’d forth, + In the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and + the farmers preparing their crops, + In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests, + In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds and the storms,) + Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the + voices of children and women, + The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail’d, + And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy + with labor, + And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with + its meals and minutia of daily usages, + And the streets how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent— + lo, then and there, + Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest, + Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail, + And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death. + + Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me, + And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me, + And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of + companions, + I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not, + Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness, + To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still. + + And the singer so shy to the rest receiv’d me, + The gray-brown bird I know receiv’d us comrades three, + And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I love. + + From deep secluded recesses, + From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still, + Came the carol of the bird. + + And the charm of the carol rapt me, + As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night, + And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird. + + Come lovely and soothing death, + Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, + In the day, in the night, to all, to each, + Sooner or later delicate death. + + Prais’d be the fathomless universe, + For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, + And for love, sweet love—but praise! praise! praise! + For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. + + Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, + Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? + Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, + I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly. + + Approach strong deliveress, + When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead, + Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee, + Laved in the flood of thy bliss O death. + + From me to thee glad serenades, + Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee, + And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread shy are fitting, + And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. + + The night in silence under many a star, + The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know, + And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil’d death, + And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. + + Over the tree-tops I float thee a song, + Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the + prairies wide, + Over the dense-pack’d cities all and the teeming wharves and ways, + I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee O death. + + 15 + To the tally of my soul, + Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, + With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night. + + Loud in the pines and cedars dim, + Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume, + And I with my comrades there in the night. + + While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, + As to long panoramas of visions. + + And I saw askant the armies, + I saw as in noiseless dreams hundreds of battle-flags, + Borne through the smoke of the battles and pierc’d with missiles I saw them, + And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody, + And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,) + And the staffs all splinter’d and broken. + + I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them, + And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them, + I saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of the war, + But I saw they were not as was thought, + They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer’d not, + The living remain’d and suffer’d, the mother suffer’d, + And the wife and the child and the musing comrade suffer’d, + And the armies that remain’d suffer’d. + + 16 + Passing the visions, passing the night, + Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades’ hands, + Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my soul, + Victorious song, death’s outlet song, yet varying ever-altering song, + As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, + flooding the night, + Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again + bursting with joy, + Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven, + As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses, + Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves, + I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring. + + I cease from my song for thee, + From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee, + O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night. + + Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night, + The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird, + And the tallying chant, the echo arous’d in my soul, + With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe, + With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird, + Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, for + the dead I loved so well, + For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands—and this for + his dear sake, + Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul, + There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0186" id="link2H_4_0186"></a> + O Captain! My Captain! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, + The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won, + The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, + While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; + But O heart! heart! heart! + O the bleeding drops of red, + Where on the deck my Captain lies, + Fallen cold and dead. + + O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; + Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills, + For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding, + For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; + Here Captain! dear father! + This arm beneath your head! + It is some dream that on the deck, + You’ve fallen cold and dead. + + My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, + My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, + The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, + From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; + Exult O shores, and ring O bells! + But I with mournful tread, + Walk the deck my Captain lies, + Fallen cold and dead. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0187" id="link2H_4_0187"></a> + Hush’d Be the Camps To-Day [May 4, 1865 + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hush’d be the camps to-day, + And soldiers let us drape our war-worn weapons, + And each with musing soul retire to celebrate, + Our dear commander’s death. + + No more for him life’s stormy conflicts, + Nor victory, nor defeat—no more time’s dark events, + Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky. + But sing poet in our name, + + Sing of the love we bore him—because you, dweller in camps, know it truly. + + As they invault the coffin there, + Sing—as they close the doors of earth upon him—one verse, + For the heavy hearts of soldiers. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0188" id="link2H_4_0188"></a> + This Dust Was Once the Man + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This dust was once the man, + Gentle, plain, just and resolute, under whose cautious hand, + Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age, + Was saved the Union of these States. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0189" id="link2H_4_0189"></a> + BOOK XXIII + </h2> + <p> + By Blue Ontario’s Shore + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + By blue Ontario’s shore, + As I mused of these warlike days and of peace return’d, and the + dead that return no more, + A Phantom gigantic superb, with stern visage accosted me, + Chant me the poem, it said, that comes from the soul of America, + chant me the carol of victory, + And strike up the marches of Libertad, marches more powerful yet, + And sing me before you go the song of the throes of Democracy. + + (Democracy, the destin’d conqueror, yet treacherous lip-smiles everywhere, + And death and infidelity at every step.) + + 2 + A Nation announcing itself, + I myself make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, + I reject none, accept all, then reproduce all in my own forms. + + A breed whose proof is in time and deeds, + What we are we are, nativity is answer enough to objections, + We wield ourselves as a weapon is wielded, + We are powerful and tremendous in ourselves, + We are executive in ourselves, we are sufficient in the variety of + ourselves, + We are the most beautiful to ourselves and in ourselves, + We stand self-pois’d in the middle, branching thence over the world, + From Missouri, Nebraska, or Kansas, laughing attacks to scorn. + + Nothing is sinful to us outside of ourselves, + Whatever appears, whatever does not appear, we are beautiful or + sinful in ourselves only. + + (O Mother—O Sisters dear! + If we are lost, no victor else has destroy’d us, + It is by ourselves we go down to eternal night.) + + 3 + Have you thought there could be but a single supreme? + There can be any number of supremes—one does not countervail + another any more than one eyesight countervails another, or + one life countervails another. + + All is eligible to all, + All is for individuals, all is for you, + No condition is prohibited, not God’s or any. + + All comes by the body, only health puts you rapport with the universe. + + Produce great Persons, the rest follows. + + 4 + Piety and conformity to them that like, + Peace, obesity, allegiance, to them that like, + I am he who tauntingly compels men, women, nations, + Crying, Leap from your seats and contend for your lives! + + I am he who walks the States with a barb’d tongue, questioning every + one I meet, + Who are you that wanted only to be told what you knew before? + Who are you that wanted only a book to join you in your nonsense? + + (With pangs and cries as thine own O bearer of many children, + These clamors wild to a race of pride I give.) + + O lands, would you be freer than all that has ever been before? + If you would be freer than all that has been before, come listen to me. + + Fear grace, elegance, civilization, delicatesse, + Fear the mellow sweet, the sucking of honey—juice, + Beware the advancing mortal ripening of Nature, + Beware what precedes the decay of the ruggedness of states and men. + + 5 + Ages, precedents, have long been accumulating undirected materials, + America brings builders, and brings its own styles. + + The immortal poets of Asia and Europe have done their work and + pass’d to other spheres, + A work remains, the work of surpassing all they have done. + + America, curious toward foreign characters, stands by its own at all + hazards, + Stands removed, spacious, composite, sound, initiates the true use + of precedents, + Does not repel them or the past or what they have produced under + their forms, + Takes the lesson with calmness, perceives the corpse slowly borne + from the house, + Perceives that it waits a little while in the door, that it was + fittest for its days, + That its life has descended to the stalwart and well-shaped heir who + approaches, + And that he shall be fittest for his days. + + Any period one nation must lead, + One land must be the promise and reliance of the future. + + These States are the amplest poem, + Here is not merely a nation but a teeming Nation of nations, + Here the doings of men correspond with the broadcast doings of the + day and night, + Here is what moves in magnificent masses careless of particulars, + Here are the roughs, beards, friendliness, combativeness, the soul loves, + Here the flowing trains, here the crowds, equality, diversity, the + soul loves. + + 6 + Land of lands and bards to corroborate! + Of them standing among them, one lifts to the light a west-bred face, + To him the hereditary countenance bequeath’d both mother’s and father’s, + His first parts substances, earth, water, animals, trees, + Built of the common stock, having room for far and near, + Used to dispense with other lands, incarnating this land, + Attracting it body and soul to himself, hanging on its neck with + incomparable love, + Plunging his seminal muscle into its merits and demerits, + Making its cities, beginnings, events, diversities, wars, vocal in him, + Making its rivers, lakes, bays, embouchure in him, + Mississippi with yearly freshets and changing chutes, Columbia, + Niagara, Hudson, spending themselves lovingly in him, + If the Atlantic coast stretch or the Pacific coast stretch, he + stretching with them North or South, + Spanning between them East and West, and touching whatever is between them, + Growths growing from him to offset the growths of pine, cedar, hemlock, + live-oak, locust, chestnut, hickory, cottonwood, orange, magnolia, + Tangles as tangled in him as any canebrake or swamp, + He likening sides and peaks of mountains, forests coated with + northern transparent ice, + Off him pasturage sweet and natural as savanna, upland, prairie, + Through him flights, whirls, screams, answering those of the + fish-hawk, mocking-bird, night-heron, and eagle, + His spirit surrounding his country’s spirit, unclosed to good and evil, + Surrounding the essences of real things, old times and present times, + Surrounding just found shores, islands, tribes of red aborigines, + Weather-beaten vessels, landings, settlements, embryo stature and muscle, + The haughty defiance of the Year One, war, peace, the formation of + the Constitution, + The separate States, the simple elastic scheme, the immigrants, + The Union always swarming with blatherers and always sure and impregnable, + The unsurvey’d interior, log-houses, clearings, wild animals, + hunters, trappers, + Surrounding the multiform agriculture, mines, temperature, the + gestation of new States, + Congress convening every Twelfth-month, the members duly coming + up from the uttermost parts, + Surrounding the noble character of mechanics and farmers, especially + the young men, + Responding their manners, speech, dress, friendships, the gait they + have of persons who never knew how it felt to stand in the + presence of superiors, + The freshness and candor of their physiognomy, the copiousness and + decision of their phrenology, + The picturesque looseness of their carriage, their fierceness when wrong’d, + The fluency of their speech, their delight in music, their curiosity, + good temper and open-handedness, the whole composite make, + The prevailing ardor and enterprise, the large amativeness, + The perfect equality of the female with the male, the fluid movement + of the population, + The superior marine, free commerce, fisheries, whaling, gold-digging, + Wharf-hemm’d cities, railroad and steamboat lines intersecting all points, + Factories, mercantile life, labor-saving machinery, the Northeast, + Northwest, Southwest, + Manhattan firemen, the Yankee swap, southern plantation life, + Slavery—the murderous, treacherous conspiracy to raise it upon the + ruins of all the rest, + On and on to the grapple with it—Assassin! then your life or ours + be the stake, and respite no more. + + 7 + (Lo, high toward heaven, this day, + Libertad, from the conqueress’ field return’d, + I mark the new aureola around your head, + No more of soft astral, but dazzling and fierce, + With war’s flames and the lambent lightnings playing, + And your port immovable where you stand, + With still the inextinguishable glance and the clinch’d and lifted fist, + And your foot on the neck of the menacing one, the scorner utterly + crush’d beneath you, + The menacing arrogant one that strode and advanced with his + senseless scorn, bearing the murderous knife, + The wide-swelling one, the braggart that would yesterday do so much, + To-day a carrion dead and damn’d, the despised of all the earth, + An offal rank, to the dunghill maggots spurn’d.) + + 8 + Others take finish, but the Republic is ever constructive and ever + keeps vista, + Others adorn the past, but you O days of the present, I adorn you, + O days of the future I believe in you—I isolate myself for your sake, + O America because you build for mankind I build for you, + O well-beloved stone-cutters, I lead them who plan with decision + and science, + Lead the present with friendly hand toward the future. + (Bravas to all impulses sending sane children to the next age! + But damn that which spends itself with no thought of the stain, + pains, dismay, feebleness, it is bequeathing.) + + 9 + I listened to the Phantom by Ontario’s shore, + I heard the voice arising demanding bards, + By them all native and grand, by them alone can these States be + fused into the compact organism of a Nation. + + To hold men together by paper and seal or by compulsion is no account, + That only holds men together which aggregates all in a living principle, + as the hold of the limbs of the body or the fibres of plants. + + Of all races and eras these States with veins full of poetical stuff most + need poets, and are to have the greatest, and use them the greatest, + Their Presidents shall not be their common referee so much as their + poets shall. + + (Soul of love and tongue of fire! + Eye to pierce the deepest deeps and sweep the world! + Ah Mother, prolific and full in all besides, yet how long barren, barren?) + + 10 + Of these States the poet is the equable man, + Not in him but off from him things are grotesque, eccentric, fail of + their full returns, + Nothing out of its place is good, nothing in its place is bad, + He bestows on every object or quality its fit proportion, neither + more nor less, + He is the arbiter of the diverse, he is the key, + He is the equalizer of his age and land, + He supplies what wants supplying, he checks what wants checking, + In peace out of him speaks the spirit of peace, large, rich, + thrifty, building populous towns, encouraging agriculture, arts, + commerce, lighting the study of man, the soul, health, + immortality, government, + In war he is the best backer of the war, he fetches artillery as + good as the engineer’s, he can make every word he speaks draw blood, + The years straying toward infidelity he withholds by his steady faith, + He is no arguer, he is judgment, (Nature accepts him absolutely,) + He judges not as the judge judges but as the sun failing round + helpless thing, + As he sees the farthest he has the most faith, + His thoughts are the hymns of the praise of things, + In the dispute on God and eternity he is silent, + He sees eternity less like a play with a prologue and denouement, + He sees eternity in men and women, he does not see men and women + as dreams or dots. + + For the great Idea, the idea of perfect and free individuals, + For that, the bard walks in advance, leader of leaders, + The attitude of him cheers up slaves and horrifies foreign despots. + + Without extinction is Liberty, without retrograde is Equality, + They live in the feelings of young men and the best women, + (Not for nothing have the indomitable heads of the earth been always + ready to fall for Liberty.) + + 11 + For the great Idea, + That, O my brethren, that is the mission of poets. + + Songs of stern defiance ever ready, + Songs of the rapid arming and the march, + The flag of peace quick-folded, and instead the flag we know, + Warlike flag of the great Idea. + + (Angry cloth I saw there leaping! + I stand again in leaden rain your flapping folds saluting, + I sing you over all, flying beckoning through the fight—O the + hard-contested fight! + The cannons ope their rosy-flashing muzzles—the hurtled balls scream, + The battle-front forms amid the smoke—the volleys pour incessant + from the line, + Hark, the ringing word Charge!—now the tussle and the furious + maddening yells, + Now the corpses tumble curl’d upon the ground, + Cold, cold in death, for precious life of you, + Angry cloth I saw there leaping.) + + 12 + Are you he who would assume a place to teach or be a poet here in + the States? + The place is august, the terms obdurate. + + Who would assume to teach here may well prepare himself body and mind, + He may well survey, ponder, arm, fortify, harden, make lithe himself, + He shall surely be question’d beforehand by me with many and stern questions. + + Who are you indeed who would talk or sing to America? + Have you studied out the land, its idioms and men? + Have you learn’d the physiology, phrenology, politics, geography, + pride, freedom, friendship of the land? its substratums and objects? + Have you consider’d the organic compact of the first day of the + first year of Independence, sign’d by the Commissioners, ratified + by the States, and read by Washington at the head of the army? + Have you possess’d yourself of the Federal Constitution? + Do you see who have left all feudal processes and poems behind them, + and assumed the poems and processes of Democracy? + Are you faithful to things? do you teach what the land and sea, the + bodies of men, womanhood, amativeness, heroic angers, teach? + Have you sped through fleeting customs, popularities? + Can you hold your hand against all seductions, follies, whirls, + fierce contentions? are you very strong? are you really of the + whole People? + Are you not of some coterie? some school or mere religion? + Are you done with reviews and criticisms of life? animating now to + life itself? + Have you vivified yourself from the maternity of these States? + Have you too the old ever-fresh forbearance and impartiality? + Do you hold the like love for those hardening to maturity? for the + last-born? little and big? and for the errant? + + What is this you bring my America? + Is it uniform with my country? + Is it not something that has been better told or done before? + Have you not imported this or the spirit of it in some ship? + Is it not a mere tale? a rhyme? a prettiness?—Is the good old cause in it? + Has it not dangled long at the heels of the poets, politicians, + literats, of enemies’ lands? + Does it not assume that what is notoriously gone is still here? + Does it answer universal needs? will it improve manners? + Does it sound with trumpet-voice the proud victory of the Union in + that secession war? + Can your performance face the open fields and the seaside? + Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, to appear again in my + strength, gait, face? + Have real employments contributed to it? original makers, not mere + amanuenses? + Does it meet modern discoveries, calibres, facts, face to face? + What does it mean to American persons, progresses, cities? Chicago, + Kanada, Arkansas? + Does it see behind the apparent custodians the real custodians + standing, menacing, silent, the mechanics, Manhattanese, Western + men, Southerners, significant alike in their apathy, and in the + promptness of their love? + Does it see what finally befalls, and has always finally befallen, + each temporizer, patcher, outsider, partialist, alarmist, + infidel, who has ever ask’d any thing of America? + What mocking and scornful negligence? + The track strew’d with the dust of skeletons, + By the roadside others disdainfully toss’d. + + 13 + Rhymes and rhymers pass away, poems distill’d from poems pass away, + The swarms of reflectors and the polite pass, and leave ashes, + Admirers, importers, obedient persons, make but the soil of literature, + America justifies itself, give it time, no disguise can deceive it + or conceal from it, it is impassive enough, + Only toward the likes of itself will it advance to meet them, + If its poets appear it will in due time advance to meet them, there + is no fear of mistake, + (The proof of a poet shall be sternly deferr’d till his country + absorbs him as affectionately as he has absorb’d it.) + + He masters whose spirit masters, he tastes sweetest who results + sweetest in the long run, + The blood of the brawn beloved of time is unconstraint; + In the need of songs, philosophy, an appropriate native grand-opera, + shipcraft, any craft, + He or she is greatest who contributes the greatest original + practical example. + + Already a nonchalant breed, silently emerging, appears on the streets, + People’s lips salute only doers, lovers, satisfiers, positive knowers, + There will shortly be no more priests, I say their work is done, + Death is without emergencies here, but life is perpetual emergencies here, + Are your body, days, manners, superb? after death you shall be superb, + Justice, health, self-esteem, clear the way with irresistible power; + How dare you place any thing before a man? + + 14 + Fall behind me States! + A man before all—myself, typical, before all. + + Give me the pay I have served for, + Give me to sing the songs of the great Idea, take all the rest, + I have loved the earth, sun, animals, I have despised riches, + I have given aims to every one that ask’d, stood up for the stupid + and crazy, devoted my income and labor to others, + Hated tyrants, argued not concerning God, had patience and indulgence + toward the people, taken off my hat to nothing known or unknown, + Gone freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young, + and with the mothers of families, + Read these leaves to myself in the open air, tried them by trees, + stars, rivers, + Dismiss’d whatever insulted my own soul or defiled my body, + Claim’d nothing to myself which I have not carefully claim’d for + others on the same terms, + Sped to the camps, and comrades found and accepted from every State, + (Upon this breast has many a dying soldier lean’d to breathe his last, + This arm, this hand, this voice, have nourish’d, rais’d, restored, + To life recalling many a prostrate form;) + I am willing to wait to be understood by the growth of the taste of myself, + Rejecting none, permitting all. + + (Say O Mother, have I not to your thought been faithful? + Have I not through life kept you and yours before me?) + + 15 + I swear I begin to see the meaning of these things, + It is not the earth, it is not America who is so great, + It is I who am great or to be great, it is You up there, or any one, + It is to walk rapidly through civilizations, governments, theories, + Through poems, pageants, shows, to form individuals. + + Underneath all, individuals, + I swear nothing is good to me now that ignores individuals, + The American compact is altogether with individuals, + The only government is that which makes minute of individuals, + The whole theory of the universe is directed unerringly to one + single individual—namely to You. + + (Mother! with subtle sense severe, with the naked sword in your hand, + I saw you at last refuse to treat but directly with individuals.) + + 16 + Underneath all, Nativity, + I swear I will stand by my own nativity, pious or impious so be it; + I swear I am charm’d with nothing except nativity, + Men, women, cities, nations, are only beautiful from nativity. + + Underneath all is the Expression of love for men and women, + (I swear I have seen enough of mean and impotent modes of expressing + love for men and women, + After this day I take my own modes of expressing love for men and + women.) in myself, + + I swear I will have each quality of my race in myself, + (Talk as you like, he only suits these States whose manners favor + the audacity and sublime turbulence of the States.) + + Underneath the lessons of things, spirits, Nature, governments, + ownerships, I swear I perceive other lessons, + Underneath all to me is myself, to you yourself, (the same + monotonous old song.) + + 17 + O I see flashing that this America is only you and me, + Its power, weapons, testimony, are you and me, + Its crimes, lies, thefts, defections, are you and me, + Its Congress is you and me, the officers, capitols, armies, ships, + are you and me, + Its endless gestations of new States are you and me, + The war, (that war so bloody and grim, the war I will henceforth + forget), was you and me, + Natural and artificial are you and me, + Freedom, language, poems, employments, are you and me, + Past, present, future, are you and me. + + I dare not shirk any part of myself, + Not any part of America good or bad, + Not to build for that which builds for mankind, + Not to balance ranks, complexions, creeds, and the sexes, + Not to justify science nor the march of equality, + Nor to feed the arrogant blood of the brawn belov’d of time. + + I am for those that have never been master’d, + For men and women whose tempers have never been master’d, + For those whom laws, theories, conventions, can never master. + + I am for those who walk abreast with the whole earth, + Who inaugurate one to inaugurate all. + + I will not be outfaced by irrational things, + I will penetrate what it is in them that is sarcastic upon me, + I will make cities and civilizations defer to me, + This is what I have learnt from America—it is the amount, and it I + teach again. + + (Democracy, while weapons were everywhere aim’d at your breast, + I saw you serenely give birth to immortal children, saw in dreams + your dilating form, + Saw you with spreading mantle covering the world.) + + 18 + I will confront these shows of the day and night, + I will know if I am to be less than they, + I will see if I am not as majestic as they, + I will see if I am not as subtle and real as they, + I will see if I am to be less generous than they, + I will see if I have no meaning, while the houses and ships have meaning, + I will see if the fishes and birds are to be enough for themselves, + and I am not to be enough for myself. + + I match my spirit against yours you orbs, growths, mountains, brutes, + Copious as you are I absorb you all in myself, and become the master myself, + America isolated yet embodying all, what is it finally except myself? + These States, what are they except myself? + + I know now why the earth is gross, tantalizing, wicked, it is for my sake, + I take you specially to be mine, you terrible, rude forms. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (Mother, bend down, bend close to me your face, + I know not what these plots and wars and deferments are for, + I know not fruition’s success, but I know that through war and crime + your work goes on, and must yet go on.) + + 19 + Thus by blue Ontario’s shore, + While the winds fann’d me and the waves came trooping toward me, + I thrill’d with the power’s pulsations, and the charm of my theme + was upon me, + Till the tissues that held me parted their ties upon me. + + And I saw the free souls of poets, + The loftiest bards of past ages strode before me, + Strange large men, long unwaked, undisclosed, were disclosed to me. + + 20 + O my rapt verse, my call, mock me not! + Not for the bards of the past, not to invoke them have I launch’d + you forth, + Not to call even those lofty bards here by Ontario’s shores, + Have I sung so capricious and loud my savage song. + + Bards for my own land only I invoke, + (For the war the war is over, the field is clear’d,) + Till they strike up marches henceforth triumphant and onward, + To cheer O Mother your boundless expectant soul. + + Bards of the great Idea! bards of the peaceful inventions! (for the + war, the war is over!) + Yet bards of latent armies, a million soldiers waiting ever-ready, + Bards with songs as from burning coals or the lightning’s fork’d stripes! + Ample Ohio’s, Kanada’s bards—bards of California! inland bards— + bards of the war! + You by my charm I invoke. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0190" id="link2H_4_0190"></a> + Reversals + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Let that which stood in front go behind, + Let that which was behind advance to the front, + Let bigots, fools, unclean persons, offer new propositions, + Let the old propositions be postponed, + Let a man seek pleasure everywhere except in himself, + Let a woman seek happiness everywhere except in herself +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0191" id="link2H_4_0191"></a> + BOOK XXIV. AUTUMN RIVULETS + </h2> + <p> + As Consequent, Etc. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As consequent from store of summer rains, + Or wayward rivulets in autumn flowing, + Or many a herb-lined brook’s reticulations, + Or subterranean sea-rills making for the sea, + Songs of continued years I sing. + + Life’s ever-modern rapids first, (soon, soon to blend, + With the old streams of death.) + + Some threading Ohio’s farm-fields or the woods, + Some down Colorado’s canons from sources of perpetual snow, + Some half-hid in Oregon, or away southward in Texas, + Some in the north finding their way to Erie, Niagara, Ottawa, + Some to Atlantica’s bays, and so to the great salt brine. + + In you whoe’er you are my book perusing, + In I myself, in all the world, these currents flowing, + All, all toward the mystic ocean tending. + + Currents for starting a continent new, + Overtures sent to the solid out of the liquid, + Fusion of ocean and land, tender and pensive waves, + (Not safe and peaceful only, waves rous’d and ominous too, + Out of the depths the storm’s abysmic waves, who knows whence? + Raging over the vast, with many a broken spar and tatter’d sail.) + + Or from the sea of Time, collecting vasting all, I bring, + A windrow-drift of weeds and shells. + + O little shells, so curious-convolute, so limpid-cold and voiceless, + Will you not little shells to the tympans of temples held, + Murmurs and echoes still call up, eternity’s music faint and far, + Wafted inland, sent from Atlantica’s rim, strains for the soul of + the prairies, + Whisper’d reverberations, chords for the ear of the West joyously sounding, + Your tidings old, yet ever new and untranslatable, + Infinitesimals out of my life, and many a life, + (For not my life and years alone I give—all, all I give,) + These waifs from the deep, cast high and dry, + Wash’d on America’s shores? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0192" id="link2H_4_0192"></a> + The Return of the Heroes + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + For the lands and for these passionate days and for myself, + Now I awhile retire to thee O soil of autumn fields, + Reclining on thy breast, giving myself to thee, + Answering the pulses of thy sane and equable heart, + Turning a verse for thee. + + O earth that hast no voice, confide to me a voice, + O harvest of my lands—O boundless summer growths, + O lavish brown parturient earth—O infinite teeming womb, + A song to narrate thee. + + 2 + Ever upon this stage, + Is acted God’s calm annual drama, + Gorgeous processions, songs of birds, + Sunrise that fullest feeds and freshens most the soul, + The heaving sea, the waves upon the shore, the musical, strong waves, + The woods, the stalwart trees, the slender, tapering trees, + The liliput countless armies of the grass, + The heat, the showers, the measureless pasturages, + The scenery of the snows, the winds’ free orchestra, + The stretching light-hung roof of clouds, the clear cerulean and the + silvery fringes, + The high-dilating stars, the placid beckoning stars, + The moving flocks and herds, the plains and emerald meadows, + The shows of all the varied lands and all the growths and products. + + 3 + Fecund America—today, + Thou art all over set in births and joys! + Thou groan’st with riches, thy wealth clothes thee as a swathing-garment, + Thou laughest loud with ache of great possessions, + A myriad-twining life like interlacing vines binds all thy vast demesne, + As some huge ship freighted to water’s edge thou ridest into port, + As rain falls from the heaven and vapors rise from earth, so have + the precious values fallen upon thee and risen out of thee; + Thou envy of the globe! thou miracle! + Thou, bathed, choked, swimming in plenty, + Thou lucky Mistress of the tranquil barns, + Thou Prairie Dame that sittest in the middle and lookest out upon + thy world, and lookest East and lookest West, + Dispensatress, that by a word givest a thousand miles, a million + farms, and missest nothing, + Thou all-acceptress—thou hospitable, (thou only art hospitable as + God is hospitable.) + + 4 + When late I sang sad was my voice, + Sad were the shows around me with deafening noises of hatred and + smoke of war; + In the midst of the conflict, the heroes, I stood, + Or pass’d with slow step through the wounded and dying. + + But now I sing not war, + Nor the measur’d march of soldiers, nor the tents of camps, + Nor the regiments hastily coming up deploying in line of battle; + No more the sad, unnatural shows of war. + + Ask’d room those flush’d immortal ranks, the first forth-stepping armies? + Ask room alas the ghastly ranks, the armies dread that follow’d. + + (Pass, pass, ye proud brigades, with your tramping sinewy legs, + With your shoulders young and strong, with your knapsacks and your muskets; + How elate I stood and watch’d you, where starting off you march’d. + + Pass—then rattle drums again, + For an army heaves in sight, O another gathering army, + Swarming, trailing on the rear, O you dread accruing army, + O you regiments so piteous, with your mortal diarrhoea, with your fever, + O my land’s maim’d darlings, with the plenteous bloody bandage and + the crutch, + Lo, your pallid army follows.) + + 5 + But on these days of brightness, + On the far-stretching beauteous landscape, the roads and lanes the + high-piled farm-wagons, and the fruits and barns, + Should the dead intrude? + + Ah the dead to me mar not, they fit well in Nature, + They fit very well in the landscape under the trees and grass, + And along the edge of the sky in the horizon’s far margin. + + Nor do I forget you Departed, + Nor in winter or summer my lost ones, + But most in the open air as now when my soul is rapt and at peace, + like pleasing phantoms, + Your memories rising glide silently by me. + + 6 + I saw the day the return of the heroes, + (Yet the heroes never surpass’d shall never return, + Them that day I saw not.) + + I saw the interminable corps, I saw the processions of armies, + I saw them approaching, defiling by with divisions, + Streaming northward, their work done, camping awhile in clusters of + mighty camps. + + No holiday soldiers—youthful, yet veterans, + Worn, swart, handsome, strong, of the stock of homestead and workshop, + Harden’d of many a long campaign and sweaty march, + Inured on many a hard-fought bloody field. + + A pause—the armies wait, + A million flush’d embattled conquerors wait, + The world too waits, then soft as breaking night and sure as dawn, + They melt, they disappear. + + Exult O lands! victorious lands! + Not there your victory on those red shuddering fields, + But here and hence your victory. + + Melt, melt away ye armies—disperse ye blue-clad soldiers, + Resolve ye back again, give up for good your deadly arms, + Other the arms the fields henceforth for you, or South or North, + With saner wars, sweet wars, life-giving wars. + + 7 + Loud O my throat, and clear O soul! + The season of thanks and the voice of full-yielding, + The chant of joy and power for boundless fertility. + + All till’d and untill’d fields expand before me, + I see the true arenas of my race, or first or last, + Man’s innocent and strong arenas. + + I see the heroes at other toils, + I see well-wielded in their hands the better weapons. + + I see where the Mother of All, + With full-spanning eye gazes forth, dwells long, + And counts the varied gathering of the products. + + Busy the far, the sunlit panorama, + Prairie, orchard, and yellow grain of the North, + Cotton and rice of the South and Louisianian cane, + Open unseeded fallows, rich fields of clover and timothy, + Kine and horses feeding, and droves of sheep and swine, + And many a stately river flowing and many a jocund brook, + And healthy uplands with herby-perfumed breezes, + And the good green grass, that delicate miracle the ever-recurring grass. + + 8 + Toil on heroes! harvest the products! + Not alone on those warlike fields the Mother of All, + With dilated form and lambent eyes watch’d you. + + Toil on heroes! toil well! handle the weapons well! + The Mother of All, yet here as ever she watches you. + + Well-pleased America thou beholdest, + Over the fields of the West those crawling monsters, + The human-divine inventions, the labor-saving implements; + Beholdest moving in every direction imbued as with life the + revolving hay-rakes, + The steam-power reaping-machines and the horse-power machines + The engines, thrashers of grain and cleaners of grain, well + separating the straw, the nimble work of the patent pitchfork, + Beholdest the newer saw-mill, the southern cotton-gin, and the + rice-cleanser. + + Beneath thy look O Maternal, + With these and else and with their own strong hands the heroes harvest. + + All gather and all harvest, + Yet but for thee O Powerful, not a scythe might swing as now in security, + Not a maize-stalk dangle as now its silken tassels in peace. + + Under thee only they harvest, even but a wisp of hay under thy great + face only, + Harvest the wheat of Ohio, Illinois, Wisconsin, every barbed spear + under thee, + Harvest the maize of Missouri, Kentucky, Tennessee, each ear in its + light-green sheath, + Gather the hay to its myriad mows in the odorous tranquil barns, + Oats to their bins, the white potato, the buckwheat of Michigan, to theirs; + Gather the cotton in Mississippi or Alabama, dig and hoard the + golden the sweet potato of Georgia and the Carolinas, + Clip the wool of California or Pennsylvania, + Cut the flax in the Middle States, or hemp or tobacco in the Borders, + Pick the pea and the bean, or pull apples from the trees or bunches + of grapes from the vines, + Or aught that ripens in all these States or North or South, + Under the beaming sun and under thee. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0193" id="link2H_4_0193"></a> + There Was a Child Went Forth + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There was a child went forth every day, + And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became, + And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, + Or for many years or stretching cycles of years. + + The early lilacs became part of this child, + And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white and red + clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird, + And the Third-month lambs and the sow’s pink-faint litter, and the + mare’s foal and the cow’s calf, + And the noisy brood of the barnyard or by the mire of the pond-side, + And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there, and the + beautiful curious liquid, + And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads, all became part of him. + + The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of him, + Winter-grain sprouts and those of the light-yellow corn, and the + esculent roots of the garden, + And the apple-trees cover’d with blossoms and the fruit afterward, + and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road, + And the old drunkard staggering home from the outhouse of the + tavern whence he had lately risen, + And the schoolmistress that pass’d on her way to the school, + And the friendly boys that pass’d, and the quarrelsome boys, + And the tidy and fresh-cheek’d girls, and the barefoot negro boy and girl, + And all the changes of city and country wherever he went. + + His own parents, he that had father’d him and she that had conceiv’d + him in her womb and birth’d him, + They gave this child more of themselves than that, + They gave him afterward every day, they became part of him. + + The mother at home quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table, + The mother with mild words, clean her cap and gown, a wholesome + odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks by, + The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger’d, unjust, + The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure, + The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture, the + yearning and swelling heart, + Affection that will not be gainsay’d, the sense of what is real, the + thought if after all it should prove unreal, + The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time, the curious + whether and how, + Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks? + Men and women crowding fast in the streets, if they are not flashes + and specks what are they? + The streets themselves and the facades of houses, and goods in the windows, + Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank’d wharves, the huge crossing at + the ferries, + The village on the highland seen from afar at sunset, the river between, + Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of + white or brown two miles off, + The schooner near by sleepily dropping down the tide, the little + boat slack-tow’d astern, + The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping, + The strata of color’d clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint away + solitary by itself, the spread of purity it lies motionless in, + The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh + and shore mud, + These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who + now goes, and will always go forth every day. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0194" id="link2H_4_0194"></a> + Old Ireland + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Far hence amid an isle of wondrous beauty, + Crouching over a grave an ancient sorrowful mother, + Once a queen, now lean and tatter’d seated on the ground, + Her old white hair drooping dishevel’d round her shoulders, + At her feet fallen an unused royal harp, + Long silent, she too long silent, mourning her shrouded hope and heir, + Of all the earth her heart most full of sorrow because most full of love. + + Yet a word ancient mother, + You need crouch there no longer on the cold ground with forehead + between your knees, + O you need not sit there veil’d in your old white hair so dishevel’d, + For know you the one you mourn is not in that grave, + It was an illusion, the son you love was not really dead, + The Lord is not dead, he is risen again young and strong in another country, + Even while you wept there by your fallen harp by the grave, + What you wept for was translated, pass’d from the grave, + The winds favor’d and the sea sail’d it, + And now with rosy and new blood, + Moves to-day in a new country. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0195" id="link2H_4_0195"></a> + The City Dead-House + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + By the city dead-house by the gate, + As idly sauntering wending my way from the clangor, + I curious pause, for lo, an outcast form, a poor dead prostitute brought, + Her corpse they deposit unclaim’d, it lies on the damp brick pavement, + The divine woman, her body, I see the body, I look on it alone, + That house once full of passion and beauty, all else I notice not, + Nor stillness so cold, nor running water from faucet, nor odors + morbific impress me, + But the house alone—that wondrous house—that delicate fair house + —that ruin! + That immortal house more than all the rows of dwellings ever built! + Or white-domed capitol with majestic figure surmounted, or all the + old high-spired cathedrals, + That little house alone more than them all—poor, desperate house! + Fair, fearful wreck—tenement of a soul—itself a soul, + Unclaim’d, avoided house—take one breath from my tremulous lips, + Take one tear dropt aside as I go for thought of you, + Dead house of love—house of madness and sin, crumbled, crush’d, + House of life, erewhile talking and laughing—but ah, poor house, + dead even then, + Months, years, an echoing, garnish’d house—but dead, dead, dead. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0196" id="link2H_4_0196"></a> + This Compost + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Something startles me where I thought I was safest, + I withdraw from the still woods I loved, + I will not go now on the pastures to walk, + I will not strip the clothes from my body to meet my lover the sea, + I will not touch my flesh to the earth as to other flesh to renew me. + + O how can it be that the ground itself does not sicken? + How can you be alive you growths of spring? + How can you furnish health you blood of herbs, roots, orchards, grain? + Are they not continually putting distemper’d corpses within you? + Is not every continent work’d over and over with sour dead? + + Where have you disposed of their carcasses? + Those drunkards and gluttons of so many generations? + Where have you drawn off all the foul liquid and meat? + I do not see any of it upon you to-day, or perhaps I am deceiv’d, + I will run a furrow with my plough, I will press my spade through + the sod and turn it up underneath, + I am sure I shall expose some of the foul meat. + + 2 + Behold this compost! behold it well! + Perhaps every mite has once form’d part of a sick person—yet behold! + The grass of spring covers the prairies, + The bean bursts noiselessly through the mould in the garden, + The delicate spear of the onion pierces upward, + The apple-buds cluster together on the apple-branches, + The resurrection of the wheat appears with pale visage out of its graves, + The tinge awakes over the willow-tree and the mulberry-tree, + The he-birds carol mornings and evenings while the she-birds sit on + their nests, + The young of poultry break through the hatch’d eggs, + The new-born of animals appear, the calf is dropt from the cow, the + colt from the mare, + Out of its little hill faithfully rise the potato’s dark green leaves, + Out of its hill rises the yellow maize-stalk, the lilacs bloom in + the dooryards, + The summer growth is innocent and disdainful above all those strata + of sour dead. + + What chemistry! + That the winds are really not infectious, + That this is no cheat, this transparent green-wash of the sea which + is so amorous after me, + That it is safe to allow it to lick my naked body all over with its tongues, + That it will not endanger me with the fevers that have deposited + themselves in it, + That all is clean forever and forever, + That the cool drink from the well tastes so good, + That blackberries are so flavorous and juicy, + That the fruits of the apple-orchard and the orange-orchard, that + melons, grapes, peaches, plums, will none of them poison me, + That when I recline on the grass I do not catch any disease, + Though probably every spear of grass rises out of what was once + catching disease. + + Now I am terrified at the Earth, it is that calm and patient, + It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions, + It turns harmless and stainless on its axis, with such endless + successions of diseas’d corpses, + It distills such exquisite winds out of such infused fetor, + It renews with such unwitting looks its prodigal, annual, sumptuous crops, + It gives such divine materials to men, and accepts such leavings + from them at last. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0197" id="link2H_4_0197"></a> + To a Foil’d European Revolutionaire + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Courage yet, my brother or my sister! + Keep on—Liberty is to be subserv’d whatever occurs; + That is nothing that is quell’d by one or two failures, or any + number of failures, + Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people, or by any + unfaithfulness, + Or the show of the tushes of power, soldiers, cannon, penal statutes. + + What we believe in waits latent forever through all the continents, + Invites no one, promises nothing, sits in calmness and light, is + positive and composed, knows no discouragement, + Waiting patiently, waiting its time. + + (Not songs of loyalty alone are these, + But songs of insurrection also, + For I am the sworn poet of every dauntless rebel the world over, + And he going with me leaves peace and routine behind him, + And stakes his life to be lost at any moment.) + + The battle rages with many a loud alarm and frequent advance and retreat, + The infidel triumphs, or supposes he triumphs, + The prison, scaffold, garrote, handcuffs, iron necklace and + leadballs do their work, + The named and unnamed heroes pass to other spheres, + The great speakers and writers are exiled, they lie sick in distant lands, + The cause is asleep, the strongest throats are choked with their own blood, + The young men droop their eyelashes toward the ground when they meet; + But for all this Liberty has not gone out of the place, nor the + infidel enter’d into full possession. + + When liberty goes out of a place it is not the first to go, nor the + second or third to go, + It waits for all the rest to go, it is the last. + + When there are no more memories of heroes and martyrs, + And when all life and all the souls of men and women are discharged + from any part of the earth, + Then only shall liberty or the idea of liberty be discharged from + that part of the earth, + And the infidel come into full possession. + + Then courage European revolter, revoltress! + For till all ceases neither must you cease. + + I do not know what you are for, (I do not know what I am for myself, + nor what any thing is for,) + But I will search carefully for it even in being foil’d, + In defeat, poverty, misconception, imprisonment—for they too are great. + + Did we think victory great? + So it is—but now it seems to me, when it cannot be help’d, that + defeat is great, + And that death and dismay are great. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0198" id="link2H_4_0198"></a> + Unnamed Land + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Nations ten thousand years before these States, and many times ten + thousand years before these States, + Garner’d clusters of ages that men and women like us grew up and + travel’d their course and pass’d on, + What vast-built cities, what orderly republics, what pastoral tribes + and nomads, + What histories, rulers, heroes, perhaps transcending all others, + What laws, customs, wealth, arts, traditions, + What sort of marriage, what costumes, what physiology and phrenology, + What of liberty and slavery among them, what they thought of death + and the soul, + Who were witty and wise, who beautiful and poetic, who brutish and + undevelop’d, + Not a mark, not a record remains—and yet all remains. + + O I know that those men and women were not for nothing, any more + than we are for nothing, + I know that they belong to the scheme of the world every bit as much + as we now belong to it. + + Afar they stand, yet near to me they stand, + Some with oval countenances learn’d and calm, + Some naked and savage, some like huge collections of insects, + Some in tents, herdsmen, patriarchs, tribes, horsemen, + Some prowling through woods, some living peaceably on farms, + laboring, reaping, filling barns, + Some traversing paved avenues, amid temples, palaces, factories, + libraries, shows, courts, theatres, wonderful monuments. + Are those billions of men really gone? + Are those women of the old experience of the earth gone? + Do their lives, cities, arts, rest only with us? + Did they achieve nothing for good for themselves? + + I believe of all those men and women that fill’d the unnamed lands, + every one exists this hour here or elsewhere, invisible to us. + In exact proportion to what he or she grew from in life, and out of + what he or she did, felt, became, loved, sinn’d, in life. + + I believe that was not the end of those nations or any person of + them, any more than this shall be the end of my nation, or of me; + Of their languages, governments, marriage, literature, products, + games, wars, manners, crimes, prisons, slaves, heroes, poets, + I suspect their results curiously await in the yet unseen world, + counterparts of what accrued to them in the seen world, + I suspect I shall meet them there, + I suspect I shall there find each old particular of those unnamed lands. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0199" id="link2H_4_0199"></a> + Song of Prudence + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Manhattan’s streets I saunter’d pondering, + On Time, Space, Reality—on such as these, and abreast with them Prudence. + + The last explanation always remains to be made about prudence, + Little and large alike drop quietly aside from the prudence that + suits immortality. + + The soul is of itself, + All verges to it, all has reference to what ensues, + All that a person does, says, thinks, is of consequence, + Not a move can a man or woman make, that affects him or her in a day, + month, any part of the direct lifetime, or the hour of death, + But the same affects him or her onward afterward through the + indirect lifetime. + + The indirect is just as much as the direct, + The spirit receives from the body just as much as it gives to the + body, if not more. + + Not one word or deed, not venereal sore, discoloration, privacy of + the onanist, + Putridity of gluttons or rum-drinkers, peculation, cunning, + betrayal, murder, seduction, prostitution, + But has results beyond death as really as before death. + + Charity and personal force are the only investments worth any thing. + + No specification is necessary, all that a male or female does, that + is vigorous, benevolent, clean, is so much profit to him or her, + In the unshakable order of the universe and through the whole scope + of it forever. + + Who has been wise receives interest, + Savage, felon, President, judge, farmer, sailor, mechanic, literat, + young, old, it is the same, + The interest will come round—all will come round. + + Singly, wholly, to affect now, affected their time, will forever affect, + all of the past and all of the present and all of the future, + All the brave actions of war and peace, + All help given to relatives, strangers, the poor, old, sorrowful, + young children, widows, the sick, and to shunn’d persons, + All self-denial that stood steady and aloof on wrecks, and saw + others fill the seats of the boats, + All offering of substance or life for the good old cause, or for a + friend’s sake, or opinion’s sake, + All pains of enthusiasts scoff’d at by their neighbors, + All the limitless sweet love and precious suffering of mothers, + All honest men baffled in strifes recorded or unrecorded, + All the grandeur and good of ancient nations whose fragments we inherit, + All the good of the dozens of ancient nations unknown to us by name, + date, location, + All that was ever manfully begun, whether it succeeded or no, + All suggestions of the divine mind of man or the divinity of his + mouth, or the shaping of his great hands, + All that is well thought or said this day on any part of the globe, + or on any of the wandering stars, or on any of the fix’d stars, + by those there as we are here, + All that is henceforth to be thought or done by you whoever you are, + or by any one, + These inure, have inured, shall inure, to the identities from which + they sprang, or shall spring. + + Did you guess any thing lived only its moment? + The world does not so exist, no parts palpable or impalpable so exist, + No consummation exists without being from some long previous + consummation, and that from some other, + Without the farthest conceivable one coming a bit nearer the + beginning than any. + + Whatever satisfies souls is true; + Prudence entirely satisfies the craving and glut of souls, + Itself only finally satisfies the soul, + The soul has that measureless pride which revolts from every lesson + but its own. + + Now I breathe the word of the prudence that walks abreast with time, + space, reality, + That answers the pride which refuses every lesson but its own. + + What is prudence is indivisible, + Declines to separate one part of life from every part, + Divides not the righteous from the unrighteous or the living from the dead, + Matches every thought or act by its correlative, + Knows no possible forgiveness or deputed atonement, + Knows that the young man who composedly peril’d his life and lost it + has done exceedingly well for himself without doubt, + That he who never peril’d his life, but retains it to old age in + riches and ease, has probably achiev’d nothing for himself worth + mentioning, + Knows that only that person has really learn’d who has learn’d to + prefer results, + Who favors body and soul the same, + Who perceives the indirect assuredly following the direct, + Who in his spirit in any emergency whatever neither hurries nor + avoids death. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0200" id="link2H_4_0200"></a> + The Singer in the Prison + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O sight of pity, shame and dole! + O fearful thought—a convict soul. + + 1 + Rang the refrain along the hall, the prison, + Rose to the roof, the vaults of heaven above, + Pouring in floods of melody in tones so pensive sweet and strong the + like whereof was never heard, + Reaching the far-off sentry and the armed guards, who ceas’d their pacing, + Making the hearer’s pulses stop for ecstasy and awe. + + 2 + The sun was low in the west one winter day, + When down a narrow aisle amid the thieves and outlaws of the land, + (There by the hundreds seated, sear-faced murderers, wily counterfeiters, + Gather’d to Sunday church in prison walls, the keepers round, + Plenteous, well-armed, watching with vigilant eyes,) + Calmly a lady walk’d holding a little innocent child by either hand, + Whom seating on their stools beside her on the platform, + She, first preluding with the instrument a low and musical prelude, + In voice surpassing all, sang forth a quaint old hymn. + + A soul confined by bars and bands, + Cries, help! O help! and wrings her hands, + Blinded her eyes, bleeding her breast, + Nor pardon finds, nor balm of rest. + + Ceaseless she paces to and fro, + O heart-sick days! O nights of woe! + Nor hand of friend, nor loving face, + Nor favor comes, nor word of grace. + + It was not I that sinn’d the sin, + The ruthless body dragg’d me in; + Though long I strove courageously, + The body was too much for me. + + Dear prison’d soul bear up a space, + For soon or late the certain grace; + To set thee free and bear thee home, + The heavenly pardoner death shall come. + + Convict no more, nor shame, nor dole! + Depart—a God-enfranchis’d soul! + + 3 + The singer ceas’d, + One glance swept from her clear calm eyes o’er all those upturn’d faces, + Strange sea of prison faces, a thousand varied, crafty, brutal, + seam’d and beauteous faces, + Then rising, passing back along the narrow aisle between them, + While her gown touch’d them rustling in the silence, + She vanish’d with her children in the dusk. + + While upon all, convicts and armed keepers ere they stirr’d, + (Convict forgetting prison, keeper his loaded pistol,) + A hush and pause fell down a wondrous minute, + With deep half-stifled sobs and sound of bad men bow’d and moved to weeping, + And youth’s convulsive breathings, memories of home, + The mother’s voice in lullaby, the sister’s care, the happy childhood, + The long-pent spirit rous’d to reminiscence; + A wondrous minute then—but after in the solitary night, to many, + many there, + Years after, even in the hour of death, the sad refrain, the tune, + the voice, the words, + Resumed, the large calm lady walks the narrow aisle, + The wailing melody again, the singer in the prison sings, + + O sight of pity, shame and dole! + O fearful thought—a convict soul. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0201" id="link2H_4_0201"></a> + Warble for Lilac-Time + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Warble me now for joy of lilac-time, (returning in reminiscence,) + Sort me O tongue and lips for Nature’s sake, souvenirs of earliest summer, + Gather the welcome signs, (as children with pebbles or stringing shells,) + Put in April and May, the hylas croaking in the ponds, the elastic air, + Bees, butterflies, the sparrow with its simple notes, + Blue-bird and darting swallow, nor forget the high-hole flashing his + golden wings, + The tranquil sunny haze, the clinging smoke, the vapor, + Shimmer of waters with fish in them, the cerulean above, + All that is jocund and sparkling, the brooks running, + The maple woods, the crisp February days and the sugar-making, + The robin where he hops, bright-eyed, brown-breasted, + With musical clear call at sunrise, and again at sunset, + Or flitting among the trees of the apple-orchard, building the nest + of his mate, + The melted snow of March, the willow sending forth its yellow-green sprouts, + For spring-time is here! the summer is here! and what is this in it + and from it? + Thou, soul, unloosen’d—the restlessness after I know not what; + Come, let us lag here no longer, let us be up and away! + O if one could but fly like a bird! + O to escape, to sail forth as in a ship! + To glide with thee O soul, o’er all, in all, as a ship o’er the waters; + Gathering these hints, the preludes, the blue sky, the grass, the + morning drops of dew, + The lilac-scent, the bushes with dark green heart-shaped leaves, + Wood-violets, the little delicate pale blossoms called innocence, + Samples and sorts not for themselves alone, but for their atmosphere, + To grace the bush I love—to sing with the birds, + A warble for joy of returning in reminiscence. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0202" id="link2H_4_0202"></a> + Outlines for a Tomb [G. P., Buried 1870] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + What may we chant, O thou within this tomb? + What tablets, outlines, hang for thee, O millionnaire? + The life thou lived’st we know not, + But that thou walk’dst thy years in barter, ’mid the haunts of + brokers, + Nor heroism thine, nor war, nor glory. + + 2 + Silent, my soul, + With drooping lids, as waiting, ponder’d, + Turning from all the samples, monuments of heroes. + + While through the interior vistas, + Noiseless uprose, phantasmic, (as by night Auroras of the north,) + Lambent tableaus, prophetic, bodiless scenes, + Spiritual projections. + + In one, among the city streets a laborer’s home appear’d, + After his day’s work done, cleanly, sweet-air’d, the gaslight burning, + The carpet swept and a fire in the cheerful stove. + + In one, the sacred parturition scene, + A happy painless mother birth’d a perfect child. + + In one, at a bounteous morning meal, + Sat peaceful parents with contented sons. + + In one, by twos and threes, young people, + Hundreds concentring, walk’d the paths and streets and roads, + Toward a tall-domed school. + + In one a trio beautiful, + Grandmother, loving daughter, loving daughter’s daughter, sat, + Chatting and sewing. + + In one, along a suite of noble rooms, + ’Mid plenteous books and journals, paintings on the walls, fine statuettes, + Were groups of friendly journeymen, mechanics young and old, + Reading, conversing. + + All, all the shows of laboring life, + City and country, women’s, men’s and children’s, + Their wants provided for, hued in the sun and tinged for once with joy, + Marriage, the street, the factory, farm, the house-room, lodging-room, + Labor and toll, the bath, gymnasium, playground, library, college, + The student, boy or girl, led forward to be taught, + The sick cared for, the shoeless shod, the orphan father’d and mother’d, + The hungry fed, the houseless housed; + (The intentions perfect and divine, + The workings, details, haply human.) + + 3 + O thou within this tomb, + From thee such scenes, thou stintless, lavish giver, + Tallying the gifts of earth, large as the earth, + Thy name an earth, with mountains, fields and tides. + + Nor by your streams alone, you rivers, + By you, your banks Connecticut, + By you and all your teeming life old Thames, + By you Potomac laving the ground Washington trod, by you Patapsco, + You Hudson, you endless Mississippi—nor you alone, + But to the high seas launch, my thought, his memory. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0203" id="link2H_4_0203"></a> + Out from Behind This Mask [To Confront a Portrait] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Out from behind this bending rough-cut mask, + These lights and shades, this drama of the whole, + This common curtain of the face contain’d in me for me, in you for + you, in each for each, + (Tragedies, sorrows, laughter, tears—0 heaven! + The passionate teeming plays this curtain hid!) + This glaze of God’s serenest purest sky, + This film of Satan’s seething pit, + This heart’s geography’s map, this limitless small continent, this + soundless sea; + Out from the convolutions of this globe, + This subtler astronomic orb than sun or moon, than Jupiter, Venus, Mars, + This condensation of the universe, (nay here the only universe, + Here the idea, all in this mystic handful wrapt;) + These burin’d eyes, flashing to you to pass to future time, + To launch and spin through space revolving sideling, from these to emanate, + To you whoe’er you are—a look. + + 2 + A traveler of thoughts and years, of peace and war, + Of youth long sped and middle age declining, + (As the first volume of a tale perused and laid away, and this the second, + Songs, ventures, speculations, presently to close,) + Lingering a moment here and now, to you I opposite turn, + As on the road or at some crevice door by chance, or open’d window, + Pausing, inclining, baring my head, you specially I greet, + To draw and clinch your soul for once inseparably with mine, + Then travel travel on. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0204" id="link2H_4_0204"></a> + Vocalism + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Vocalism, measure, concentration, determination, and the divine + power to speak words; + Are you full-lung’d and limber-lipp’d from long trial? from vigorous + practice? from physique? + Do you move in these broad lands as broad as they? + Come duly to the divine power to speak words? + For only at last after many years, after chastity, friendship, + procreation, prudence, and nakedness, + After treading ground and breasting river and lake, + After a loosen’d throat, after absorbing eras, temperaments, races, + after knowledge, freedom, crimes, + After complete faith, after clarifyings, elevations, and removing + obstructions, + After these and more, it is just possible there comes to a man, + woman, the divine power to speak words; + Then toward that man or that woman swiftly hasten all—none + refuse, all attend, + Armies, ships, antiquities, libraries, paintings, machines, cities, + hate, despair, amity, pain, theft, murder, aspiration, form in + close ranks, + They debouch as they are wanted to march obediently through the + mouth of that man or that woman. + + 2 + O what is it in me that makes me tremble so at voices? + Surely whoever speaks to me in the right voice, him or her I shall follow, + As the water follows the moon, silently, with fluid steps, anywhere + around the globe. + + All waits for the right voices; + Where is the practis’d and perfect organ? where is the develop’d soul? + For I see every word utter’d thence has deeper, sweeter, new sounds, + impossible on less terms. + + I see brains and lips closed, tympans and temples unstruck, + Until that comes which has the quality to strike and to unclose, + Until that comes which has the quality to bring forth what lies + slumbering forever ready in all words. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0205" id="link2H_4_0205"></a> + To Him That Was Crucified + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My spirit to yours dear brother, + Do not mind because many sounding your name do not understand you, + I do not sound your name, but I understand you, + I specify you with joy O my comrade to salute you, and to salute + those who are with you, before and since, and those to come also, + That we all labor together transmitting the same charge and succession, + We few equals indifferent of lands, indifferent of times, + We, enclosers of all continents, all castes, allowers of all theologies, + Compassionaters, perceivers, rapport of men, + We walk silent among disputes and assertions, but reject not the + disputers nor any thing that is asserted, + We hear the bawling and din, we are reach’d at by divisions, + jealousies, recriminations on every side, + They close peremptorily upon us to surround us, my comrade, + Yet we walk unheld, free, the whole earth over, journeying up and + down till we make our ineffaceable mark upon time and the diverse eras, + Till we saturate time and eras, that the men and women of races, + ages to come, may prove brethren and lovers as we are. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0206" id="link2H_4_0206"></a> + You Felons on Trial in Courts + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You felons on trial in courts, + You convicts in prison-cells, you sentenced assassins chain’d and + handcuff’d with iron, + Who am I too that I am not on trial or in prison? + Me ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chain’d with + iron, or my ankles with iron? + + You prostitutes flaunting over the trottoirs or obscene in your rooms, + Who am I that I should call you more obscene than myself? + + O culpable! I acknowledge—I expose! + (O admirers, praise not me—compliment not me—you make me wince, + I see what you do not—I know what you do not.) + + Inside these breast-bones I lie smutch’d and choked, + Beneath this face that appears so impassive hell’s tides continually run, + Lusts and wickedness are acceptable to me, + I walk with delinquents with passionate love, + I feel I am of them—I belong to those convicts and prostitutes myself, + And henceforth I will not deny them—for how can I deny myself? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0207" id="link2H_4_0207"></a> + Laws for Creations + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Laws for creations, + For strong artists and leaders, for fresh broods of teachers and + perfect literats for America, + For noble savans and coming musicians. + All must have reference to the ensemble of the world, and the + compact truth of the world, + There shall be no subject too pronounced—all works shall illustrate + the divine law of indirections. + + What do you suppose creation is? + What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and + own no superior? + What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hundred ways, but + that man or woman is as good as God? + And that there is no God any more divine than Yourself? + And that that is what the oldest and newest myths finally mean? + And that you or any one must approach creations through such laws? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0208" id="link2H_4_0208"></a> + To a Common Prostitute + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Be composed—be at ease with me—I am Walt Whitman, liberal and + lusty as Nature, + Not till the sun excludes you do I exclude you, + Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you and the leaves to + rustle for you, do my words refuse to glisten and rustle for you. + + My girl I appoint with you an appointment, and I charge you that you + make preparation to be worthy to meet me, + And I charge you that you be patient and perfect till I come. + + Till then I salute you with a significant look that you do not forget me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0209" id="link2H_4_0209"></a> + I Was Looking a Long While + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I was looking a long while for Intentions, + For a clew to the history of the past for myself, and for these + chants—and now I have found it, + It is not in those paged fables in the libraries, (them I neither + accept nor reject,) + It is no more in the legends than in all else, + It is in the present—it is this earth to-day, + It is in Democracy—(the purport and aim of all the past,) + It is the life of one man or one woman to-day—the average man of to-day, + It is in languages, social customs, literatures, arts, + It is in the broad show of artificial things, ships, machinery, + politics, creeds, modern improvements, and the interchange of nations, + All for the modern—all for the average man of to-day. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0210" id="link2H_4_0210"></a> + Thought + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of persons arrived at high positions, ceremonies, wealth, + scholarships, and the like; + (To me all that those persons have arrived at sinks away from them, + except as it results to their bodies and souls, + So that often to me they appear gaunt and naked, + And often to me each one mocks the others, and mocks himself or herself, + And of each one the core of life, namely happiness, is full of the + rotten excrement of maggots, + And often to me those men and women pass unwittingly the true + realities of life, and go toward false realities, + And often to me they are alive after what custom has served them, + but nothing more, + And often to me they are sad, hasty, unwaked sonnambules walking the dusk.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0211" id="link2H_4_0211"></a> + Miracles + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Why, who makes much of a miracle? + As to me I know of nothing else but miracles, + Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, + Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, + Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water, + Or stand under trees in the woods, + Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night + with any one I love, + Or sit at table at dinner with the rest, + Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car, + Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon, + Or animals feeding in the fields, + Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air, + Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet + and bright, + Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring; + These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, + The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place. + + To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, + Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, + Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, + Every foot of the interior swarms with the same. + To me the sea is a continual miracle, + The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the + ships with men in them, + What stranger miracles are there? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0212" id="link2H_4_0212"></a> + Sparkles from the Wheel + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Where the city’s ceaseless crowd moves on the livelong day, + Withdrawn I join a group of children watching, I pause aside with them. + + By the curb toward the edge of the flagging, + A knife-grinder works at his wheel sharpening a great knife, + Bending over he carefully holds it to the stone, by foot and knee, + With measur’d tread he turns rapidly, as he presses with light but + firm hand, + Forth issue then in copious golden jets, + Sparkles from the wheel. + + The scene and all its belongings, how they seize and affect me, + The sad sharp-chinn’d old man with worn clothes and broad + shoulder-band of leather, + Myself effusing and fluid, a phantom curiously floating, now here + absorb’d and arrested, + The group, (an unminded point set in a vast surrounding,) + The attentive, quiet children, the loud, proud, restive base of the streets, + The low hoarse purr of the whirling stone, the light-press’d blade, + Diffusing, dropping, sideways-darting, in tiny showers of gold, + Sparkles from the wheel. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0213" id="link2H_4_0213"></a> + To a Pupil + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Is reform needed? is it through you? + The greater the reform needed, the greater the Personality you need + to accomplish it. + + You! do you not see how it would serve to have eyes, blood, + complexion, clean and sweet? + Do you not see how it would serve to have such a body and soul that + when you enter the crowd an atmosphere of desire and command + enters with you, and every one is impress’d with your Personality? + + O the magnet! the flesh over and over! + Go, dear friend, if need be give up all else, and commence to-day to + inure yourself to pluck, reality, self-esteem, definiteness, + elevatedness, + Rest not till you rivet and publish yourself of your own Personality. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0214" id="link2H_4_0214"></a> + Unfolded out of the Folds + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Unfolded out of the folds of the woman man comes unfolded, and is + always to come unfolded, + Unfolded only out of the superbest woman of the earth is to come the + superbest man of the earth, + Unfolded out of the friendliest woman is to come the friendliest man, + Unfolded only out of the perfect body of a woman can a man be + form’d of perfect body, + Unfolded only out of the inimitable poems of woman can come the + poems of man, (only thence have my poems come;) + Unfolded out of the strong and arrogant woman I love, only thence + can appear the strong and arrogant man I love, + Unfolded by brawny embraces from the well-muscled woman + love, only thence come the brawny embraces of the man, + Unfolded out of the folds of the woman’s brain come all the folds + of the man’s brain, duly obedient, + Unfolded out of the justice of the woman all justice is unfolded, + Unfolded out of the sympathy of the woman is all sympathy; + A man is a great thing upon the earth and through eternity, but + every of the greatness of man is unfolded out of woman; + First the man is shaped in the woman, he can then be shaped in himself. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0215" id="link2H_4_0215"></a> + What Am I After All + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What am I after all but a child, pleas’d with the sound of my own + name? repeating it over and over; + I stand apart to hear—it never tires me. + + To you your name also; + Did you think there was nothing but two or three pronunciations in + the sound of your name? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0216" id="link2H_4_0216"></a> + Kosmos + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Who includes diversity and is Nature, + Who is the amplitude of the earth, and the coarseness and sexuality of + the earth, and the great charity of the earth, and the equilibrium also, + Who has not look’d forth from the windows the eyes for nothing, + or whose brain held audience with messengers for nothing, + Who contains believers and disbelievers, who is the most majestic lover, + Who holds duly his or her triune proportion of realism, + spiritualism, and of the aesthetic or intellectual, + Who having consider’d the body finds all its organs and parts good, + Who, out of the theory of the earth and of his or her body + understands by subtle analogies all other theories, + The theory of a city, a poem, and of the large politics of these States; + Who believes not only in our globe with its sun and moon, but in + other globes with their suns and moons, + Who, constructing the house of himself or herself, not for a day + but for all time, sees races, eras, dates, generations, + The past, the future, dwelling there, like space, inseparable together. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0217" id="link2H_4_0217"></a> + Others May Praise What They Like + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Others may praise what they like; + But I, from the banks of the running Missouri, praise nothing in art + or aught else, + Till it has well inhaled the atmosphere of this river, also the + western prairie-scent, + And exudes it all again. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0218" id="link2H_4_0218"></a> + Who Learns My Lesson Complete? + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Who learns my lesson complete? + Boss, journeyman, apprentice, churchman and atheist, + The stupid and the wise thinker, parents and offspring, merchant, + clerk, porter and customer, + Editor, author, artist, and schoolboy—draw nigh and commence; + It is no lesson—it lets down the bars to a good lesson, + And that to another, and every one to another still. + + The great laws take and effuse without argument, + I am of the same style, for I am their friend, + I love them quits and quits, I do not halt and make salaams. + + I lie abstracted and hear beautiful tales of things and the reasons + of things, + They are so beautiful I nudge myself to listen. + + I cannot say to any person what I hear—I cannot say it to myself— + it is very wonderful. + + It is no small matter, this round and delicious globe moving so + exactly in its orbit for ever and ever, without one jolt or + the untruth of a single second, + I do not think it was made in six days, nor in ten thousand years, + nor ten billions of years, + Nor plann’d and built one thing after another as an architect plans + and builds a house. + + I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman, + Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman, + Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me, or any one else. + + Is it wonderful that I should be immortal? as every one is immortal; + I know it is wonderful, but my eyesight is equally wonderful, and + how I was conceived in my mother’s womb is equally wonderful, + And pass’d from a babe in the creeping trance of a couple of + summers and winters to articulate and walk—all this is + equally wonderful. + + And that my soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other + without ever seeing each other, and never perhaps to see + each other, is every bit as wonderful. + + And that I can think such thoughts as these is just as wonderful, + And that I can remind you, and you think them and know them to + be true, is just as wonderful. + + And that the moon spins round the earth and on with the earth, is + equally wonderful, + And that they balance themselves with the sun and stars is equally + wonderful. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0219" id="link2H_4_0219"></a> + Tests + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All submit to them where they sit, inner, secure, unapproachable to + analysis in the soul, + Not traditions, not the outer authorities are the judges, + They are the judges of outer authorities and of all traditions, + They corroborate as they go only whatever corroborates themselves, + and touches themselves; + For all that, they have it forever in themselves to corroborate far + and near without one exception. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0220" id="link2H_4_0220"></a> + The Torch + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On my Northwest coast in the midst of the night a fishermen’s group + stands watching, + Out on the lake that expands before them, others are spearing salmon, + The canoe, a dim shadowy thing, moves across the black water, + Bearing a torch ablaze at the prow. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0221" id="link2H_4_0221"></a> + O Star of France [1870-71] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O star of France, + The brightness of thy hope and strength and fame, + Like some proud ship that led the fleet so long, + Beseems to-day a wreck driven by the gale, a mastless hulk, + And ’mid its teeming madden’d half-drown’d crowds, + Nor helm nor helmsman. + + Dim smitten star, + Orb not of France alone, pale symbol of my soul, its dearest hopes, + The struggle and the daring, rage divine for liberty, + Of aspirations toward the far ideal, enthusiast’s dreams of brotherhood, + Of terror to the tyrant and the priest. + + Star crucified—by traitors sold, + Star panting o’er a land of death, heroic land, + Strange, passionate, mocking, frivolous land. + + Miserable! yet for thy errors, vanities, sins, I will not now rebuke thee, + Thy unexampled woes and pangs have quell’d them all, + And left thee sacred. + + In that amid thy many faults thou ever aimedst highly, + In that thou wouldst not really sell thyself however great the price, + In that thou surely wakedst weeping from thy drugg’d sleep, + In that alone among thy sisters thou, giantess, didst rend the ones + that shamed thee, + In that thou couldst not, wouldst not, wear the usual chains, + This cross, thy livid face, thy pierced hands and feet, + The spear thrust in thy side. + + O star! O ship of France, beat back and baffled long! + Bear up O smitten orb! O ship continue on! + + Sure as the ship of all, the Earth itself, + Product of deathly fire and turbulent chaos, + Forth from its spasms of fury and its poisons, + Issuing at last in perfect power and beauty, + Onward beneath the sun following its course, + So thee O ship of France! + + Finish’d the days, the clouds dispel’d + The travail o’er, the long-sought extrication, + When lo! reborn, high o’er the European world, + (In gladness answering thence, as face afar to face, reflecting ours + Columbia,) + Again thy star O France, fair lustrous star, + In heavenly peace, clearer, more bright than ever, + Shall beam immortal. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0222" id="link2H_4_0222"></a> + The Ox-Tamer + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In a far-away northern county in the placid pastoral region, + Lives my farmer friend, the theme of my recitative, a famous tamer of oxen, + There they bring him the three-year-olds and the four-year-olds to + break them, + He will take the wildest steer in the world and break him and tame him, + He will go fearless without any whip where the young bullock + chafes up and down the yard, + The bullock’s head tosses restless high in the air with raging eyes, + Yet see you! how soon his rage subsides—how soon this tamer tames him; + See you! on the farms hereabout a hundred oxen young and old, + and he is the man who has tamed them, + They all know him, all are affectionate to him; + See you! some are such beautiful animals, so lofty looking; + Some are buff-color’d, some mottled, one has a white line running + along his back, some are brindled, + Some have wide flaring horns (a good sign)—see you! the bright hides, + See, the two with stars on their foreheads—see, the round bodies + and broad backs, + How straight and square they stand on their legs—what fine sagacious eyes! + How straight they watch their tamer—they wish him near them—how + they turn to look after him! + What yearning expression! how uneasy they are when he moves away from them; + Now I marvel what it can be he appears to them, (books, politics, + poems, depart—all else departs,) + I confess I envy only his fascination—my silent, illiterate friend, + Whom a hundred oxen love there in his life on farms, + In the northern county far, in the placid pastoral region. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +An Old Man’s Thought of School + [For the Inauguration of a Public School, Camden, New Jersey, 1874] + + An old man’s thought of school, + An old man gathering youthful memories and blooms that youth itself cannot. + + Now only do I know you, + O fair auroral skies—O morning dew upon the grass! + + And these I see, these sparkling eyes, + These stores of mystic meaning, these young lives, + Building, equipping like a fleet of ships, immortal ships, + Soon to sail out over the measureless seas, + On the soul’s voyage. + + Only a lot of boys and girls? + Only the tiresome spelling, writing, ciphering classes? + Only a public school? + + Ah more, infinitely more; + (As George Fox rais’d his warning cry, “Is it this pile of brick and + mortar, these dead floors, windows, rails, you call the church? + Why this is not the church at all—the church is living, ever living + souls.”) + + And you America, + Cast you the real reckoning for your present? + The lights and shadows of your future, good or evil? + To girlhood, boyhood look, the teacher and the school. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0223" id="link2H_4_0223"></a> + Wandering at Morn + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wandering at morn, + Emerging from the night from gloomy thoughts, thee in my thoughts, + Yearning for thee harmonious Union! thee, singing bird divine! + Thee coil’d in evil times my country, with craft and black dismay, + with every meanness, treason thrust upon thee, + This common marvel I beheld—the parent thrush I watch’d feeding its young, + The singing thrush whose tones of joy and faith ecstatic, + Fail not to certify and cheer my soul. + + There ponder’d, felt I, + If worms, snakes, loathsome grubs, may to sweet spiritual songs be turn’d, + If vermin so transposed, so used and bless’d may be, + Then may I trust in you, your fortunes, days, my country; + Who knows but these may be the lessons fit for you? + From these your future song may rise with joyous trills, + Destin’d to fill the world. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Italian Music in Dakota + ["The Seventeenth—the finest Regimental Band I ever heard.”] + + Through the soft evening air enwinding all, + Rocks, woods, fort, cannon, pacing sentries, endless wilds, + In dulcet streams, in flutes’ and cornets’ notes, + Electric, pensive, turbulent, artificial, + (Yet strangely fitting even here, meanings unknown before, + Subtler than ever, more harmony, as if born here, related here, + Not to the city’s fresco’d rooms, not to the audience of the opera house, + Sounds, echoes, wandering strains, as really here at home, + Sonnambula’s innocent love, trios with Norma’s anguish, + And thy ecstatic chorus Poliuto;) + Ray’d in the limpid yellow slanting sundown, + Music, Italian music in Dakota. + + While Nature, sovereign of this gnarl’d realm, + Lurking in hidden barbaric grim recesses, + Acknowledging rapport however far remov’d, + (As some old root or soil of earth its last-born flower or fruit,) + Listens well pleas’d. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0224" id="link2H_4_0224"></a> + With All Thy Gifts + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With all thy gifts America, + Standing secure, rapidly tending, overlooking the world, + Power, wealth, extent, vouchsafed to thee—with these and like of + these vouchsafed to thee, + What if one gift thou lackest? (the ultimate human problem never solving,) + The gift of perfect women fit for thee—what if that gift of gifts + thou lackest? + The towering feminine of thee? the beauty, health, completion, fit for thee? + The mothers fit for thee? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0225" id="link2H_4_0225"></a> + My Picture-Gallery + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In a little house keep I pictures suspended, it is not a fix’d house, + It is round, it is only a few inches from one side to the other; + Yet behold, it has room for all the shows of the world, all memories! + Here the tableaus of life, and here the groupings of death; + Here, do you know this? this is cicerone himself, + With finger rais’d he points to the prodigal pictures. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0226" id="link2H_4_0226"></a> + The Prairie States + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A newer garden of creation, no primal solitude, + Dense, joyous, modern, populous millions, cities and farms, + With iron interlaced, composite, tied, many in one, + By all the world contributed—freedom’s and law’s and thrift’s society, + The crown and teeming paradise, so far, of time’s accumulations, + To justify the past. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0227" id="link2H_4_0227"></a> + BOOK XXV + </h2> + <p> + Proud Music of the Storm + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Proud music of the storm, + Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies, + Strong hum of forest tree-tops—wind of the mountains, + Personified dim shapes—you hidden orchestras, + You serenades of phantoms with instruments alert, + Blending with Nature’s rhythmus all the tongues of nations; + You chords left as by vast composers—you choruses, + You formless, free, religious dances—you from the Orient, + You undertone of rivers, roar of pouring cataracts, + You sounds from distant guns with galloping cavalry, + Echoes of camps with all the different bugle-calls, + Trooping tumultuous, filling the midnight late, bending me powerless, + Entering my lonesome slumber-chamber, why have you seiz’d me? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 2 + Come forward O my soul, and let the rest retire, + Listen, lose not, it is toward thee they tend, + Parting the midnight, entering my slumber-chamber, + For thee they sing and dance O soul. + + A festival song, + The duet of the bridegroom and the bride, a marriage-march, + With lips of love, and hearts of lovers fill’d to the brim with love, + The red-flush’d cheeks and perfumes, the cortege swarming full of + friendly faces young and old, + To flutes’ clear notes and sounding harps’ cantabile. + + Now loud approaching drums, + Victoria! seest thou in powder-smoke the banners torn but flying? + the rout of the baffled? + Hearest those shouts of a conquering army? + + (Ah soul, the sobs of women, the wounded groaning in agony, + The hiss and crackle of flames, the blacken’d ruins, the embers of cities, + The dirge and desolation of mankind.) + + Now airs antique and mediaeval fill me, + I see and hear old harpers with their harps at Welsh festivals, + I hear the minnesingers singing their lays of love, + I hear the minstrels, gleemen, troubadours, of the middle ages. + + Now the great organ sounds, + Tremulous, while underneath, (as the hid footholds of the earth, + On which arising rest, and leaping forth depend, + All shapes of beauty, grace and strength, all hues we know, + Green blades of grass and warbling birds, children that gambol and + play, the clouds of heaven above,) + The strong base stands, and its pulsations intermits not, + Bathing, supporting, merging all the rest, maternity of all the rest, + And with it every instrument in multitudes, + The players playing, all the world’s musicians, + The solemn hymns and masses rousing adoration, + All passionate heart-chants, sorrowful appeals, + The measureless sweet vocalists of ages, + And for their solvent setting earth’s own diapason, + Of winds and woods and mighty ocean waves, + A new composite orchestra, binder of years and climes, ten-fold renewer, + As of the far-back days the poets tell, the Paradiso, + The straying thence, the separation long, but now the wandering done, + The journey done, the journeyman come home, + And man and art with Nature fused again. + + Tutti! for earth and heaven; + (The Almighty leader now for once has signal’d with his wand.) + + The manly strophe of the husbands of the world, + And all the wives responding. + + The tongues of violins, + (I think O tongues ye tell this heart, that cannot tell itself, + This brooding yearning heart, that cannot tell itself.) + + 3 + Ah from a little child, + Thou knowest soul how to me all sounds became music, + My mother’s voice in lullaby or hymn, + (The voice, O tender voices, memory’s loving voices, + Last miracle of all, O dearest mother’s, sister’s, voices;) + The rain, the growing corn, the breeze among the long-leav’d corn, + The measur’d sea-surf beating on the sand, + The twittering bird, the hawk’s sharp scream, + The wild-fowl’s notes at night as flying low migrating north or south, + The psalm in the country church or mid the clustering trees, the + open air camp-meeting, + The fiddler in the tavern, the glee, the long-strung sailor-song, + The lowing cattle, bleating sheep, the crowing cock at dawn. + + All songs of current lands come sounding round me, + The German airs of friendship, wine and love, + Irish ballads, merry jigs and dances, English warbles, + Chansons of France, Scotch tunes, and o’er the rest, + Italia’s peerless compositions. + + Across the stage with pallor on her face, yet lurid passion, + Stalks Norma brandishing the dagger in her hand. + + I see poor crazed Lucia’s eyes’ unnatural gleam, + Her hair down her back falls loose and dishevel’d. + + I see where Ernani walking the bridal garden, + Amid the scent of night-roses, radiant, holding his bride by the hand, + Hears the infernal call, the death-pledge of the horn. + + To crossing swords and gray hairs bared to heaven, + The clear electric base and baritone of the world, + The trombone duo, Libertad forever! + From Spanish chestnut trees’ dense shade, + By old and heavy convent walls a wailing song, + Song of lost love, the torch of youth and life quench’d in despair, + Song of the dying swan, Fernando’s heart is breaking. + + Awaking from her woes at last retriev’d Amina sings, + Copious as stars and glad as morning light the torrents of her joy. + + (The teeming lady comes, + The lustrious orb, Venus contralto, the blooming mother, + Sister of loftiest gods, Alboni’s self I hear.) + + 4 + I hear those odes, symphonies, operas, + I hear in the William Tell the music of an arous’d and angry people, + I hear Meyerbeer’s Huguenots, the Prophet, or Robert, + Gounod’s Faust, or Mozart’s Don Juan. + + I hear the dance-music of all nations, + The waltz, some delicious measure, lapsing, bathing me in bliss, + The bolero to tinkling guitars and clattering castanets. + + I see religious dances old and new, + I hear the sound of the Hebrew lyre, + I see the crusaders marching bearing the cross on high, to the + martial clang of cymbals, + I hear dervishes monotonously chanting, interspers’d with frantic + shouts, as they spin around turning always towards Mecca, + I see the rapt religious dances of the Persians and the Arabs, + Again, at Eleusis, home of Ceres, I see the modern Greeks dancing, + I hear them clapping their hands as they bend their bodies, + I hear the metrical shuffling of their feet. + + I see again the wild old Corybantian dance, the performers wounding + each other, + I see the Roman youth to the shrill sound of flageolets throwing and + catching their weapons, + As they fall on their knees and rise again. + + I hear from the Mussulman mosque the muezzin calling, + I see the worshippers within, nor form nor sermon, argument nor word, + But silent, strange, devout, rais’d, glowing heads, ecstatic faces. + + I hear the Egyptian harp of many strings, + The primitive chants of the Nile boatmen, + The sacred imperial hymns of China, + To the delicate sounds of the king, (the stricken wood and stone,) + Or to Hindu flutes and the fretting twang of the vina, + A band of bayaderes. + + 5 + Now Asia, Africa leave me, Europe seizing inflates me, + To organs huge and bands I hear as from vast concourses of voices, + Luther’s strong hymn Eine feste Burg ist unser Gott, + Rossini’s Stabat Mater dolorosa, + Or floating in some high cathedral dim with gorgeous color’d windows, + The passionate Agnus Dei or Gloria in Excelsis. + + Composers! mighty maestros! + And you, sweet singers of old lands, soprani, tenori, bassi! + To you a new bard caroling in the West, + Obeisant sends his love. + + (Such led to thee O soul, + All senses, shows and objects, lead to thee, + But now it seems to me sound leads o’er all the rest.) + + I hear the annual singing of the children in St. Paul’s cathedral, + Or, under the high roof of some colossal hall, the symphonies, + oratorios of Beethoven, Handel, or Haydn, + The Creation in billows of godhood laves me. + + Give me to hold all sounds, (I madly struggling cry,) + Fill me with all the voices of the universe, + Endow me with their throbbings, Nature’s also, + The tempests, waters, winds, operas and chants, marches and dances, + Utter, pour in, for I would take them all! + + 6 + Then I woke softly, + And pausing, questioning awhile the music of my dream, + And questioning all those reminiscences, the tempest in its fury, + And all the songs of sopranos and tenors, + And those rapt oriental dances of religious fervor, + And the sweet varied instruments, and the diapason of organs, + And all the artless plaints of love and grief and death, + I said to my silent curious soul out of the bed of the slumber-chamber, + Come, for I have found the clew I sought so long, + Let us go forth refresh’d amid the day, + Cheerfully tallying life, walking the world, the real, + Nourish’d henceforth by our celestial dream. + + And I said, moreover, + Haply what thou hast heard O soul was not the sound of winds, + Nor dream of raging storm, nor sea-hawk’s flapping wings nor harsh scream, + Nor vocalism of sun-bright Italy, + Nor German organ majestic, nor vast concourse of voices, nor layers + of harmonies, + Nor strophes of husbands and wives, nor sound of marching soldiers, + Nor flutes, nor harps, nor the bugle-calls of camps, + But to a new rhythmus fitted for thee, + Poems bridging the way from Life to Death, vaguely wafted in night + air, uncaught, unwritten, + Which let us go forth in the bold day and write. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0228" id="link2H_4_0228"></a> + BOOK XXVI + </h2> + <p> + Passage to India + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Singing my days, + Singing the great achievements of the present, + Singing the strong light works of engineers, + Our modern wonders, (the antique ponderous Seven outvied,) + In the Old World the east the Suez canal, + The New by its mighty railroad spann’d, + The seas inlaid with eloquent gentle wires; + Yet first to sound, and ever sound, the cry with thee O soul, + The Past! the Past! the Past! + + The Past—the dark unfathom’d retrospect! + The teeming gulf—the sleepers and the shadows! + The past—the infinite greatness of the past! + For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past? + (As a projectile form’d, impell’d, passing a certain line, still keeps on, + So the present, utterly form’d, impell’d by the past.) + + 2 + Passage O soul to India! + Eclaircise the myths Asiatic, the primitive fables. + + Not you alone proud truths of the world, + Nor you alone ye facts of modern science, + But myths and fables of eld, Asia’s, Africa’s fables, + The far-darting beams of the spirit, the unloos’d dreams, + The deep diving bibles and legends, + The daring plots of the poets, the elder religions; + O you temples fairer than lilies pour’d over by the rising sun! + O you fables spurning the known, eluding the hold of the known, + mounting to heaven! + You lofty and dazzling towers, pinnacled, red as roses, burnish’d + with gold! + Towers of fables immortal fashion’d from mortal dreams! + You too I welcome and fully the same as the rest! + You too with joy I sing. + + Passage to India! + Lo, soul, seest thou not God’s purpose from the first? + The earth to be spann’d, connected by network, + The races, neighbors, to marry and be given in marriage, + The oceans to be cross’d, the distant brought near, + The lands to be welded together. + + A worship new I sing, + You captains, voyagers, explorers, yours, + You engineers, you architects, machinists, yours, + You, not for trade or transportation only, + But in God’s name, and for thy sake O soul. + + 3 + Passage to India! + Lo soul for thee of tableaus twain, + I see in one the Suez canal initiated, open’d, + I see the procession of steamships, the Empress Engenie’s leading the van, + I mark from on deck the strange landscape, the pure sky, the level + sand in the distance, + I pass swiftly the picturesque groups, the workmen gather’d, + The gigantic dredging machines. + + In one again, different, (yet thine, all thine, O soul, the same,) + I see over my own continent the Pacific railroad surmounting every barrier, + I see continual trains of cars winding along the Platte carrying + freight and passengers, + I hear the locomotives rushing and roaring, and the shrill steam-whistle, + I hear the echoes reverberate through the grandest scenery in the world, + I cross the Laramie plains, I note the rocks in grotesque shapes, + the buttes, + I see the plentiful larkspur and wild onions, the barren, colorless, + sage-deserts, + I see in glimpses afar or towering immediately above me the great + mountains, I see the Wind river and the Wahsatch mountains, + I see the Monument mountain and the Eagle’s Nest, I pass the + Promontory, I ascend the Nevadas, + I scan the noble Elk mountain and wind around its base, + I see the Humboldt range, I thread the valley and cross the river, + I see the clear waters of lake Tahoe, I see forests of majestic pines, + Or crossing the great desert, the alkaline plains, I behold + enchanting mirages of waters and meadows, + Marking through these and after all, in duplicate slender lines, + Bridging the three or four thousand miles of land travel, + Tying the Eastern to the Western sea, + The road between Europe and Asia. + + (Ah Genoese thy dream! thy dream! + Centuries after thou art laid in thy grave, + The shore thou foundest verifies thy dream.) + + 4 + Passage to India! + Struggles of many a captain, tales of many a sailor dead, + Over my mood stealing and spreading they come, + Like clouds and cloudlets in the unreach’d sky. + + Along all history, down the slopes, + As a rivulet running, sinking now, and now again to the surface rising, + A ceaseless thought, a varied train—lo, soul, to thee, thy sight, + they rise, + The plans, the voyages again, the expeditions; + Again Vasco de Gama sails forth, + Again the knowledge gain’d, the mariner’s compass, + Lands found and nations born, thou born America, + For purpose vast, man’s long probation fill’d, + Thou rondure of the world at last accomplish’d. + + 5 + O vast Rondure, swimming in space, + Cover’d all over with visible power and beauty, + Alternate light and day and the teeming spiritual darkness, + Unspeakable high processions of sun and moon and countless stars above, + Below, the manifold grass and waters, animals, mountains, trees, + With inscrutable purpose, some hidden prophetic intention, + Now first it seems my thought begins to span thee. + + Down from the gardens of Asia descending radiating, + Adam and Eve appear, then their myriad progeny after them, + Wandering, yearning, curious, with restless explorations, + With questionings, baffled, formless, feverish, with never-happy hearts, + With that sad incessant refrain, Wherefore unsatisfied soul? and + Whither O mocking life? + + Ah who shall soothe these feverish children? + Who Justify these restless explorations? + Who speak the secret of impassive earth? + Who bind it to us? what is this separate Nature so unnatural? + What is this earth to our affections? (unloving earth, without a + throb to answer ours, + Cold earth, the place of graves.) + + Yet soul be sure the first intent remains, and shall be carried out, + Perhaps even now the time has arrived. + + After the seas are all cross’d, (as they seem already cross’d,) + After the great captains and engineers have accomplish’d their work, + After the noble inventors, after the scientists, the chemist, the + geologist, ethnologist, + Finally shall come the poet worthy that name, + The true son of God shall come singing his songs. + + Then not your deeds only O voyagers, O scientists and inventors, + shall be justified, + All these hearts as of fretted children shall be sooth’d, + All affection shall be fully responded to, the secret shall be told, + All these separations and gaps shall be taken up and hook’d and + link’d together, + The whole earth, this cold, impassive, voiceless earth, shall be + completely Justified, + Trinitas divine shall be gloriously accomplish’d and compacted by + the true son of God, the poet, + (He shall indeed pass the straits and conquer the mountains, + He shall double the cape of Good Hope to some purpose,) + Nature and Man shall be disjoin’d and diffused no more, + The true son of God shall absolutely fuse them. + + 6 + Year at whose wide-flung door I sing! + Year of the purpose accomplish’d! + Year of the marriage of continents, climates and oceans! + (No mere doge of Venice now wedding the Adriatic,) + I see O year in you the vast terraqueous globe given and giving all, + Europe to Asia, Africa join’d, and they to the New World, + The lands, geographies, dancing before you, holding a festival garland, + As brides and bridegrooms hand in hand. + + Passage to India! + Cooling airs from Caucasus far, soothing cradle of man, + The river Euphrates flowing, the past lit up again. + + Lo soul, the retrospect brought forward, + The old, most populous, wealthiest of earth’s lands, + The streams of the Indus and the Ganges and their many affluents, + (I my shores of America walking to-day behold, resuming all,) + The tale of Alexander on his warlike marches suddenly dying, + On one side China and on the other side Persia and Arabia, + To the south the great seas and the bay of Bengal, + The flowing literatures, tremendous epics, religions, castes, + Old occult Brahma interminably far back, the tender and junior Buddha, + Central and southern empires and all their belongings, possessors, + The wars of Tamerlane,the reign of Aurungzebe, + The traders, rulers, explorers, Moslems, Venetians, Byzantium, the + Arabs, Portuguese, + The first travelers famous yet, Marco Polo, Batouta the Moor, + Doubts to be solv’d, the map incognita, blanks to be fill’d, + The foot of man unstay’d, the hands never at rest, + Thyself O soul that will not brook a challenge. + + The mediaeval navigators rise before me, + The world of 1492, with its awaken’d enterprise, + Something swelling in humanity now like the sap of the earth in spring, + The sunset splendor of chivalry declining. + + And who art thou sad shade? + Gigantic, visionary, thyself a visionary, + With majestic limbs and pious beaming eyes, + Spreading around with every look of thine a golden world, + Enhuing it with gorgeous hues. + + As the chief histrion, + Down to the footlights walks in some great scena, + Dominating the rest I see the Admiral himself, + (History’s type of courage, action, faith,) + Behold him sail from Palos leading his little fleet, + His voyage behold, his return, his great fame, + His misfortunes, calumniators, behold him a prisoner, chain’d, + Behold his dejection, poverty, death. + + (Curious in time I stand, noting the efforts of heroes, + Is the deferment long? bitter the slander, poverty, death? + Lies the seed unreck’d for centuries in the ground? lo, to God’s due + occasion, + Uprising in the night, it sprouts, blooms, + And fills the earth with use and beauty.) + + 7 + Passage indeed O soul to primal thought, + Not lands and seas alone, thy own clear freshness, + The young maturity of brood and bloom, + To realms of budding bibles. + + O soul, repressless, I with thee and thou with me, + Thy circumnavigation of the world begin, + Of man, the voyage of his mind’s return, + To reason’s early paradise, + Back, back to wisdom’s birth, to innocent intuitions, + Again with fair creation. + + 8 + O we can wait no longer, + We too take ship O soul, + Joyous we too launch out on trackless seas, + Fearless for unknown shores on waves of ecstasy to sail, + Amid the wafting winds, (thou pressing me to thee, I thee to me, O soul,) + Caroling free, singing our song of God, + Chanting our chant of pleasant exploration. + + With laugh and many a kiss, + (Let others deprecate, let others weep for sin, remorse, humiliation,) + O soul thou pleasest me, I thee. + + Ah more than any priest O soul we too believe in God, + But with the mystery of God we dare not dally. + + O soul thou pleasest me, I thee, + Sailing these seas or on the hills, or waking in the night, + Thoughts, silent thoughts, of Time and Space and Death, like waters flowing, + Bear me indeed as through the regions infinite, + Whose air I breathe, whose ripples hear, lave me all over, + Bathe me O God in thee, mounting to thee, + I and my soul to range in range of thee. + + O Thou transcendent, + Nameless, the fibre and the breath, + Light of the light, shedding forth universes, thou centre of them, + Thou mightier centre of the true, the good, the loving, + Thou moral, spiritual fountain—affection’s source—thou reservoir, + (O pensive soul of me—O thirst unsatisfied—waitest not there? + Waitest not haply for us somewhere there the Comrade perfect?) + Thou pulse—thou motive of the stars, suns, systems, + That, circling, move in order, safe, harmonious, + Athwart the shapeless vastnesses of space, + How should I think, how breathe a single breath, how speak, if, out + of myself, + I could not launch, to those, superior universes? + + Swiftly I shrivel at the thought of God, + At Nature and its wonders, Time and Space and Death, + But that I, turning, call to thee O soul, thou actual Me, + And lo, thou gently masterest the orbs, + Thou matest Time, smilest content at Death, + And fillest, swellest full the vastnesses of Space. + + Greater than stars or suns, + Bounding O soul thou journeyest forth; + What love than thine and ours could wider amplify? + What aspirations, wishes, outvie thine and ours O soul? + What dreams of the ideal? what plans of purity, perfection, strength? + What cheerful willingness for others’ sake to give up all? + For others’ sake to suffer all? + + Reckoning ahead O soul, when thou, the time achiev’d, + The seas all cross’d, weather’d the capes, the voyage done, + Surrounded, copest, frontest God, yieldest, the aim attain’d, + As fill’d with friendship, love complete, the Elder Brother found, + The Younger melts in fondness in his arms. + + 9 + Passage to more than India! + Are thy wings plumed indeed for such far flights? + O soul, voyagest thou indeed on voyages like those? + Disportest thou on waters such as those? + Soundest below the Sanscrit and the Vedas? + Then have thy bent unleash’d. + + Passage to you, your shores, ye aged fierce enigmas! + Passage to you, to mastership of you, ye strangling problems! + You, strew’d with the wrecks of skeletons, that, living, never reach’d you. + + Passage to more than India! + O secret of the earth and sky! + Of you O waters of the sea! O winding creeks and rivers! + Of you O woods and fields! of you strong mountains of my land! + Of you O prairies! of you gray rocks! + O morning red! O clouds! O rain and snows! + O day and night, passage to you! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O sun and moon and all you stars! Sirius and Jupiter! + Passage to you! + + Passage, immediate passage! the blood burns in my veins! + Away O soul! hoist instantly the anchor! + + Cut the hawsers—haul out—shake out every sail! + Have we not stood here like trees in the ground long enough? + Have we not grovel’d here long enough, eating and drinking like mere brutes? + Have we not darken’d and dazed ourselves with books long enough? + + Sail forth—steer for the deep waters only, + Reckless O soul, exploring, I with thee, and thou with me, + For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go, + And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all. + + O my brave soul! + O farther farther sail! + O daring joy, but safe! are they not all the seas of God? + O farther, farther, farther sail! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0229" id="link2H_4_0229"></a> + BOOK XXVII + </h2> + <p> + Prayer of Columbus + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A batter’d, wreck’d old man, + Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home, + Pent by the sea and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months, + Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken’d and nigh to death, + I take my way along the island’s edge, + Venting a heavy heart. + + I am too full of woe! + Haply I may not live another day; + I cannot rest O God, I cannot eat or drink or sleep, + Till I put forth myself, my prayer, once more to Thee, + Breathe, bathe myself once more in Thee, commune with Thee, + Report myself once more to Thee. + + Thou knowest my years entire, my life, + My long and crowded life of active work, not adoration merely; + Thou knowest the prayers and vigils of my youth, + Thou knowest my manhood’s solemn and visionary meditations, + Thou knowest how before I commenced I devoted all to come to Thee, + Thou knowest I have in age ratified all those vows and strictly kept them, + Thou knowest I have not once lost nor faith nor ecstasy in Thee, + In shackles, prison’d, in disgrace, repining not, + Accepting all from Thee, as duly come from Thee. + + All my emprises have been fill’d with Thee, + My speculations, plans, begun and carried on in thoughts of Thee, + Sailing the deep or journeying the land for Thee; + Intentions, purports, aspirations mine, leaving results to Thee. + + O I am sure they really came from Thee, + The urge, the ardor, the unconquerable will, + The potent, felt, interior command, stronger than words, + A message from the Heavens whispering to me even in sleep, + These sped me on. + + By me and these the work so far accomplish’d, + By me earth’s elder cloy’d and stifled lands uncloy’d, unloos’d, + By me the hemispheres rounded and tied, the unknown to the known. + + The end I know not, it is all in Thee, + Or small or great I know not—haply what broad fields, what lands, + Haply the brutish measureless human undergrowth I know, + Transplanted there may rise to stature, knowledge worthy Thee, + Haply the swords I know may there indeed be turn’d to reaping-tools, + Haply the lifeless cross I know, Europe’s dead cross, may bud and + blossom there. + + One effort more, my altar this bleak sand; + That Thou O God my life hast lighted, + With ray of light, steady, ineffable, vouchsafed of Thee, + Light rare untellable, lighting the very light, + Beyond all signs, descriptions, languages; + For that O God, be it my latest word, here on my knees, + Old, poor, and paralyzed, I thank Thee. + + My terminus near, + The clouds already closing in upon me, + The voyage balk’d, the course disputed, lost, + I yield my ships to Thee. + + My hands, my limbs grow nerveless, + My brain feels rack’d, bewilder’d, + Let the old timbers part, I will not part, + I will cling fast to Thee, O God, though the waves buffet me, + Thee, Thee at least I know. + + Is it the prophet’s thought I speak, or am I raving? + What do I know of life? what of myself? + I know not even my own work past or present, + Dim ever-shifting guesses of it spread before me, + Of newer better worlds, their mighty parturition, + Mocking, perplexing me. + + And these things I see suddenly, what mean they? + As if some miracle, some hand divine unseal’d my eyes, + Shadowy vast shapes smile through the air and sky, + And on the distant waves sail countless ships, + And anthems in new tongues I hear saluting me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0230" id="link2H_4_0230"></a> + BOOK XXVIII + </h2> + <p> + The Sleepers + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + I wander all night in my vision, + Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and stopping, + Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers, + Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted, contradictory, + Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping. + + How solemn they look there, stretch’d and still, + How quiet they breathe, the little children in their cradles. + + The wretched features of ennuyes, the white features of corpses, the + livid faces of drunkards, the sick-gray faces of onanists, + The gash’d bodies on battle-fields, the insane in their + strong-door’d rooms, the sacred idiots, the new-born emerging + from gates, and the dying emerging from gates, + The night pervades them and infolds them. + + The married couple sleep calmly in their bed, he with his palm on + the hip of the wife, and she with her palm on the hip of the husband, + The sisters sleep lovingly side by side in their bed, + The men sleep lovingly side by side in theirs, + And the mother sleeps with her little child carefully wrapt. + + The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep, + The prisoner sleeps well in the prison, the runaway son sleeps, + The murderer that is to be hung next day, how does he sleep? + And the murder’d person, how does he sleep? + + The female that loves unrequited sleeps, + And the male that loves unrequited sleeps, + The head of the money-maker that plotted all day sleeps, + And the enraged and treacherous dispositions, all, all sleep. + + I stand in the dark with drooping eyes by the worst-suffering and + the most restless, + I pass my hands soothingly to and fro a few inches from them, + The restless sink in their beds, they fitfully sleep. + + Now I pierce the darkness, new beings appear, + The earth recedes from me into the night, + I saw that it was beautiful, and I see that what is not the earth is + beautiful. + + I go from bedside to bedside, I sleep close with the other sleepers + each in turn, + I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers, + And I become the other dreamers. + + I am a dance—play up there! the fit is whirling me fast! + + I am the ever-laughing—it is new moon and twilight, + I see the hiding of douceurs, I see nimble ghosts whichever way look, + Cache and cache again deep in the ground and sea, and where it is + neither ground nor sea. + + Well do they do their jobs those journeymen divine, + Only from me can they hide nothing, and would not if they could, + I reckon I am their boss and they make me a pet besides, + And surround me and lead me and run ahead when I walk, + To lift their cunning covers to signify me with stretch’d arms, and + resume the way; + Onward we move, a gay gang of blackguards! with mirth-shouting + music and wild-flapping pennants of joy! + + I am the actor, the actress, the voter, the politician, + The emigrant and the exile, the criminal that stood in the box, + He who has been famous and he who shall be famous after to-day, + The stammerer, the well-form’d person, the wasted or feeble person. + + I am she who adorn’d herself and folded her hair expectantly, + My truant lover has come, and it is dark. + + Double yourself and receive me darkness, + Receive me and my lover too, he will not let me go without him. + + I roll myself upon you as upon a bed, I resign myself to the dusk. + + He whom I call answers me and takes the place of my lover, + He rises with me silently from the bed. + + Darkness, you are gentler than my lover, his flesh was sweaty and panting, + I feel the hot moisture yet that he left me. + + My hands are spread forth, I pass them in all directions, + I would sound up the shadowy shore to which you are journeying. + + Be careful darkness! already what was it touch’d me? + I thought my lover had gone, else darkness and he are one, + I hear the heart-beat, I follow, I fade away. + + 2 + I descend my western course, my sinews are flaccid, + Perfume and youth course through me and I am their wake. + + It is my face yellow and wrinkled instead of the old woman’s, + I sit low in a straw-bottom chair and carefully darn my grandson’s + stockings. + + It is I too, the sleepless widow looking out on the winter midnight, + I see the sparkles of starshine on the icy and pallid earth. + + A shroud I see and I am the shroud, I wrap a body and lie in the coffin, + It is dark here under ground, it is not evil or pain here, it is + blank here, for reasons. + + (It seems to me that every thing in the light and air ought to be happy, + Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave let him know he has enough.) + + 3 + I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer swimming naked through the eddies + of the sea, + His brown hair lies close and even to his head, he strikes out with + courageous arms, he urges himself with his legs, + I see his white body, I see his undaunted eyes, + I hate the swift-running eddies that would dash him head-foremost on + the rocks. + + What are you doing you ruffianly red-trickled waves? + Will you kill the courageous giant? will you kill him in the prime + of his middle age? + + Steady and long he struggles, + He is baffled, bang’d, bruis’d, he holds out while his strength + holds out, + The slapping eddies are spotted with his blood, they bear him away, + they roll him, swing him, turn him, + His beautiful body is borne in the circling eddies, it is + continually bruis’d on rocks, + Swiftly and ought of sight is borne the brave corpse. + + 4 + I turn but do not extricate myself, + Confused, a past-reading, another, but with darkness yet. + + The beach is cut by the razory ice-wind, the wreck-guns sound, + The tempest lulls, the moon comes floundering through the drifts. + + I look where the ship helplessly heads end on, I hear the burst as + she strikes, I hear the howls of dismay, they grow fainter and fainter. + + I cannot aid with my wringing fingers, + I can but rush to the surf and let it drench me and freeze upon me. + + I search with the crowd, not one of the company is wash’d to us alive, + In the morning I help pick up the dead and lay them in rows in a barn. + + 5 + Now of the older war-days, the defeat at Brooklyn, + Washington stands inside the lines, he stands on the intrench’d + hills amid a crowd of officers. + His face is cold and damp, he cannot repress the weeping drops, + He lifts the glass perpetually to his eyes, the color is blanch’d + from his cheeks, + He sees the slaughter of the southern braves confided to him by + their parents. + + The same at last and at last when peace is declared, + He stands in the room of the old tavern, the well-belov’d soldiers + all pass through, + The officers speechless and slow draw near in their turns, + The chief encircles their necks with his arm and kisses them on the cheek, + He kisses lightly the wet cheeks one after another, he shakes hands + and bids good-by to the army. + + 6 + Now what my mother told me one day as we sat at dinner together, + Of when she was a nearly grown girl living home with her parents on + the old homestead. + + A red squaw came one breakfast-time to the old homestead, + On her back she carried a bundle of rushes for rush-bottoming chairs, + Her hair, straight, shiny, coarse, black, profuse, half-envelop’d + her face, + Her step was free and elastic, and her voice sounded exquisitely as + she spoke. + + My mother look’d in delight and amazement at the stranger, + She look’d at the freshness of her tall-borne face and full and + pliant limbs, + The more she look’d upon her she loved her, + Never before had she seen such wonderful beauty and purity, + She made her sit on a bench by the jamb of the fireplace, she cook’d + food for her, + She had no work to give her, but she gave her remembrance and fondness. + + The red squaw staid all the forenoon, and toward the middle of the + afternoon she went away, + O my mother was loth to have her go away, + All the week she thought of her, she watch’d for her many a month, + She remember’d her many a winter and many a summer, + But the red squaw never came nor was heard of there again. + + 7 + A show of the summer softness—a contact of something unseen—an + amour of the light and air, + I am jealous and overwhelm’d with friendliness, + And will go gallivant with the light and air myself. + + O love and summer, you are in the dreams and in me, + Autumn and winter are in the dreams, the farmer goes with his thrift, + The droves and crops increase, the barns are well-fill’d. + + Elements merge in the night, ships make tacks in the dreams, + The sailor sails, the exile returns home, + The fugitive returns unharm’d, the immigrant is back beyond months + and years, + The poor Irishman lives in the simple house of his childhood with + the well known neighbors and faces, + They warmly welcome him, he is barefoot again, he forgets he is well off, + The Dutchman voyages home, and the Scotchman and Welshman voyage + home, and the native of the Mediterranean voyages home, + To every port of England, France, Spain, enter well-fill’d ships, + The Swiss foots it toward his hills, the Prussian goes his way, the + Hungarian his way, and the Pole his way, + The Swede returns, and the Dane and Norwegian return. + + The homeward bound and the outward bound, + The beautiful lost swimmer, the ennuye, the onanist, the female that + loves unrequited, the money-maker, + The actor and actress, those through with their parts and those + waiting to commence, + The affectionate boy, the husband and wife, the voter, the nominee + that is chosen and the nominee that has fail’d, + The great already known and the great any time after to-day, + The stammerer, the sick, the perfect-form’d, the homely, + The criminal that stood in the box, the judge that sat and sentenced + him, the fluent lawyers, the jury, the audience, + The laugher and weeper, the dancer, the midnight widow, the red squaw, + The consumptive, the erysipalite, the idiot, he that is wrong’d, + The antipodes, and every one between this and them in the dark, + I swear they are averaged now—one is no better than the other, + The night and sleep have liken’d them and restored them. + + I swear they are all beautiful, + Every one that sleeps is beautiful, every thing in the dim light is + beautiful, + The wildest and bloodiest is over, and all is peace. + + Peace is always beautiful, + The myth of heaven indicates peace and night. + + The myth of heaven indicates the soul, + The soul is always beautiful, it appears more or it appears less, it + comes or it lags behind, + It comes from its embower’d garden and looks pleasantly on itself + and encloses the world, + Perfect and clean the genitals previously jetting,and perfect and + clean the womb cohering, + The head well-grown proportion’d and plumb, and the bowels and + joints proportion’d and plumb. + + The soul is always beautiful, + The universe is duly in order, every thing is in its place, + What has arrived is in its place and what waits shall be in its place, + The twisted skull waits, the watery or rotten blood waits, + The child of the glutton or venerealee waits long, and the child of + the drunkard waits long, and the drunkard himself waits long, + The sleepers that lived and died wait, the far advanced are to go on + in their turns, and the far behind are to come on in their turns, + The diverse shall be no less diverse, but they shall flow and unite— + they unite now. + + 8 + The sleepers are very beautiful as they lie unclothed, + They flow hand in hand over the whole earth from east to west as + they lie unclothed, + The Asiatic and African are hand in hand, the European and American + are hand in hand, + Learn’d and unlearn’d are hand in hand, and male and female are hand + in hand, + The bare arm of the girl crosses the bare breast of her lover, they + press close without lust, his lips press her neck, + The father holds his grown or ungrown son in his arms with + measureless love, and the son holds the father in his arms with + measureless love, + The white hair of the mother shines on the white wrist of the daughter, + The breath of the boy goes with the breath of the man, friend is + inarm’d by friend, + The scholar kisses the teacher and the teacher kisses the scholar, + the wrong ’d made right, + The call of the slave is one with the master’s call, and the master + salutes the slave, + The felon steps forth from the prison, the insane becomes sane, the + suffering of sick persons is reliev’d, + The sweatings and fevers stop, the throat that was unsound is sound, + the lungs of the consumptive are resumed, the poor distress’d + head is free, + The joints of the rheumatic move as smoothly as ever, and smoother + than ever, + Stiflings and passages open, the paralyzed become supple, + The swell’d and convuls’d and congested awake to themselves in condition, + They pass the invigoration of the night and the chemistry of the + night, and awake. + + I too pass from the night, + I stay a while away O night, but I return to you again and love you. + + Why should I be afraid to trust myself to you? + I am not afraid, I have been well brought forward by you, + I love the rich running day, but I do not desert her in whom I lay so long, + I know not how I came of you and I know not where I go with you, but + I know I came well and shall go well. + + I will stop only a time with the night, and rise betimes, + I will duly pass the day O my mother, and duly return to you. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0231" id="link2H_4_0231"></a> + Transpositions + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Let the reformers descend from the stands where they are forever + bawling—let an idiot or insane person appear on each of the stands; + Let judges and criminals be transposed—let the prison-keepers be + put in prison—let those that were prisoners take the keys; + Let them that distrust birth and death lead the rest. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0232" id="link2H_4_0232"></a> + BOOK XXIX + </h2> + <p> + To Think of Time + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + To think of time—of all that retrospection, + To think of to-day, and the ages continued henceforward. + + Have you guess’d you yourself would not continue? + Have you dreaded these earth-beetles? + Have you fear’d the future would be nothing to you? + + Is to-day nothing? is the beginningless past nothing? + If the future is nothing they are just as surely nothing. + + To think that the sun rose in the east—that men and women were + flexible, real, alive—that every thing was alive, + To think that you and I did not see, feel, think, nor bear our part, + To think that we are now here and bear our part. + + 2 + Not a day passes, not a minute or second without an accouchement, + Not a day passes, not a minute or second without a corpse. + + The dull nights go over and the dull days also, + The soreness of lying so much in bed goes over, + The physician after long putting off gives the silent and terrible + look for an answer, + The children come hurried and weeping, and the brothers and sisters + are sent for, + Medicines stand unused on the shelf, (the camphor-smell has long + pervaded the rooms,) + The faithful hand of the living does not desert the hand of the dying, + The twitching lips press lightly on the forehead of the dying, + The breath ceases and the pulse of the heart ceases, + The corpse stretches on the bed and the living look upon it, + It is palpable as the living are palpable. + + The living look upon the corpse with their eyesight, + But without eyesight lingers a different living and looks curiously + on the corpse. + + 3 + To think the thought of death merged in the thought of materials, + To think of all these wonders of city and country, and others taking + great interest in them, and we taking no interest in them. + + To think how eager we are in building our houses, + To think others shall be just as eager, and we quite indifferent. + + (I see one building the house that serves him a few years, or + seventy or eighty years at most, + I see one building the house that serves him longer than that.) + + Slow-moving and black lines creep over the whole earth—they never + cease—they are the burial lines, + He that was President was buried, and he that is now President shall + surely be buried. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 4 + A reminiscence of the vulgar fate, + A frequent sample of the life and death of workmen, + Each after his kind. + + Cold dash of waves at the ferry-wharf, posh and ice in the river, + half-frozen mud in the streets, + A gray discouraged sky overhead, the short last daylight of December, + A hearse and stages, the funeral of an old Broadway stage-driver, + the cortege mostly drivers. + + Steady the trot to the cemetery, duly rattles the death-bell, + The gate is pass’d, the new-dug grave is halted at, the living + alight, the hearse uncloses, + The coffin is pass’d out, lower’d and settled, the whip is laid on + the coffin, the earth is swiftly shovel’d in, + The mound above is flatted with the spades—silence, + A minute—no one moves or speaks—it is done, + He is decently put away—is there any thing more? + + He was a good fellow, free-mouth’d, quick-temper’d, not bad-looking, + Ready with life or death for a friend, fond of women, gambled, ate + hearty, drank hearty, + Had known what it was to be flush, grew low-spirited toward the + last, sicken’d, was help’d by a contribution, + Died, aged forty-one years—and that was his funeral. + + Thumb extended, finger uplifted, apron, cape, gloves, strap, + wet-weather clothes, whip carefully chosen, + Boss, spotter, starter, hostler, somebody loafing on you, you + loafing on somebody, headway, man before and man behind, + Good day’s work, bad day’s work, pet stock, mean stock, first out, + last out, turning-in at night, + To think that these are so much and so nigh to other drivers, and he + there takes no interest in them. + + 5 + The markets, the government, the working-man’s wages, to think what + account they are through our nights and days, + To think that other working-men will make just as great account of + them, yet we make little or no account. + + The vulgar and the refined, what you call sin and what you call + goodness, to think how wide a difference, + To think the difference will still continue to others, yet we lie + beyond the difference. + + To think how much pleasure there is, + Do you enjoy yourself in the city? or engaged in business? or + planning a nomination and election? or with your wife and family? + Or with your mother and sisters? or in womanly housework? or the + beautiful maternal cares? + These also flow onward to others, you and I flow onward, + But in due time you and I shall take less interest in them. + + Your farm, profits, crops—to think how engross’d you are, + To think there will still be farms, profits, crops, yet for you of + what avail? + + 6 + What will be will be well, for what is is well, + To take interest is well, and not to take interest shall be well. + + The domestic joys, the dally housework or business, the building of + houses, are not phantasms, they have weight, form, location, + Farms, profits, crops, markets, wages, government, are none of them + phantasms, + The difference between sin and goodness is no delusion, + The earth is not an echo, man and his life and all the things of his + life are well-consider’d. + + You are not thrown to the winds, you gather certainly and safely + around yourself, + Yourself! yourself!. yourself, for ever and ever! + + 7 + It is not to diffuse you that you were born of your mother and + father, it is to identify you, + It is not that you should be undecided, but that you should be decided, + Something long preparing and formless is arrived and form’d in you, + You are henceforth secure, whatever comes or goes. + + The threads that were spun are gather’d, the wet crosses the warp, + the pattern is systematic. + + The preparations have every one been justified, + The orchestra have sufficiently tuned their instruments, the baton + has given the signal. + + The guest that was coming, he waited long, he is now housed, + He is one of those who are beautiful and happy, he is one of those + that to look upon and be with is enough. + + The law of the past cannot be eluded, + The law of the present and future cannot be eluded, + The law of the living cannot be eluded, it is eternal, + The law of promotion and transformation cannot be eluded, + The law of heroes and good-doers cannot be eluded, + The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons, not one iota thereof + can be eluded. + + 8 + Slow moving and black lines go ceaselessly over the earth, + Northerner goes carried and Southerner goes carried, and they on the + Atlantic side and they on the Pacific, + And they between, and all through the Mississippi country, and all + over the earth. + + The great masters and kosmos are well as they go, the heroes and + good-doers are well, + The known leaders and inventors and the rich owners and pious and + distinguish’d may be well, + But there is more account than that, there is strict account of all. + + The interminable hordes of the ignorant and wicked are not nothing, + The barbarians of Africa and Asia are not nothing, + The perpetual successions of shallow people are not nothing as they go. + + Of and in all these things, + I have dream’d that we are not to be changed so much, nor the law of + us changed, + I have dream’d that heroes and good-doers shall be under the present + and past law, + And that murderers, drunkards, liars, shall be under the present and + past law, + For I have dream’d that the law they are under now is enough. + + And I have dream’d that the purpose and essence of the known life, + the transient, + Is to form and decide identity for the unknown life, the permanent. + + If all came but to ashes of dung, + If maggots and rats ended us, then Alarum! for we are betray’d, + Then indeed suspicion of death. + + Do you suspect death? if I were to suspect death I should die now, + Do you think I could walk pleasantly and well-suited toward annihilation? + + Pleasantly and well-suited I walk, + Whither I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good, + The whole universe indicates that it is good, + The past and the present indicate that it is good. + + How beautiful and perfect are the animals! + How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon it! + What is called good is perfect, and what is called bad is just as perfect, + The vegetables and minerals are all perfect, and the imponderable + fluids perfect; + Slowly and surely they have pass’d on to this, and slowly and surely + they yet pass on. + + 9 + I swear I think now that every thing without exception has an eternal soul! + The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the sea have! the + animals! + + I swear I think there is nothing but immortality! + That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is for + it, and the cohering is for it! + And all preparation is for it—and identity is for it—and life and + materials are altogether for it! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0233" id="link2H_4_0233"></a> + BOOK XXX. WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH + </h2> + <p> + Darest Thou Now O Soul + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Darest thou now O soul, + Walk out with me toward the unknown region, + Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow? + + No map there, nor guide, + Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand, + Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land. + + I know it not O soul, + Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us, + All waits undream’d of in that region, that inaccessible land. + + Till when the ties loosen, + All but the ties eternal, Time and Space, + Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bounding us. + + Then we burst forth, we float, + In Time and Space O soul, prepared for them, + Equal, equipt at last, (O joy! O fruit of all!) them to fulfil O soul. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0234" id="link2H_4_0234"></a> + Whispers of Heavenly Death + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Whispers of heavenly death murmur’d I hear, + Labial gossip of night, sibilant chorals, + Footsteps gently ascending, mystical breezes wafted soft and low, + Ripples of unseen rivers, tides of a current flowing, forever flowing, + (Or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?) + + I see, just see skyward, great cloud-masses, + Mournfully slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing, + With at times a half-dimm’d sadden’d far-off star, + Appearing and disappearing. + + (Some parturition rather, some solemn immortal birth; + On the frontiers to eyes impenetrable, + Some soul is passing over.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0235" id="link2H_4_0235"></a> + Chanting the Square Deific + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Chanting the square deific, out of the One advancing, out of the sides, + Out of the old and new, out of the square entirely divine, + Solid, four-sided, (all the sides needed,) from this side Jehovah am I, + Old Brahm I, and I Saturnius am; + Not Time affects me—I am Time, old, modern as any, + Unpersuadable, relentless, executing righteous judgments, + As the Earth, the Father, the brown old Kronos, with laws, + Aged beyond computation, yet never new, ever with those mighty laws rolling, + Relentless I forgive no man—whoever sins dies—I will have that man’s life; + Therefore let none expect mercy—have the seasons, gravitation, the + appointed days, mercy? no more have I, + But as the seasons and gravitation, and as all the appointed days + that forgive not, + I dispense from this side judgments inexorable without the least remorse. + + 2 + Consolator most mild, the promis’d one advancing, + With gentle hand extended, the mightier God am I, + Foretold by prophets and poets in their most rapt prophecies and poems, + From this side, lo! the Lord Christ gazes—lo! Hermes I—lo! mine is + Hercules’ face, + All sorrow, labor, suffering, I, tallying it, absorb in myself, + Many times have I been rejected, taunted, put in prison, and + crucified, and many times shall be again, + All the world have I given up for my dear brothers’ and sisters’ + sake, for the soul’s sake, + Wanding my way through the homes of men, rich or poor, with the kiss + of affection, + For I am affection, I am the cheer-bringing God, with hope and + all-enclosing charity, + With indulgent words as to children, with fresh and sane words, mine only, + Young and strong I pass knowing well I am destin’d myself to an + early death; + But my charity has no death—my wisdom dies not, neither early nor late, + And my sweet love bequeath’d here and elsewhere never dies. + + 3 + Aloof, dissatisfied, plotting revolt, + Comrade of criminals, brother of slaves, + Crafty, despised, a drudge, ignorant, + With sudra face and worn brow, black, but in the depths of my heart, + proud as any, + Lifted now and always against whoever scorning assumes to rule me, + Morose, full of guile, full of reminiscences, brooding, with many wiles, + (Though it was thought I was baffled, and dispel’d, and my wiles + done, but that will never be,) + Defiant, I, Satan, still live, still utter words, in new lands duly + appearing, (and old ones also,) + Permanent here from my side, warlike, equal with any, real as any, + Nor time nor change shall ever change me or my words. + + 4 + Santa Spirita, breather, life, + Beyond the light, lighter than light, + Beyond the flames of hell, joyous, leaping easily above hell, + Beyond Paradise, perfumed solely with mine own perfume, + Including all life on earth, touching, including God, including + Saviour and Satan, + Ethereal, pervading all, (for without me what were all? what were God?) + Essence of forms, life of the real identities, permanent, positive, + (namely the unseen,) + Life of the great round world, the sun and stars, and of man, I, the + general soul, + Here the square finishing, the solid, I the most solid, + Breathe my breath also through these songs. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0236" id="link2H_4_0236"></a> + Of Him I Love Day and Night + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of him I love day and night I dream’d I heard he was dead, + And I dream’d I went where they had buried him I love, but he was + not in that place, + And I dream’d I wander’d searching among burial-places to find him, + And I found that every place was a burial-place; + The houses full of life were equally full of death, (this house is now,) + The streets, the shipping, the places of amusement, the Chicago, + Boston, Philadelphia, the Mannahatta, were as full of the dead as + of the living, + And fuller, O vastly fuller of the dead than of the living; + And what I dream’d I will henceforth tell to every person and age, + And I stand henceforth bound to what I dream’d, + And now I am willing to disregard burial-places and dispense with them, + And if the memorials of the dead were put up indifferently everywhere, + even in the room where I eat or sleep, I should be satisfied, + And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my own corpse, be duly + render’d to powder and pour’d in the sea, I shall be satisfied, + Or if it be distributed to the winds I shall be satisfied. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0237" id="link2H_4_0237"></a> + Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yet, yet, ye downcast hours, I know ye also, + Weights of lead, how ye clog and cling at my ankles, + Earth to a chamber of mourning turns—I hear the o’erweening, mocking + voice, + Matter is conqueror—matter, triumphant only, continues onward. + + Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me, + The call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarm’d, uncertain, + The sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me, + Come tell me where I am speeding, tell me my destination. + + I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you, + I approach, hear, behold, the sad mouth, the look out of the eyes, + your mute inquiry, + Whither I go from the bed I recline on, come tell me,— + Old age, alarm’d, uncertain—a young woman’s voice, appealing to + me for comfort; + A young man’s voice, Shall I not escape? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0238" id="link2H_4_0238"></a> + As If a Phantom Caress’d Me + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As if a phantom caress’d me, + I thought I was not alone walking here by the shore; + But the one I thought was with me as now I walk by the shore, the + one I loved that caress’d me, + As I lean and look through the glimmering light, that one has + utterly disappear’d. + And those appear that are hateful to me and mock me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0239" id="link2H_4_0239"></a> + Assurances + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I need no assurances, I am a man who is preoccupied of his own soul; + I do not doubt that from under the feet and beside the hands and + face I am cognizant of, are now looking faces I am not cognizant + of, calm and actual faces, + I do not doubt but the majesty and beauty of the world are latent in + any iota of the world, + I do not doubt I am limitless, and that the universes are limitless, + in vain I try to think how limitless, + I do not doubt that the orbs and the systems of orbs play their + swift sports through the air on purpose, and that I shall one day + be eligible to do as much as they, and more than they, + I do not doubt that temporary affairs keep on and on millions of years, + I do not doubt interiors have their interiors, and exteriors have + their exteriors, and that the eyesight has another eyesight, and + the hearing another hearing, and the voice another voice, + I do not doubt that the passionately-wept deaths of young men are + provided for, and that the deaths of young women and the + deaths of little children are provided for, + (Did you think Life was so well provided for, and Death, the purport + of all Life, is not well provided for?) + I do not doubt that wrecks at sea, no matter what the horrors of + them, no matter whose wife, child, husband, father, lover, has + gone down, are provided for, to the minutest points, + I do not doubt that whatever can possibly happen anywhere at any + time, is provided for in the inherences of things, + I do not think Life provides for all and for Time and Space, but I + believe Heavenly Death provides for all. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0240" id="link2H_4_0240"></a> + Quicksand Years + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Quicksand years that whirl me I know not whither, + Your schemes, politics, fail, lines give way, substances mock and elude me, + Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess’d soul, eludes not, + One’s-self must never give way—that is the final substance—that + out of all is sure, + Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life, what at last finally remains? + When shows break up what but One’s-Self is sure? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0241" id="link2H_4_0241"></a> + That Music Always Round Me + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + That music always round me, unceasing, unbeginning, yet long + untaught I did not hear, + But now the chorus I hear and am elated, + A tenor, strong, ascending with power and health, with glad notes of + daybreak I hear, + A soprano at intervals sailing buoyantly over the tops of immense waves, + A transparent base shuddering lusciously under and through the universe, + The triumphant tutti, the funeral wailings with sweet flutes and + violins, all these I fill myself with, + I hear not the volumes of sound merely, I am moved by the exquisite + meanings, + I listen to the different voices winding in and out, striving, + contending with fiery vehemence to excel each other in emotion; + I do not think the performers know themselves—but now I think + begin to know them. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0242" id="link2H_4_0242"></a> + What Ship Puzzled at Sea + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What ship puzzled at sea, cons for the true reckoning? + Or coming in, to avoid the bars and follow the channel a perfect + pilot needs? + Here, sailor! here, ship! take aboard the most perfect pilot, + Whom, in a little boat, putting off and rowing, I hailing you offer. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0243" id="link2H_4_0243"></a> + A Noiseless Patient Spider + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A noiseless patient spider, + I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated, + Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding, + It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament out of itself, + Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them. + + And you O my soul where you stand, + Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space, + Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to + connect them, + Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold, + Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0244" id="link2H_4_0244"></a> + O Living Always, Always Dying + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O living always, always dying! + O the burials of me past and present, + O me while I stride ahead, material, visible, imperious as ever; + O me, what I was for years, now dead, (I lament not, I am content;) + O to disengage myself from those corpses of me, which I turn and + look at where I cast them, + To pass on, (O living! always living!) and leave the corpses behind. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0245" id="link2H_4_0245"></a> + To One Shortly to Die + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + From all the rest I single out you, having a message for you, + You are to die—let others tell you what they please, I cannot prevaricate, + I am exact and merciless, but I love you—there is no escape for you. + + Softly I lay my right hand upon you, you ’ust feel it, + I do not argue, I bend my head close and half envelop it, + I sit quietly by, I remain faithful, + I am more than nurse, more than parent or neighbor, + I absolve you from all except yourself spiritual bodily, that is + eternal, you yourself will surely escape, + The corpse you will leave will be but excrementitious. + + The sun bursts through in unlooked-for directions, + Strong thoughts fill you and confidence, you smile, + You forget you are sick, as I forget you are sick, + You do not see the medicines, you do not mind the weeping friends, + I am with you, + I exclude others from you, there is nothing to be commiserated, + I do not commiserate, I congratulate you. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0246" id="link2H_4_0246"></a> + Night on the Prairies + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Night on the prairies, + The supper is over, the fire on the ground burns low, + The wearied emigrants sleep, wrapt in their blankets; + I walk by myself—I stand and look at the stars, which I think now + never realized before. + + Now I absorb immortality and peace, + I admire death and test propositions. + + How plenteous! how spiritual! how resume! + The same old man and soul—the same old aspirations, and the same content. + + I was thinking the day most splendid till I saw what the not-day exhibited, + I was thinking this globe enough till there sprang out so noiseless + around me myriads of other globes. + + Now while the great thoughts of space and eternity fill me I will + measure myself by them, + And now touch’d with the lives of other globes arrived as far along + as those of the earth, + Or waiting to arrive, or pass’d on farther than those of the earth, + I henceforth no more ignore them than I ignore my own life, + Or the lives of the earth arrived as far as mine, or waiting to arrive. + + O I see now that life cannot exhibit all to me, as the day cannot, + I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by death. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0247" id="link2H_4_0247"></a> + Thought + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I sit with others at a great feast, suddenly while the music is playing, + To my mind, (whence it comes I know not,) spectral in mist of a + wreck at sea, + Of certain ships, how they sail from port with flying streamers and + wafted kisses, and that is the last of them, + Of the solemn and murky mystery about the fate of the President, + Of the flower of the marine science of fifty generations founder’d + off the Northeast coast and going down—of the steamship Arctic + going down, + Of the veil’d tableau-women gather’d together on deck, pale, heroic, + waiting the moment that draws so close—O the moment! + + A huge sob—a few bubbles—the white foam spirting up—and then the + women gone, + Sinking there while the passionless wet flows on—and I now + pondering, Are those women indeed gone? + Are souls drown’d and destroy’d so? + Is only matter triumphant? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0248" id="link2H_4_0248"></a> + The Last Invocation + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + At the last, tenderly, + From the walls of the powerful fortress’d house, + From the clasp of the knitted locks, from the keep of the well-closed doors, + Let me be wafted. + + Let me glide noiselessly forth; + With the key of softness unlock the locks—with a whisper, + Set ope the doors O soul. + + Tenderly—be not impatient, + (Strong is your hold O mortal flesh, + Strong is your hold O love.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0249" id="link2H_4_0249"></a> + As I Watch the Ploughman Ploughing + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I watch’d the ploughman ploughing, + Or the sower sowing in the fields, or the harvester harvesting, + I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies; + (Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0250" id="link2H_4_0250"></a> + Pensive and Faltering + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pensive and faltering, + The words the Dead I write, + For living are the Dead, + (Haply the only living, only real, + And I the apparition, I the spectre.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0251" id="link2H_4_0251"></a> + BOOK XXXI + </h2> + <p> + Thou Mother with Thy Equal Brood + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Thou Mother with thy equal brood, + Thou varied chain of different States, yet one identity only, + A special song before I go I’d sing o’er all the rest, + For thee, the future. + + I’d sow a seed for thee of endless Nationality, + I’d fashion thy ensemble including body and soul, + I’d show away ahead thy real Union, and how it may be accomplish’d. + + The paths to the house I seek to make, + But leave to those to come the house itself. + + Belief I sing, and preparation; + As Life and Nature are not great with reference to the present only, + But greater still from what is yet to come, + Out of that formula for thee I sing. + + 2 + As a strong bird on pinions free, + Joyous, the amplest spaces heavenward cleaving, + Such be the thought I’d think of thee America, + Such be the recitative I’d bring for thee. + + The conceits of the poets of other lands I’d bring thee not, + Nor the compliments that have served their turn so long, + Nor rhyme, nor the classics, nor perfume of foreign court or indoor + library; + But an odor I’d bring as from forests of pine in Maine, or breath of + an Illinois prairie, + With open airs of Virginia or Georgia or Tennessee, or from Texas + uplands, or Florida’s glades, + Or the Saguenay’s black stream, or the wide blue spread of Huron, + With presentment of Yellowstone’s scenes, or Yosemite, + And murmuring under, pervading all, I’d bring the rustling sea-sound, + That endlessly sounds from the two Great Seas of the world. + + And for thy subtler sense subtler refrains dread Mother, + Preludes of intellect tallying these and thee, mind-formulas fitted + for thee, real and sane and large as these and thee, + Thou! mounting higher, diving deeper than we knew, thou + transcendental Union! + By thee fact to be justified, blended with thought, + Thought of man justified, blended with God, + Through thy idea, lo, the immortal reality! + Through thy reality, lo, the immortal idea! + + 3 + Brain of the New World, what a task is thine, + To formulate the Modern—out of the peerless grandeur of the modern, + Out of thyself, comprising science, to recast poems, churches, art, + (Recast, may-be discard them, end them—maybe their work is done, + who knows?) + By vision, hand, conception, on the background of the mighty past, the dead, + To limn with absolute faith the mighty living present. + + And yet thou living present brain, heir of the dead, the Old World brain, + Thou that lay folded like an unborn babe within its folds so long, + Thou carefully prepared by it so long—haply thou but unfoldest it, + only maturest it, + It to eventuate in thee—the essence of the by-gone time contain’d in thee, + Its poems, churches, arts, unwitting to themselves, destined with + reference to thee; + Thou but the apples, long, long, long a-growing, + The fruit of all the Old ripening to-day in thee. + + 4 + Sail, sail thy best, ship of Democracy, + Of value is thy freight, ’tis not the Present only, + The Past is also stored in thee, + Thou holdest not the venture of thyself alone, not of the Western + continent alone, + Earth’s resume entire floats on thy keel O ship, is steadied by thy spars, + With thee Time voyages in trust, the antecedent nations sink or + swim with thee, + With all their ancient struggles, martyrs, heroes, epics, wars, thou + bear’st the other continents, + Theirs, theirs as much as thine, the destination-port triumphant; + Steer then with good strong hand and wary eye O helmsman, thou + carriest great companions, + Venerable priestly Asia sails this day with thee, + And royal feudal Europe sails with thee. + + 5 + Beautiful world of new superber birth that rises to my eyes, + Like a limitless golden cloud filling the westernr sky, + Emblem of general maternity lifted above all, + Sacred shape of the bearer of daughters and sons, + Out of thy teeming womb thy giant babes in ceaseless procession issuing, + Acceding from such gestation, taking and giving continual strength + and life, + World of the real—world of the twain in one, + World of the soul, born by the world of the real alone, led to + identity, body, by it alone, + Yet in beginning only, incalculable masses of composite precious materials, + By history’s cycles forwarded, by every nation, language, hither sent, + Ready, collected here, a freer, vast, electric world, to be + constructed here, + (The true New World, the world of orbic science, morals, literatures + to come,) + Thou wonder world yet undefined, unform’d, neither do I define thee, + How can I pierce the impenetrable blank of the future? + I feel thy ominous greatness evil as well as good, + I watch thee advancing, absorbing the present, transcending the past, + I see thy light lighting, and thy shadow shadowing, as if the entire globe, + But I do not undertake to define thee, hardly to comprehend thee, + I but thee name, thee prophesy, as now, + I merely thee ejaculate! + + Thee in thy future, + Thee in thy only permanent life, career, thy own unloosen’d mind, + thy soaring spirit, + Thee as another equally needed sun, radiant, ablaze, swift-moving, + fructifying all, + Thee risen in potent cheerfulness and joy, in endless great hilarity, + Scattering for good the cloud that hung so long, that weigh’d so + long upon the mind of man, + The doubt, suspicion, dread, of gradual, certain decadence of man; + Thee in thy larger, saner brood of female, male—thee in thy + athletes, moral, spiritual, South, North, West, East, + (To thy immortal breasts, Mother of All, thy every daughter, son, + endear’d alike, forever equal,) + Thee in thy own musicians, singers, artists, unborn yet, but certain, + Thee in thy moral wealth and civilization, (until which thy proudest + material civilization must remain in vain,) + Thee in thy all-supplying, all-enclosing worship—thee in no single + bible, saviour, merely, + Thy saviours countless, latent within thyself, thy bibles incessant + within thyself, equal to any, divine as any, + (Thy soaring course thee formulating, not in thy two great wars, nor + in thy century’s visible growth, + But far more in these leaves and chants, thy chants, great Mother!) + Thee in an education grown of thee, in teachers, studies, students, + born of thee, + Thee in thy democratic fetes en-masse, thy high original festivals, + operas, lecturers, preachers, + Thee in thy ultimate, (the preparations only now completed, the + edifice on sure foundations tied,) + Thee in thy pinnacles, intellect, thought, thy topmost rational + joys, thy love and godlike aspiration, + In thy resplendent coming literati, thy full-lung’d orators, thy + sacerdotal bards, kosmic savans, + These! these in thee, (certain to come,) to-day I prophesy. + + 6 + Land tolerating all, accepting all, not for the good alone, all good + for thee, + Land in the realms of God to be a realm unto thyself, + Under the rule of God to be a rule unto thyself. + + (Lo, where arise three peerless stars, + To be thy natal stars my country, Ensemble, Evolution, Freedom, + Set in the sky of Law.) + + Land of unprecedented faith, God’s faith, + Thy soil, thy very subsoil, all upheav’d, + The general inner earth so long so sedulously draped over, now hence + for what it is boldly laid bare, + Open’d by thee to heaven’s light for benefit or bale. + + Not for success alone, + Not to fair-sail unintermitted always, + The storm shall dash thy face, the murk of war and worse than war + shall cover thee all over, + (Wert capable of war, its tug and trials? be capable of peace, its trials, + For the tug and mortal strain of nations come at last in prosperous + peace, not war;) + In many a smiling mask death shall approach beguiling thee, thou in + disease shalt swelter, + The livid cancer spread its hideous claws, clinging upon thy + breasts, seeking to strike thee deep within, + Consumption of the worst, moral consumption, shall rouge thy face + with hectic, + But thou shalt face thy fortunes, thy diseases, and surmount them all, + Whatever they are to-day and whatever through time they may be, + They each and all shall lift and pass away and cease from thee, + While thou, Time’s spirals rounding, out of thyself, thyself still + extricating, fusing, + Equable, natural, mystical Union thou, (the mortal with immortal blent,) + Shalt soar toward the fulfilment of the future, the spirit of the + body and the mind, + The soul, its destinies. + + The soul, its destinies, the real real, + (Purport of all these apparitions of the real;) + In thee America, the soul, its destinies, + Thou globe of globes! thou wonder nebulous! + By many a throe of heat and cold convuls’d, (by these thyself solidifying,) + Thou mental, moral orb—thou New, indeed new, Spiritual World! + The Present holds thee not—for such vast growth as thine, + For such unparallel’d flight as thine, such brood as thine, + The FUTURE only holds thee and can hold thee. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0252" id="link2H_4_0252"></a> + A Paumanok Picture + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Two boats with nets lying off the sea-beach, quite still, + Ten fishermen waiting—they discover a thick school of mossbonkers + —they drop the join’d seine-ends in the water, + The boats separate and row off, each on its rounding course to the + beach, enclosing the mossbonkers, + The net is drawn in by a windlass by those who stop ashore, + Some of the fishermen lounge in their boats, others stand + ankle-deep in the water, pois’d on strong legs, + The boats partly drawn up, the water slapping against them, + Strew’d on the sand in heaps and windrows, well out from the water, + the green-back’d spotted mossbonkers. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0253" id="link2H_4_0253"></a> + BOOK XXXII. FROM NOON TO STARRY NIGHT + </h2> + <p> + Thou Orb Aloft Full-Dazzling + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thou orb aloft full-dazzling! thou hot October noon! + Flooding with sheeny light the gray beach sand, + The sibilant near sea with vistas far and foam, + And tawny streaks and shades and spreading blue; + O sun of noon refulgent! my special word to thee. + + Hear me illustrious! + Thy lover me, for always I have loved thee, + Even as basking babe, then happy boy alone by some wood edge, thy + touching-distant beams enough, + Or man matured, or young or old, as now to thee I launch my invocation. + + (Thou canst not with thy dumbness me deceive, + I know before the fitting man all Nature yields, + Though answering not in words, the skies, trees, hear his voice—and + thou O sun, + As for thy throes, thy perturbations, sudden breaks and shafts of + flame gigantic, + I understand them, I know those flames, those perturbations well.) + + Thou that with fructifying heat and light, + O’er myriad farms, o’er lands and waters North and South, + O’er Mississippi’s endless course, o’er Texas’ grassy plains, + Kanada’s woods, + O’er all the globe that turns its face to thee shining in space, + Thou that impartially enfoldest all, not only continents, seas, + Thou that to grapes and weeds and little wild flowers givest so liberally, + Shed, shed thyself on mine and me, with but a fleeting ray out of + thy million millions, + Strike through these chants. + + Nor only launch thy subtle dazzle and thy strength for these, + Prepare the later afternoon of me myself—prepare my lengthening shadows, + Prepare my starry nights. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0254" id="link2H_4_0254"></a> + Faces + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Sauntering the pavement or riding the country by-road, faces! + Faces of friendship, precision, caution, suavity, ideality, + The spiritual-prescient face, the always welcome common benevolent face, + The face of the singing of music, the grand faces of natural lawyers + and judges broad at the back-top, + The faces of hunters and fishers bulged at the brows, the shaved + blanch’d faces of orthodox citizens, + The pure, extravagant, yearning, questioning artist’s face, + The ugly face of some beautiful soul, the handsome detested or + despised face, + The sacred faces of infants, the illuminated face of the mother of + many children, + The face of an amour, the face of veneration, + The face as of a dream, the face of an immobile rock, + The face withdrawn of its good and bad, a castrated face, + A wild hawk, his wings clipp’d by the clipper, + A stallion that yielded at last to the thongs and knife of the gelder. + + Sauntering the pavement thus, or crossing the ceaseless ferry, faces + and faces and faces, + I see them and complain not, and am content with all. + + 2 + Do you suppose I could be content with all if I thought them their + own finale? + + This now is too lamentable a face for a man, + Some abject louse asking leave to be, cringing for it, + Some milk-nosed maggot blessing what lets it wrig to its hole. + + This face is a dog’s snout sniffing for garbage, + Snakes nest in that mouth, I hear the sibilant threat. + + This face is a haze more chill than the arctic sea, + Its sleepy and wobbling icebergs crunch as they go. + + This is a face of bitter herbs, this an emetic, they need no label, + And more of the drug-shelf, laudanum, caoutchouc, or hog’s-lard. + + This face is an epilepsy, its wordless tongue gives out the unearthly cry, + Its veins down the neck distend, its eyes roll till they show + nothing but their whites, + Its teeth grit, the palms of the hands are cut by the turn’d-in nails, + The man falls struggling and foaming to the ground, while he + speculates well. + + This face is bitten by vermin and worms, + And this is some murderer’s knife with a half-pull’d scabbard. + + This face owes to the sexton his dismalest fee, + An unceasing death-bell tolls there. + + 3 + Features of my equals would you trick me with your creas’d and + cadaverous march? + Well, you cannot trick me. + + I see your rounded never-erased flow, + I see ’neath the rims of your haggard and mean disguises. + + Splay and twist as you like, poke with the tangling fores of fishes or rats, + You’ll be unmuzzled, you certainly will. + + I saw the face of the most smear’d and slobbering idiot they had at + the asylum, + And I knew for my consolation what they knew not, + I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my brother, + The same wait to clear the rubbish from the fallen tenement, + And I shall look again in a score or two of ages, + And I shall meet the real landlord perfect and unharm’d, every inch + as good as myself. + + 4 + The Lord advances, and yet advances, + Always the shadow in front, always the reach’d hand bringing up the + laggards. + + Out of this face emerge banners and horses—O superb! I see what is coming, + I see the high pioneer-caps, see staves of runners clearing the way, + I hear victorious drums. + + This face is a life-boat, + This is the face commanding and bearded, it asks no odds of the rest, + This face is flavor’d fruit ready for eating, + This face of a healthy honest boy is the programme of all good. + + These faces bear testimony slumbering or awake, + They show their descent from the Master himself. + + Off the word I have spoken I except not one—red, white, black, are + all deific, + In each house is the ovum, it comes forth after a thousand years. + + Spots or cracks at the windows do not disturb me, + Tall and sufficient stand behind and make signs to me, + I read the promise and patiently wait. + + This is a full-grown lily’s face, + She speaks to the limber-hipp’d man near the garden pickets, + Come here she blushingly cries, Come nigh to me limber-hipp’d man, + Stand at my side till I lean as high as I can upon you, + Fill me with albescent honey, bend down to me, + Rub to me with your chafing beard, rub to my breast and shoulders. + + 5 + The old face of the mother of many children, + Whist! I am fully content. + + Lull’d and late is the smoke of the First-day morning, + It hangs low over the rows of trees by the fences, + It hangs thin by the sassafras and wild-cherry and cat-brier under them. + + I saw the rich ladies in full dress at the soiree, + I heard what the singers were singing so long, + Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white froth and the water-blue. + + Behold a woman! + She looks out from her quaker cap, her face is clearer and more + beautiful than the sky. + + She sits in an armchair under the shaded porch of the farmhouse, + The sun just shines on her old white head. + + Her ample gown is of cream-hued linen, + Her grandsons raised the flax, and her grand-daughters spun it with + the distaff and the wheel. + + The melodious character of the earth, + The finish beyond which philosophy cannot go and does not wish to go, + The justified mother of men. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0255" id="link2H_4_0255"></a> + The Mystic Trumpeter + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Hark, some wild trumpeter, some strange musician, + Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night. + + I hear thee trumpeter, listening alert I catch thy notes, + Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me, + Now low, subdued, now in the distance lost. + + 2 + Come nearer bodiless one, haply in thee resounds + Some dead composer, haply thy pensive life + Was fill’d with aspirations high, unform’d ideals, + Waves, oceans musical, chaotically surging, + That now ecstatic ghost, close to me bending, thy cornet echoing, pealing, + Gives out to no one’s ears but mine, but freely gives to mine, + That I may thee translate. + + 3 + Blow trumpeter free and clear, I follow thee, + While at thy liquid prelude, glad, serene, + The fretting world, the streets, the noisy hours of day withdraw, + A holy calm descends like dew upon me, + I walk in cool refreshing night the walks of Paradise, + I scent the grass, the moist air and the roses; + Thy song expands my numb’d imbonded spirit, thou freest, launchest me, + Floating and basking upon heaven’s lake. + + 4 + Blow again trumpeter! and for my sensuous eyes, + Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world. + + What charm thy music works! thou makest pass before me, + Ladies and cavaliers long dead, barons are in their castle halls, + the troubadours are singing, + Arm’d knights go forth to redress wrongs, some in quest of the holy Graal; + I see the tournament, I see the contestants incased in heavy armor + seated on stately champing horses, + I hear the shouts, the sounds of blows and smiting steel; + I see the Crusaders’ tumultuous armies—hark, how the cymbals clang, + Lo, where the monks walk in advance, bearing the cross on high. + + 5 + Blow again trumpeter! and for thy theme, + Take now the enclosing theme of all, the solvent and the setting, + Love, that is pulse of all, the sustenance and the pang, + The heart of man and woman all for love, + No other theme but love—knitting, enclosing, all-diffusing love. + + O how the immortal phantoms crowd around me! + I see the vast alembic ever working, I see and know the flames that + heat the world, + The glow, the blush, the beating hearts of lovers, + So blissful happy some, and some so silent, dark, and nigh to death; + Love, that is all the earth to lovers—love, that mocks time and space, + Love, that is day and night—love, that is sun and moon and stars, + Love, that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with perfume, + No other words but words of love, no other thought but love. + + 6 + Blow again trumpeter—conjure war’s alarums. + + Swift to thy spell a shuddering hum like distant thunder rolls, + Lo, where the arm’d men hasten—lo, mid the clouds of dust the glint + of bayonets, + I see the grime-faced cannoneers, I mark the rosy flash amid the + smoke, I hear the cracking of the guns; + Nor war alone—thy fearful music-song, wild player, brings every + sight of fear, + The deeds of ruthless brigands, rapine, murder—I hear the cries for help! + I see ships foundering at sea, I behold on deck and below deck the + terrible tableaus. + + 7 + O trumpeter, methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest, + Thou melt’st my heart, my brain—thou movest, drawest, changest + them at will; + And now thy sullen notes send darkness through me, + Thou takest away all cheering light, all hope, + I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the opprest of the + whole earth, + I feel the measureless shame and humiliation of my race, it becomes + all mine, + Mine too the revenges of humanity, the wrongs of ages, baffled feuds + and hatreds, + Utter defeat upon me weighs—all lost—the foe victorious, + (Yet ’mid the ruins Pride colossal stands unshaken to the last, + Endurance, resolution to the last.) +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 8 + Now trumpeter for thy close, + Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet, + Sing to my soul, renew its languishing faith and hope, + Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future, + Give me for once its prophecy and joy. + + O glad, exulting, culminating song! + A vigor more than earth’s is in thy notes, + Marches of victory—man disenthral’d—the conqueror at last, + Hymns to the universal God from universal man—all joy! + A reborn race appears—a perfect world, all joy! + Women and men in wisdom innocence and health—all joy! + Riotous laughing bacchanals fill’d with joy! + War, sorrow, suffering gone—the rank earth purged—nothing but joy left! + The ocean fill’d with joy—the atmosphere all joy! + Joy! joy! in freedom, worship, love! joy in the ecstasy of life! + Enough to merely be! enough to breathe! + Joy! joy! all over joy! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0256" id="link2H_4_0256"></a> + To a Locomotive in Winter + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thee for my recitative, + Thee in the driving storm even as now, the snow, the winter-day declining, + Thee in thy panoply, thy measur’d dual throbbing and thy beat convulsive, + Thy black cylindric body, golden brass and silvery steel, + Thy ponderous side-bars, parallel and connecting rods, gyrating, + shuttling at thy sides, + Thy metrical, now swelling pant and roar, now tapering in the distance, + Thy great protruding head-light fix’d in front, + Thy long, pale, floating vapor-pennants, tinged with delicate purple, + The dense and murky clouds out-belching from thy smoke-stack, + Thy knitted frame, thy springs and valves, the tremulous twinkle of + thy wheels, + Thy train of cars behind, obedient, merrily following, + Through gale or calm, now swift, now slack, yet steadily careering; + Type of the modern—emblem of motion and power—pulse of the continent, + For once come serve the Muse and merge in verse, even as here I see thee, + With storm and buffeting gusts of wind and falling snow, + By day thy warning ringing bell to sound its notes, + By night thy silent signal lamps to swing. + + Fierce-throated beauty! + Roll through my chant with all thy lawless music, thy swinging lamps + at night, + Thy madly-whistled laughter, echoing, rumbling like an earthquake, + rousing all, + Law of thyself complete, thine own track firmly holding, + (No sweetness debonair of tearful harp or glib piano thine,) + Thy trills of shrieks by rocks and hills return’d, + Launch’d o’er the prairies wide, across the lakes, + To the free skies unpent and glad and strong. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0257" id="link2H_4_0257"></a> + O Magnet-South + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O magnet-south! O glistening perfumed South! my South! + O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all + dear to me! + O dear to me my birth-things—all moving things and the trees where + I was born—the grains, plants, rivers, + Dear to me my own slow sluggish rivers where they flow, distant, + over flats of slivery sands or through swamps, + Dear to me the Roanoke, the Savannah, the Altamahaw, the Pedee, the + Tombigbee, the Santee, the Coosa and the Sabine, + O pensive, far away wandering, I return with my soul to haunt their + banks again, + Again in Florida I float on transparent lakes, I float on the + Okeechobee, I cross the hummock-land or through pleasant openings + or dense forests, + I see the parrots in the woods, I see the papaw-tree and the + blossoming titi; + Again, sailing in my coaster on deck, I coast off Georgia, I coast + up the Carolinas, + I see where the live-oak is growing, I see where the yellow-pine, + the scented bay-tree, the lemon and orange, the cypress, the + graceful palmetto, + I pass rude sea-headlands and enter Pamlico sound through an inlet, + and dart my vision inland; + O the cotton plant! the growing fields of rice, sugar, hemp! + The cactus guarded with thorns, the laurel-tree with large white flowers, + The range afar, the richness and barrenness, the old woods charged + with mistletoe and trailing moss, + The piney odor and the gloom, the awful natural stillness, (here in + these dense swamps the freebooter carries his gun, and the + fugitive has his conceal’d hut;) + O the strange fascination of these half-known half-impassable + swamps, infested by reptiles, resounding with the bellow of the + alligator, the sad noises of the night-owl and the wild-cat, and + the whirr of the rattlesnake, + The mocking-bird, the American mimic, singing all the forenoon, + singing through the moon-lit night, + The humming-bird, the wild turkey, the raccoon, the opossum; + A Kentucky corn-field, the tall, graceful, long-leav’d corn, + slender, flapping, bright green, with tassels, with beautiful + ears each well-sheath’d in its husk; + O my heart! O tender and fierce pangs, I can stand them not, I will depart; + O to be a Virginian where I grew up! O to be a Carolinian! + O longings irrepressible! O I will go back to old Tennessee and + never wander more. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0258" id="link2H_4_0258"></a> + Mannahatta + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, + Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name. + + Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, + musical, self-sufficient, + I see that the word of my city is that word from of old, + Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, + Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships, an + island sixteen miles long, solid-founded, + Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong, + light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies, + Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown, + The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining + islands, the heights, the villas, + The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the + ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d, + The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business, the houses + of business of the ship-merchants and money-brokers, the river-streets, + Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week, + The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the + brown-faced sailors, + The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft, + The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the river, + passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide, + The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d, + beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes, + Trottoirs throng’d, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and shows, + A million people—manners free and superb—open voices—hospitality— + the most courageous and friendly young men, + City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts! + City nested in bays! my city! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0259" id="link2H_4_0259"></a> + All Is Truth + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O me, man of slack faith so long, + Standing aloof, denying portions so long, + Only aware to-day of compact all-diffused truth, + Discovering to-day there is no lie or form of lie, and can be none, + but grows as inevitably upon itself as the truth does upon itself, + Or as any law of the earth or any natural production of the earth does. + + (This is curious and may not be realized immediately, but it must be + realized, + I feel in myself that I represent falsehoods equally with the rest, + And that the universe does.) + + Where has fail’d a perfect return indifferent of lies or the truth? + Is it upon the ground, or in water or fire? or in the spirit of man? + or in the meat and blood? + + Meditating among liars and retreating sternly into myself, I see + that there are really no liars or lies after all, + And that nothing fails its perfect return, and that what are called + lies are perfect returns, + And that each thing exactly represents itself and what has preceded it, + And that the truth includes all, and is compact just as much as + space is compact, + And that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth—but + that all is truth without exception; + And henceforth I will go celebrate any thing I see or am, + And sing and laugh and deny nothing. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0260" id="link2H_4_0260"></a> + A Riddle Song + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + That which eludes this verse and any verse, + Unheard by sharpest ear, unform’d in clearest eye or cunningest mind, + Nor lore nor fame, nor happiness nor wealth, + And yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world incessantly, + Which you and I and all pursuing ever ever miss, + Open but still a secret, the real of the real, an illusion, + Costless, vouchsafed to each, yet never man the owner, + Which poets vainly seek to put in rhyme, historians in prose, + Which sculptor never chisel’d yet, nor painter painted, + Which vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter’d, + Invoking here and now I challenge for my song. + + Indifferently, ’mid public, private haunts, in solitude, + Behind the mountain and the wood, + Companion of the city’s busiest streets, through the assemblage, + It and its radiations constantly glide. + + In looks of fair unconscious babes, + Or strangely in the coffin’d dead, + Or show of breaking dawn or stars by night, + As some dissolving delicate film of dreams, + Hiding yet lingering. + + Two little breaths of words comprising it, + Two words, yet all from first to last comprised in it. + + How ardently for it! + How many ships have sail’d and sunk for it! + + How many travelers started from their homes and neer return’d! + How much of genius boldly staked and lost for it! + What countless stores of beauty, love, ventur’d for it! + How all superbest deeds since Time began are traceable to it—and + shall be to the end! + How all heroic martyrdoms to it! + How, justified by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth! + How the bright fascinating lambent flames of it, in every age and + land, have drawn men’s eyes, + Rich as a sunset on the Norway coast, the sky, the islands, and the cliffs, + Or midnight’s silent glowing northern lights unreachable. + + Haply God’s riddle it, so vague and yet so certain, + The soul for it, and all the visible universe for it, + And heaven at last for it. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0261" id="link2H_4_0261"></a> + Excelsior + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Who has gone farthest? for I would go farther, + And who has been just? for I would be the most just person of the earth, + And who most cautious? for I would be more cautious, + And who has been happiest? O I think it is I—I think no one was + ever happier than I, + And who has lavish’d all? for I lavish constantly the best I have, + And who proudest? for I think I have reason to be the proudest son + alive—for I am the son of the brawny and tall-topt city, + And who has been bold and true? for I would be the boldest and + truest being of the universe, + And who benevolent? for I would show more benevolence than all the rest, + And who has receiv’d the love of the most friends? for I know what + it is to receive the passionate love of many friends, + And who possesses a perfect and enamour’d body? for I do not believe + any one possesses a more perfect or enamour’d body than mine, + And who thinks the amplest thoughts? for I would surround those thoughts, + And who has made hymns fit for the earth? for I am mad with + devouring ecstasy to make joyous hymns for the whole earth. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0262" id="link2H_4_0262"></a> + Ah Poverties, Wincings, and Sulky Retreats + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ah poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats, + Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me, + (For what is my life or any man’s life but a conflict with foes, the + old, the incessant war?) + You degradations, you tussle with passions and appetites, + You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds the sharpest of all!) + You toil of painful and choked articulations, you meannesses, + You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my tongue the shallowest of any;) + You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smother’d ennuis! + Ah think not you finally triumph, my real self has yet to come forth, + It shall yet march forth o’ermastering, till all lies beneath me, + It shall yet stand up the soldier of ultimate victory. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0263" id="link2H_4_0263"></a> + Thoughts + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of public opinion, + Of a calm and cool fiat sooner or later, (how impassive! how certain + and final!) + Of the President with pale face asking secretly to himself, What + will the people say at last? + Of the frivolous Judge—of the corrupt Congressman, Governor, + Mayor—of such as these standing helpless and exposed, + Of the mumbling and screaming priest, (soon, soon deserted,) + Of the lessening year by year of venerableness, and of the dicta of + officers, statutes, pulpits, schools, + Of the rising forever taller and stronger and broader of the + intuitions of men and women, and of Self-esteem and Personality; + Of the true New World—of the Democracies resplendent en-masse, + Of the conformity of politics, armies, navies, to them, + Of the shining sun by them—of the inherent light, greater than the rest, + Of the envelopment of all by them, and the effusion of all from them. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0264" id="link2H_4_0264"></a> + Mediums + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They shall arise in the States, + They shall report Nature, laws, physiology, and happiness, + They shall illustrate Democracy and the kosmos, + They shall be alimentive, amative, perceptive, + They shall be complete women and men, their pose brawny and supple, + their drink water, their blood clean and clear, + They shall fully enjoy materialism and the sight of products, they + shall enjoy the sight of the beef, lumber, bread-stuffs, of + Chicago the great city. + They shall train themselves to go in public to become orators and + oratresses, + Strong and sweet shall their tongues be, poems and materials of + poems shall come from their lives, they shall be makers and finders, + Of them and of their works shall emerge divine conveyers, to convey gospels, + Characters, events, retrospections, shall be convey’d in gospels, + trees, animals, waters, shall be convey’d, + Death, the future, the invisible faith, shall all be convey’d. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0265" id="link2H_4_0265"></a> + Weave in, My Hardy Life + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Weave in, weave in, my hardy life, + Weave yet a soldier strong and full for great campaigns to come, + Weave in red blood, weave sinews in like ropes, the senses, sight weave in, + Weave lasting sure, weave day and night the wet, the warp, incessant + weave, tire not, + (We know not what the use O life, nor know the aim, the end, nor + really aught we know, + But know the work, the need goes on and shall go on, the + death-envelop’d march of peace as well as war goes on,) + For great campaigns of peace the same the wiry threads to weave, + We know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0266" id="link2H_4_0266"></a> + Spain, 1873-74 + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Out of the murk of heaviest clouds, + Out of the feudal wrecks and heap’d-up skeletons of kings, + Out of that old entire European debris, the shatter’d mummeries, + Ruin’d cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests, + Lo, Freedom’s features fresh undimm’d look forth—the same immortal + face looks forth; + (A glimpse as of thy Mother’s face Columbia, + A flash significant as of a sword, + Beaming towards thee.) + + Nor think we forget thee maternal; + Lag’d’st thou so long? shall the clouds close again upon thee? + Ah, but thou hast thyself now appear’d to us—we know thee, + Thou hast given us a sure proof, the glimpse of thyself, + Thou waitest there as everywhere thy time. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0267" id="link2H_4_0267"></a> + By Broad Potomac’s Shore + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + By broad Potomac’s shore, again old tongue, + (Still uttering, still ejaculating, canst never cease this babble?) + Again old heart so gay, again to you, your sense, the full flush + spring returning, + Again the freshness and the odors, again Virginia’s summer sky, + pellucid blue and silver, + Again the forenoon purple of the hills, + Again the deathless grass, so noiseless soft and green, + Again the blood-red roses blooming. + + Perfume this book of mine O blood-red roses! + Lave subtly with your waters every line Potomac! + Give me of you O spring, before I close, to put between its pages! + O forenoon purple of the hills, before I close, of you! + O deathless grass, of you! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0268" id="link2H_4_0268"></a> + From Far Dakota’s Canyons [June 25, 1876] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + From far Dakota’s canyons, + Lands of the wild ravine, the dusky Sioux, the lonesome stretch, the + silence, + Haply to-day a mournful wall, haply a trumpet-note for heroes. + + The battle-bulletin, + The Indian ambuscade, the craft, the fatal environment, + The cavalry companies fighting to the last in sternest heroism, + In the midst of their little circle, with their slaughter’d horses + for breastworks, + The fall of Custer and all his officers and men. + + Continues yet the old, old legend of our race, + The loftiest of life upheld by death, + The ancient banner perfectly maintain’d, + O lesson opportune, O how I welcome thee! + + As sitting in dark days, + Lone, sulky, through the time’s thick murk looking in vain for + light, for hope, + From unsuspected parts a fierce and momentary proof, + (The sun there at the centre though conceal’d, + Electric life forever at the centre,) + Breaks forth a lightning flash. + + Thou of the tawny flowing hair in battle, + I erewhile saw, with erect head, pressing ever in front, bearing a + bright sword in thy hand, + Now ending well in death the splendid fever of thy deeds, + (I bring no dirge for it or thee, I bring a glad triumphal sonnet,) + Desperate and glorious, aye in defeat most desperate, most glorious, + After thy many battles in which never yielding up a gun or a color, + Leaving behind thee a memory sweet to soldiers, + Thou yieldest up thyself. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0269" id="link2H_4_0269"></a> + Old War-Dreams + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In midnight sleep of many a face of anguish, + Of the look at first of the mortally wounded, (of that indescribable look,) + Of the dead on their backs with arms extended wide, + I dream, I dream, I dream. + + Of scenes of Nature, fields and mountains, + Of skies so beauteous after a storm, and at night the moon so + unearthly bright, + Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and + gather the heaps, + I dream, I dream, I dream. + + Long have they pass’d, faces and trenches and fields, + Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure, or away + from the fallen, + Onward I sped at the time—but now of their forms at night, + I dream, I dream, I dream. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0270" id="link2H_4_0270"></a> + Thick-Sprinkled Bunting + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thick-sprinkled bunting! flag of stars! + Long yet your road, fateful flag—long yet your road, and lined with + bloody death, + For the prize I see at issue at last is the world, + All its ships and shores I see interwoven with your threads greedy banner; + Dream’d again the flags of kings, highest borne to flaunt unrival’d? + O hasten flag of man—O with sure and steady step, passing highest + flags of kings, + Walk supreme to the heavens mighty symbol—run up above them all, + Flag of stars! thick-sprinkled bunting! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +What Best I See in Thee + [To U. S. G. return’d from his World’s Tour] + + What best I see in thee, + Is not that where thou mov’st down history’s great highways, + Ever undimm’d by time shoots warlike victory’s dazzle, + Or that thou sat’st where Washington sat, ruling the land in peace, + Or thou the man whom feudal Europe feted, venerable Asia swarm’d upon, + Who walk’d with kings with even pace the round world’s promenade; + But that in foreign lands, in all thy walks with kings, + Those prairie sovereigns of the West, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, + Ohio’s, Indiana’s millions, comrades, farmers, soldiers, all to the front, + Invisibly with thee walking with kings with even pace the round + world’s promenade, + Were all so justified. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Spirit That Form’d This Scene + [Written in Platte Canyon, Colorado] + + Spirit that form’d this scene, + These tumbled rock-piles grim and red, + These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks, + These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness, + These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own, + I know thee, savage spirit—we have communed together, + Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own; + Wast charged against my chants they had forgotten art? + To fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatesse? + The lyrist’s measur’d beat, the wrought-out temple’s grace—column + and polish’d arch forgot? + But thou that revelest here—spirit that form’d this scene, + They have remember’d thee. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0271" id="link2H_4_0271"></a> + As I Walk These Broad Majestic Days + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I walk these broad majestic days of peace, + (For the war, the struggle of blood finish’d, wherein, O terrific Ideal, + Against vast odds erewhile having gloriously won, + Now thou stridest on, yet perhaps in time toward denser wars, + Perhaps to engage in time in still more dreadful contests, dangers, + Longer campaigns and crises, labors beyond all others,) + Around me I hear that eclat of the world, politics, produce, + The announcements of recognized things, science, + The approved growth of cities and the spread of inventions. + + I see the ships, (they will last a few years,) + The vast factories with their foremen and workmen, + And hear the indorsement of all, and do not object to it. + + But I too announce solid things, + Science, ships, politics, cities, factories, are not nothing, + Like a grand procession to music of distant bugles pouring, + triumphantly moving, and grander heaving in sight, + They stand for realities—all is as it should be. + + Then my realities; + What else is so real as mine? + Libertad and the divine average, freedom to every slave on the face + of the earth, + The rapt promises and lumine of seers, the spiritual world, these + centuries-lasting songs, + And our visions, the visions of poets, the most solid announcements + of any. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0272" id="link2H_4_0272"></a> + A Clear Midnight + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, + Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, + Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou + lovest best, + Night, sleep, death and the stars. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0273" id="link2H_4_0273"></a> + BOOK XXXIII. SONGS OF PARTING + </h2> + <p> + As the Time Draws Nigh + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As the time draws nigh glooming a cloud, + A dread beyond of I know not what darkens me. + + I shall go forth, + I shall traverse the States awhile, but I cannot tell whither or how long, + Perhaps soon some day or night while I am singing my voice will + suddenly cease. + + O book, O chants! must all then amount to but this? + Must we barely arrive at this beginning of us? —and yet it is + enough, O soul; + O soul, we have positively appear’d—that is enough. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0274" id="link2H_4_0274"></a> + Years of the Modern + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Years of the modern! years of the unperform’d! + Your horizon rises, I see it parting away for more august dramas, + I see not America only, not only Liberty’s nation but other nations + preparing, + I see tremendous entrances and exits, new combinations, the solidarity + of races, + I see that force advancing with irresistible power on the world’s stage, + (Have the old forces, the old wars, played their parts? are the acts + suitable to them closed?) + I see Freedom, completely arm’d and victorious and very haughty, + with Law on one side and Peace on the other, + A stupendous trio all issuing forth against the idea of caste; + What historic denouements are these we so rapidly approach? + I see men marching and countermarching by swift millions, + I see the frontiers and boundaries of the old aristocracies broken, + I see the landmarks of European kings removed, + I see this day the People beginning their landmarks, (all others give way;) + Never were such sharp questions ask’d as this day, + Never was average man, his soul, more energetic, more like a God, + Lo, how he urges and urges, leaving the masses no rest! + His daring foot is on land and sea everywhere, he colonizes the + Pacific, the archipelagoes, + With the steamship, the electric telegraph, the newspaper, the + wholesale engines of war, + With these and the world-spreading factories he interlinks all + geography, all lands; + What whispers are these O lands, running ahead of you, passing under + the seas? + Are all nations communing? is there going to be but one heart to the globe? + Is humanity forming en-masse? for lo, tyrants tremble, crowns grow dim, + The earth, restive, confronts a new era, perhaps a general divine war, + No one knows what will happen next, such portents fill the days and nights; + Years prophetical! the space ahead as I walk, as I vainly try to + pierce it, is full of phantoms, + Unborn deeds, things soon to be, project their shapes around me, + This incredible rush and heat, this strange ecstatic fever of dreams + O years! + Your dreams O years, how they penetrate through me! (I know not + whether I sleep or wake;) + The perform’d America and Europe grow dim, retiring in shadow behind me, + The unperform’d, more gigantic than ever, advance, advance upon me. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0275" id="link2H_4_0275"></a> + Ashes of Soldiers + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ashes of soldiers South or North, + As I muse retrospective murmuring a chant in thought, + The war resumes, again to my sense your shapes, + And again the advance of the armies. + + Noiseless as mists and vapors, + From their graves in the trenches ascending, + From cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee, + From every point of the compass out of the countless graves, + In wafted clouds, in myriads large, or squads of twos or threes or + single ones they come, + And silently gather round me. + + Now sound no note O trumpeters, + Not at the head of my cavalry parading on spirited horses, + With sabres drawn and glistening, and carbines by their thighs, (ah + my brave horsemen! + My handsome tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride, + With all the perils were yours.) + + Nor you drummers, neither at reveille at dawn, + Nor the long roll alarming the camp, nor even the muffled beat for burial, + Nothing from you this time O drummers bearing my warlike drums. + + But aside from these and the marts of wealth and the crowded promenade, + Admitting around me comrades close unseen by the rest and voiceless, + The slain elate and alive again, the dust and debris alive, + I chant this chant of my silent soul in the name of all dead soldiers. + + Faces so pale with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet, + Draw close, but speak not. + + Phantoms of countless lost, + Invisible to the rest henceforth become my companions, + Follow me ever—desert me not while I live. + + Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living—sweet are the musical + voices sounding, + But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead with their silent eyes. + + Dearest comrades, all is over and long gone, + But love is not over—and what love, O comrades! + Perfume from battle-fields rising, up from the foetor arising. + + Perfume therefore my chant, O love, immortal love, + Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers, + Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride. + + Perfume all—make all wholesome, + Make these ashes to nourish and blossom, + O love, solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry. + + Give me exhaustless, make me a fountain, + That I exhale love from me wherever I go like a moist perennial dew, + For the ashes of all dead soldiers South or North. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0276" id="link2H_4_0276"></a> + Thoughts + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1 + Of these years I sing, + How they pass and have pass’d through convuls’d pains, as through + parturitions, + How America illustrates birth, muscular youth, the promise, the sure + fulfilment, the absolute success, despite of people—illustrates + evil as well as good, + The vehement struggle so fierce for unity in one’s-self, + How many hold despairingly yet to the models departed, caste, myths, + obedience, compulsion, and to infidelity, + How few see the arrived models, the athletes, the Western States, or + see freedom or spirituality, or hold any faith in results, + (But I see the athletes, and I see the results of the war glorious + and inevitable, and they again leading to other results.) + + How the great cities appear—how the Democratic masses, turbulent, + willful, as I love them, + How the whirl, the contest, the wrestle of evil with good, the + sounding and resounding, keep on and on, + How society waits unform’d, and is for a while between things ended + and things begun, + How America is the continent of glories, and of the triumph of + freedom and of the Democracies, and of the fruits of society, and + of all that is begun, + And how the States are complete in themselves—and how all triumphs + and glories are complete in themselves, to lead onward, + And how these of mine and of the States will in their turn be + convuls’d, and serve other parturitions and transitions, + And how all people, sights, combinations, the democratic masses too, + serve—and how every fact, and war itself, with all its horrors, + serves, + And how now or at any time each serves the exquisite transition of death. + + 2 + Of seeds dropping into the ground, of births, + Of the steady concentration of America, inland, upward, to + impregnable and swarming places, + Of what Indiana, Kentucky, Arkansas, and the rest, are to be, + Of what a few years will show there in Nebraska, Colorado, Nevada, + and the rest, + (Or afar, mounting the Northern Pacific to Sitka or Aliaska,) + Of what the feuillage of America is the preparation for—and of what + all sights, North, South, East and West, are, + Of this Union welded in blood, of the solemn price paid, of the + unnamed lost ever present in my mind; + Of the temporary use of materials for identity’s sake, + Of the present, passing, departing—of the growth of completer men + than any yet, + Of all sloping down there where the fresh free giver the mother, the + Mississippi flows, + Of mighty inland cities yet unsurvey’d and unsuspected, + Of the new and good names, of the modern developments, of + inalienable homesteads, + Of a free and original life there, of simple diet and clean and + sweet blood, + Of litheness, majestic faces, clear eyes, and perfect physique there, + Of immense spiritual results future years far West, each side of the + Anahuacs, + Of these songs, well understood there, (being made for that area,) + Of the native scorn of grossness and gain there, + (O it lurks in me night and day—what is gain after all to savageness + and freedom?) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0277" id="link2H_4_0277"></a> + Song at Sunset + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Splendor of ended day floating and filling me, + Hour prophetic, hour resuming the past, + Inflating my throat, you divine average, + You earth and life till the last ray gleams I sing. + + Open mouth of my soul uttering gladness, + Eyes of my soul seeing perfection, + Natural life of me faithfully praising things, + Corroborating forever the triumph of things. + + Illustrious every one! + Illustrious what we name space, sphere of unnumber’d spirits, + Illustrious the mystery of motion in all beings, even the tiniest insect, + Illustrious the attribute of speech, the senses, the body, + Illustrious the passing light—illustrious the pale reflection on + the new moon in the western sky, + Illustrious whatever I see or hear or touch, to the last. + + Good in all, + In the satisfaction and aplomb of animals, + In the annual return of the seasons, + In the hilarity of youth, + In the strength and flush of manhood, + In the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age, + In the superb vistas of death. + + Wonderful to depart! + Wonderful to be here! + The heart, to jet the all-alike and innocent blood! + To breathe the air, how delicious! + To speak—to walk—to seize something by the hand! + To prepare for sleep, for bed, to look on my rose-color’d flesh! + To be conscious of my body, so satisfied, so large! + To be this incredible God I am! + To have gone forth among other Gods, these men and women I love. + + Wonderful how I celebrate you and myself + How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around! + How the clouds pass silently overhead! + How the earth darts on and on! and how the sun, moon, stars, dart on and on! + How the water sports and sings! (surely it is alive!) + How the trees rise and stand up, with strong trunks, with branches + and leaves! + (Surely there is something more in each of the trees, some living soul.) + + O amazement of things—even the least particle! + O spirituality of things! + O strain musical flowing through ages and continents, now reaching + me and America! + I take your strong chords, intersperse them, and cheerfully pass + them forward. + + I too carol the sun, usher’d or at noon, or as now, setting, + I too throb to the brain and beauty of the earth and of all the + growths of the earth, + I too have felt the resistless call of myself. + + As I steam’d down the Mississippi, + As I wander’d over the prairies, + As I have lived, as I have look’d through my windows my eyes, + As I went forth in the morning, as I beheld the light breaking in the east, + As I bathed on the beach of the Eastern Sea, and again on the beach + of the Western Sea, + As I roam’d the streets of inland Chicago, whatever streets I have roam’d, + Or cities or silent woods, or even amid the sights of war, + Wherever I have been I have charged myself with contentment and triumph. + + I sing to the last the equalities modern or old, + I sing the endless finales of things, + I say Nature continues, glory continues, + I praise with electric voice, + For I do not see one imperfection in the universe, + And I do not see one cause or result lamentable at last in the universe. + + O setting sun! though the time has come, + I still warble under you, if none else does, unmitigated adoration. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0278" id="link2H_4_0278"></a> + As at Thy Portals Also Death + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As at thy portals also death, + Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds, + To memories of my mother, to the divine blending, maternity, + To her, buried and gone, yet buried not, gone not from me, + (I see again the calm benignant face fresh and beautiful still, + I sit by the form in the coffin, + I kiss and kiss convulsively again the sweet old lips, the cheeks, + the closed eyes in the coffin;) + To her, the ideal woman, practical, spiritual, of all of earth, + life, love, to me the best, + I grave a monumental line, before I go, amid these songs, + And set a tombstone here. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0279" id="link2H_4_0279"></a> + My Legacy + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The business man the acquirer vast, + After assiduous years surveying results, preparing for departure, + Devises houses and lands to his children, bequeaths stocks, goods, + funds for a school or hospital, + Leaves money to certain companions to buy tokens, souvenirs of gems + and gold. + + But I, my life surveying, closing, + With nothing to show to devise from its idle years, + Nor houses nor lands, nor tokens of gems or gold for my friends, + Yet certain remembrances of the war for you, and after you, + And little souvenirs of camps and soldiers, with my love, + I bind together and bequeath in this bundle of songs. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0280" id="link2H_4_0280"></a> + Pensive on Her Dead Gazing + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Pensive on her dead gazing I heard the Mother of All, + Desperate on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battlefields gazing, + (As the last gun ceased, but the scent of the powder-smoke linger’d,) + As she call’d to her earth with mournful voice while she stalk’d, + Absorb them well O my earth, she cried, I charge you lose not my + sons, lose not an atom, + And you streams absorb them well, taking their dear blood, + And you local spots, and you airs that swim above lightly impalpable, + And all you essences of soil and growth, and you my rivers’ depths, + And you mountain sides, and the woods where my dear children’s + blood trickling redden’d, + And you trees down in your roots to bequeath to all future trees, + My dead absorb or South or North—my young men’s bodies absorb, + and their precious precious blood, + Which holding in trust for me faithfully back again give me many a + year hence, + In unseen essence and odor of surface and grass, centuries hence, + In blowing airs from the fields back again give me my darlings, give + my immortal heroes, + Exhale me them centuries hence, breathe me their breath, let not an + atom be lost, + O years and graves! O air and soil! O my dead, an aroma sweet! + Exhale them perennial sweet death, years, centuries hence. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0281" id="link2H_4_0281"></a> + Camps of Green + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Nor alone those camps of white, old comrades of the wars, + When as order’d forward, after a long march, + Footsore and weary, soon as the light lessens we halt for the night, + Some of us so fatigued carrying the gun and knapsack, dropping + asleep in our tracks, + Others pitching the little tents, and the fires lit up begin to sparkle, + Outposts of pickets posted surrounding alert through the dark, + And a word provided for countersign, careful for safety, + Till to the call of the drummers at daybreak loudly beating the drums, + We rise up refresh’d, the night and sleep pass’d over, and resume our + journey, + Or proceed to battle. + + Lo, the camps of the tents of green, + Which the days of peace keep filling, and the days of war keep filling, + With a mystic army, (is it too order’d forward? is it too only + halting awhile, + Till night and sleep pass over?) + + Now in those camps of green, in their tents dotting the world, + In the parents, children, husbands, wives, in them, in the old and young, + Sleeping under the sunlight, sleeping under the moonlight, content + and silent there at last, + Behold the mighty bivouac-field and waiting-camp of all, + Of the corps and generals all, and the President over the corps and + generals all, + And of each of us O soldiers, and of each and all in the ranks we fought, + (There without hatred we all, all meet.) + + For presently O soldiers, we too camp in our place in the + bivouac-camps of green, + But we need not provide for outposts, nor word for the countersign, + Nor drummer to beat the morning drum. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0282" id="link2H_4_0282"></a> + The Sobbing of the Bells [Midnight, Sept. 19-20, 1881] + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The sobbing of the bells, the sudden death-news everywhere, + The slumberers rouse, the rapport of the People, + (Full well they know that message in the darkness, + Full well return, respond within their breasts, their brains, the + sad reverberations,) + The passionate toll and clang—city to city, joining, sounding, passing, + Those heart-beats of a Nation in the night. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0283" id="link2H_4_0283"></a> + As They Draw to a Close + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As they draw to a close, + Of what underlies the precedent songs—of my aims in them, + Of the seed I have sought to plant in them, + Of joy, sweet joy, through many a year, in them, + (For them, for them have I lived, in them my work is done,) + Of many an aspiration fond, of many a dream and plan; + Through Space and Time fused in a chant, and the flowing eternal identity, + To Nature encompassing these, encompassing God—to the joyous, + electric all, + To the sense of Death, and accepting exulting in Death in its turn + the same as life, + The entrance of man to sing; + To compact you, ye parted, diverse lives, + To put rapport the mountains and rocks and streams, + And the winds of the north, and the forests of oak and pine, + With you O soul. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0284" id="link2H_4_0284"></a> + Joy, Shipmate, Joy! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Joy, shipmate, Joy! + (Pleas’d to my soul at death I cry,) + Our life is closed, our life begins, + The long, long anchorage we leave, + The ship is clear at last, she leaps! + She swiftly courses from the shore, + Joy, shipmate, joy. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0285" id="link2H_4_0285"></a> + The Untold Want + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The untold want by life and land ne’er granted, + Now voyager sail thou forth to seek and find. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0286" id="link2H_4_0286"></a> + Portals + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What are those of the known but to ascend and enter the Unknown? + And what are those of life but for Death? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0287" id="link2H_4_0287"></a> + These Carols + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + These carols sung to cheer my passage through the world I see, + For completion I dedicate to the Invisible World. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0288" id="link2H_4_0288"></a> + Now Finale to the Shore + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now finale to the shore, + Now land and life finale and farewell, + Now Voyager depart, (much, much for thee is yet in store,) + Often enough hast thou adventur’d o’er the seas, + Cautiously cruising, studying the charts, + Duly again to port and hawser’s tie returning; + But now obey thy cherish’d secret wish, + Embrace thy friends, leave all in order, + To port and hawser’s tie no more returning, + Depart upon thy endless cruise old Sailor. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0289" id="link2H_4_0289"></a> + So Long! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To conclude, I announce what comes after me. + + I remember I said before my leaves sprang at all, + I would raise my voice jocund and strong with reference to consummations. + + When America does what was promis’d, + When through these States walk a hundred millions of superb persons, + When the rest part away for superb persons and contribute to them, + When breeds of the most perfect mothers denote America, + Then to me and mine our due fruition. + + I have press’d through in my own right, + I have sung the body and the soul, war and peace have I sung, and + the songs of life and death, + And the songs of birth, and shown that there are many births. + + I have offer’d my style to every one, I have journey’d with confident step; + While my pleasure is yet at the full I whisper So long! + And take the young woman’s hand and the young man’s hand for the last time. + + I announce natural persons to arise, + I announce justice triumphant, + I announce uncompromising liberty and equality, + I announce the justification of candor and the justification of pride. + + I announce that the identity of these States is a single identity only, + I announce the Union more and more compact, indissoluble, + I announce splendors and majesties to make all the previous politics + of the earth insignificant. + + I announce adhesiveness, I say it shall be limitless, unloosen’d, + I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for. + + I announce a man or woman coming, perhaps you are the one, (So long!) + I announce the great individual, fluid as Nature, chaste, + affectionate, compassionate, fully arm’d. + + I announce a life that shall be copious, vehement, spiritual, bold, + I announce an end that shall lightly and joyfully meet its translation. + + I announce myriads of youths, beautiful, gigantic, sweet-blooded, + I announce a race of splendid and savage old men. + + O thicker and faster—(So long!) + O crowding too close upon me, + I foresee too much, it means more than I thought, + It appears to me I am dying. + + Hasten throat and sound your last, + Salute me—salute the days once more. Peal the old cry once more. + + Screaming electric, the atmosphere using, + At random glancing, each as I notice absorbing, + Swiftly on, but a little while alighting, + Curious envelop’d messages delivering, + Sparkles hot, seed ethereal down in the dirt dropping, + Myself unknowing, my commission obeying, to question it never daring, + To ages and ages yet the growth of the seed leaving, + To troops out of the war arising, they the tasks I have set + promulging, + To women certain whispers of myself bequeathing, their affection + me more clearly explaining, + To young men my problems offering—no dallier I—I the muscle of + their brains trying, + So I pass, a little time vocal, visible, contrary, + Afterward a melodious echo, passionately bent for, (death making + me really undying,) + The best of me then when no longer visible, for toward that I have + been incessantly preparing. + + What is there more, that I lag and pause and crouch extended with + unshut mouth? + Is there a single final farewell? + My songs cease, I abandon them, + From behind the screen where I hid I advance personally solely to you. + + Camerado, this is no book, + Who touches this touches a man, + (Is it night? are we here together alone?) + It is I you hold and who holds you, + I spring from the pages into your arms—decease calls me forth. + + O how your fingers drowse me, + Your breath falls around me like dew, your pulse lulls the tympans + of my ears, + I feel immerged from head to foot, + Delicious, enough. + + Enough O deed impromptu and secret, + Enough O gliding present—enough O summ’d-up past. + + Dear friend whoever you are take this kiss, + I give it especially to you, do not forget me, + I feel like one who has done work for the day to retire awhile, + I receive now again of my many translations, from my avataras + ascending, while others doubtless await me, + An unknown sphere more real than I dream’d, more direct, darts + awakening rays about me, So long! + Remember my words, I may again return, + I love you, I depart from materials, + I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0290" id="link2H_4_0290"></a> + BOOK XXXIV. SANDS AT SEVENTY + </h2> + <p> + Mannahatta + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My city’s fit and noble name resumed, + Choice aboriginal name, with marvellous beauty, meaning, + A rocky founded island—shores where ever gayly dash the coming, + going, hurrying sea waves. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0291" id="link2H_4_0291"></a> + Paumanok + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sea-beauty! stretch’d and basking! + One side thy inland ocean laving, broad, with copious commerce, + steamers, sails, + And one the Atlantic’s wind caressing, fierce or gentle—mighty hulls + dark-gliding in the distance. + Isle of sweet brooks of drinking-water—healthy air and soil! + Isle of the salty shore and breeze and brine! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0292" id="link2H_4_0292"></a> + From Montauk Point + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I stand as on some mighty eagle’s beak, + Eastward the sea absorbing, viewing, (nothing but sea and sky,) + The tossing waves, the foam, the ships in the distance, + The wild unrest, the snowy, curling caps—that inbound urge and urge + of waves, + Seeking the shores forever. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0293" id="link2H_4_0293"></a> + To Those Who’ve Fail’d + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To those who’ve fail’d, in aspiration vast, + To unnam’d soldiers fallen in front on the lead, + To calm, devoted engineers—to over-ardent travelers—to pilots on + their ships, + To many a lofty song and picture without recognition—I’d rear + laurel-cover’d monument, + High, high above the rest—To all cut off before their time, + Possess’d by some strange spirit of fire, + Quench’d by an early death. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0294" id="link2H_4_0294"></a> + A Carol Closing Sixty-Nine + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A carol closing sixty-nine—a resume—a repetition, + My lines in joy and hope continuing on the same, + Of ye, O God, Life, Nature, Freedom, Poetry; + Of you, my Land—your rivers, prairies, States—you, mottled Flag I love, + Your aggregate retain’d entire—Of north, south, east and west, your + items all; + Of me myself—the jocund heart yet beating in my breast, + The body wreck’d, old, poor and paralyzed—the strange inertia + falling pall-like round me, + The burning fires down in my sluggish blood not yet extinct, + The undiminish’d faith—the groups of loving friends. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0295" id="link2H_4_0295"></a> + The Bravest Soldiers + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Brave, brave were the soldiers (high named to-day) who lived through + the fight; + But the bravest press’d to the front and fell, unnamed, unknown. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0296" id="link2H_4_0296"></a> + A Font of Type + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + This latent mine—these unlaunch’d voices—passionate powers, + Wrath, argument, or praise, or comic leer, or prayer devout, + (Not nonpareil, brevier, bourgeois, long primer merely,) + These ocean waves arousable to fury and to death, + Or sooth’d to ease and sheeny sun and sleep, + Within the pallid slivers slumbering. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0297" id="link2H_4_0297"></a> + As I Sit Writing Here + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I sit writing here, sick and grown old, + Not my least burden is that dulness of the years, querilities, + Ungracious glooms, aches, lethargy, constipation, whimpering ennui, + May filter in my dally songs. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0298" id="link2H_4_0298"></a> + My Canary Bird + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Did we count great, O soul, to penetrate the themes of mighty books, + Absorbing deep and full from thoughts, plays, speculations? + But now from thee to me, caged bird, to feel thy joyous warble, + Filling the air, the lonesome room, the long forenoon, + Is it not just as great, O soul? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0299" id="link2H_4_0299"></a> + Queries to My Seventieth Year + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Approaching, nearing, curious, + Thou dim, uncertain spectre—bringest thou life or death? + Strength, weakness, blindness, more paralysis and heavier? + Or placid skies and sun? Wilt stir the waters yet? + Or haply cut me short for good? Or leave me here as now, + Dull, parrot-like and old, with crack’d voice harping, screeching? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0300" id="link2H_4_0300"></a> + The Wallabout Martyrs + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Greater than memory of Achilles or Ulysses, + More, more by far to thee than tomb of Alexander, + Those cart loads of old charnel ashes, scales and splints of mouldy bones, + Once living men—once resolute courage, aspiration, strength, + The stepping stones to thee to-day and here, America. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0301" id="link2H_4_0301"></a> + The First Dandelion + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Simple and fresh and fair from winter’s close emerging, + As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been, + Forth from its sunny nook of shelter’d grass—innocent, golden, calm + as the dawn, + The spring’s first dandelion shows its trustful face. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0302" id="link2H_4_0302"></a> + America + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Centre of equal daughters, equal sons, + All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old, + Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich, + Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love, + A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother, + Chair’d in the adamant of Time. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0303" id="link2H_4_0303"></a> + Memories + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How sweet the silent backward tracings! + The wanderings as in dreams—the meditation of old times resumed + —their loves, joys, persons, voyages. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0304" id="link2H_4_0304"></a> + To-Day and Thee + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The appointed winners in a long-stretch’d game; + The course of Time and nations—Egypt, India, Greece and Rome; + The past entire, with all its heroes, histories, arts, experiments, + Its store of songs, inventions, voyages, teachers, books, + Garner’d for now and thee—To think of it! + The heirdom all converged in thee! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0305" id="link2H_4_0305"></a> + After the Dazzle of Day + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + After the dazzle of day is gone, + Only the dark, dark night shows to my eyes the stars; + After the clangor of organ majestic, or chorus, or perfect band, + Silent, athwart my soul, moves the symphony true. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0306" id="link2H_4_0306"></a> + Abraham Lincoln, Born Feb. 12, 1809 + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To-day, from each and all, a breath of prayer—a pulse of thought, + To memory of Him—to birth of Him. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0307" id="link2H_4_0307"></a> + Out of May’s Shows Selected + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Apple orchards, the trees all cover’d with blossoms; + Wheat fields carpeted far and near in vital emerald green; + The eternal, exhaustless freshness of each early morning; + The yellow, golden, transparent haze of the warm afternoon sun; + The aspiring lilac bushes with profuse purple or white flowers. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0308" id="link2H_4_0308"></a> + Halcyon Days + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not from successful love alone, + Nor wealth, nor honor’d middle age, nor victories of politics or war; + But as life wanes, and all the turbulent passions calm, + As gorgeous, vapory, silent hues cover the evening sky, + As softness, fulness, rest, suffuse the frame, like freshier, balmier air, + As the days take on a mellower light, and the apple at last hangs + really finish’d and indolent-ripe on the tree, + Then for the teeming quietest, happiest days of all! + The brooding and blissful halcyon days! +</pre> + <p> + FANCIES AT NAVESINK + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [I] The Pilot in the Mist + + Steaming the northern rapids—(an old St. Lawrence reminiscence, + A sudden memory-flash comes back, I know not why, + Here waiting for the sunrise, gazing from this hill;) + Again ’tis just at morning—a heavy haze contends with daybreak, + Again the trembling, laboring vessel veers me—I press through + foam-dash’d rocks that almost touch me, + Again I mark where aft the small thin Indian helmsman + Looms in the mist, with brow elate and governing hand. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [II] Had I the Choice + + Had I the choice to tally greatest bards, + To limn their portraits, stately, beautiful, and emulate at will, + Homer with all his wars and warriors—Hector, Achilles, Ajax, + Or Shakspere’s woe-entangled Hamlet, Lear, Othello—Tennyson’s fair ladies, + Metre or wit the best, or choice conceit to wield in perfect rhyme, + delight of singers; + These, these, O sea, all these I’d gladly barter, + Would you the undulation of one wave, its trick to me transfer, + Or breathe one breath of yours upon my verse, + And leave its odor there. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [III] You Tides with Ceaseless Swell + + You tides with ceaseless swell! you power that does this work! + You unseen force, centripetal, centrifugal, through space’s spread, + Rapport of sun, moon, earth, and all the constellations, + What are the messages by you from distant stars to us? what Sirius’? + what Capella’s? + What central heart—and you the pulse—vivifies all? what boundless + aggregate of all? + What subtle indirection and significance in you? what clue to all in + you? what fluid, vast identity, + Holding the universe with all its parts as one—as sailing in a ship? +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [IV] Last of Ebb, and Daylight Waning + + Last of ebb, and daylight waning, + Scented sea-cool landward making, smells of sedge and salt incoming, + With many a half-caught voice sent up from the eddies, + Many a muffled confession—many a sob and whisper’d word, + As of speakers far or hid. + + How they sweep down and out! how they mutter! + Poets unnamed—artists greatest of any, with cherish’d lost designs, + Love’s unresponse—a chorus of age’s complaints—hope’s last words, + Some suicide’s despairing cry, Away to the boundless waste, and + never again return. + + On to oblivion then! + On, on, and do your part, ye burying, ebbing tide! + On for your time, ye furious debouche! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [V] And Yet Not You Alone + + And yet not you alone, twilight and burying ebb, + Nor you, ye lost designs alone—nor failures, aspirations; + I know, divine deceitful ones, your glamour’s seeming; + Duly by you, from you, the tide and light again—duly the hinges turning, + Duly the needed discord-parts offsetting, blending, + Weaving from you, from Sleep, Night, Death itself, + The rhythmus of Birth eternal. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [VI] Proudly the Flood Comes In + + Proudly the flood comes in, shouting, foaming, advancing, + Long it holds at the high, with bosom broad outswelling, + All throbs, dilates—the farms, woods, streets of cities—workmen at work, + Mainsails, topsails, jibs, appear in the offing—steamers’ pennants + of smoke—and under the forenoon sun, + Freighted with human lives, gaily the outward bound, gaily the + inward bound, + Flaunting from many a spar the flag I love. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [VII] By That Long Scan of Waves + + By that long scan of waves, myself call’d back, resumed upon myself, + In every crest some undulating light or shade—some retrospect, + Joys, travels, studies, silent panoramas—scenes ephemeral, + The long past war, the battles, hospital sights, the wounded and the dead, + Myself through every by-gone phase—my idle youth—old age at hand, + My three-score years of life summ’d up, and more, and past, + By any grand ideal tried, intentionless, the whole a nothing, + And haply yet some drop within God’s scheme’s ensemble—some + wave, or part of wave, + Like one of yours, ye multitudinous ocean. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [VIII] Then Last Of All + + Then last of all, caught from these shores, this hill, + Of you O tides, the mystic human meaning: + Only by law of you, your swell and ebb, enclosing me the same, + The brain that shapes, the voice that chants this song. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0309" id="link2H_4_0309"></a> + Election Day, November, 1884 + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If I should need to name, O Western World, your powerfulest scene and show, + ’Twould not be you, Niagara—nor you, ye limitless prairies—nor + your huge rifts of canyons, Colorado, + Nor you, Yosemite—nor Yellowstone, with all its spasmic + geyser-loops ascending to the skies, appearing and disappearing, + Nor Oregon’s white cones—nor Huron’s belt of mighty lakes—nor + Mississippi’s stream: + —This seething hemisphere’s humanity, as now, I’d name—the still + small voice vibrating—America’s choosing day, + (The heart of it not in the chosen—the act itself the main, the + quadriennial choosing,) + The stretch of North and South arous’d—sea-board and inland— + Texas to Maine—the Prairie States—Vermont, Virginia, California, + The final ballot-shower from East to West—the paradox and conflict, + The countless snow-flakes falling—(a swordless conflict, + Yet more than all Rome’s wars of old, or modern Napoleon’s:) the + peaceful choice of all, + Or good or ill humanity—welcoming the darker odds, the dross: + —Foams and ferments the wine? it serves to purify—while the heart + pants, life glows: + These stormy gusts and winds waft precious ships, + Swell’d Washington’s, Jefferson’s, Lincoln’s sails. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0310" id="link2H_4_0310"></a> + With Husky-Haughty Lips, O Sea! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With husky-haughty lips, O sea! + Where day and night I wend thy surf-beat shore, + Imaging to my sense thy varied strange suggestions, + (I see and plainly list thy talk and conference here,) + Thy troops of white-maned racers racing to the goal, + Thy ample, smiling face, dash’d with the sparkling dimples of the sun, + Thy brooding scowl and murk—thy unloos’d hurricanes, + Thy unsubduedness, caprices, wilfulness; + Great as thou art above the rest, thy many tears—a lack from all + eternity in thy content, + (Naught but the greatest struggles, wrongs, defeats, could make thee + greatest—no less could make thee,) + Thy lonely state—something thou ever seek’st and seek’st, yet + never gain’st, + Surely some right withheld—some voice, in huge monotonous rage, of + freedom-lover pent, + Some vast heart, like a planet’s, chain’d and chafing in those breakers, + By lengthen’d swell, and spasm, and panting breath, + And rhythmic rasping of thy sands and waves, + And serpent hiss, and savage peals of laughter, + And undertones of distant lion roar, + (Sounding, appealing to the sky’s deaf ear—but now, rapport for once, + A phantom in the night thy confidant for once,) + The first and last confession of the globe, + Outsurging, muttering from thy soul’s abysms, + The tale of cosmic elemental passion, + Thou tellest to a kindred soul. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0311" id="link2H_4_0311"></a> + Death of General Grant + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As one by one withdraw the lofty actors, + From that great play on history’s stage eterne, + That lurid, partial act of war and peace—of old and new contending, + Fought out through wrath, fears, dark dismays, and many a long suspense; + All past—and since, in countless graves receding, mellowing, + Victor’s and vanquish’d—Lincoln’s and Lee’s—now thou with them, + Man of the mighty days—and equal to the days! + Thou from the prairies!—tangled and many-vein’d and hard has been thy part, + To admiration has it been enacted! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0312" id="link2H_4_0312"></a> + Red Jacket (From Aloft) + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Upon this scene, this show, + Yielded to-day by fashion, learning, wealth, + (Nor in caprice alone—some grains of deepest meaning,) + Haply, aloft, (who knows?) from distant sky-clouds’ blended shapes, + As some old tree, or rock or cliff, thrill’d with its soul, + Product of Nature’s sun, stars, earth direct—a towering human form, + In hunting-shirt of film, arm’d with the rifle, a half-ironical + smile curving its phantom lips, + Like one of Ossian’s ghosts looks down. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0313" id="link2H_4_0313"></a> + Washington’s Monument February, 1885 + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ah, not this marble, dead and cold: + Far from its base and shaft expanding—the round zones circling, + comprehending, + Thou, Washington, art all the world’s, the continents’ entire—not + yours alone, America, + Europe’s as well, in every part, castle of lord or laborer’s cot, + Or frozen North, or sultry South—the African’s—the Arab’s in his tent, + Old Asia’s there with venerable smile, seated amid her ruins; + (Greets the antique the hero new? ’tis but the same—the heir + legitimate, continued ever, + The indomitable heart and arm—proofs of the never-broken line, + Courage, alertness, patience, faith, the same—e’en in defeat + defeated not, the same:) + Wherever sails a ship, or house is built on land, or day or night, + Through teeming cities’ streets, indoors or out, factories or farms, + Now, or to come, or past—where patriot wills existed or exist, + Wherever Freedom, pois’d by Toleration, sway’d by Law, + Stands or is rising thy true monument. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0314" id="link2H_4_0314"></a> + Of That Blithe Throat of Thine + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of that blithe throat of thine from arctic bleak and blank, + I’ll mind the lesson, solitary bird—let me too welcome chilling drifts, + E’en the profoundest chill, as now—a torpid pulse, a brain unnerv’d, + Old age land-lock’d within its winter bay—(cold, cold, O cold!) + These snowy hairs, my feeble arm, my frozen feet, + For them thy faith, thy rule I take, and grave it to the last; + Not summer’s zones alone—not chants of youth, or south’s warm tides alone, + But held by sluggish floes, pack’d in the northern ice, the cumulus + of years, + These with gay heart I also sing. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0315" id="link2H_4_0315"></a> + Broadway + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + What hurrying human tides, or day or night! + What passions, winnings, losses, ardors, swim thy waters! + What whirls of evil, bliss and sorrow, stem thee! + What curious questioning glances—glints of love! + Leer, envy, scorn, contempt, hope, aspiration! + Thou portal—thou arena—thou of the myriad long-drawn lines and groups! + (Could but thy flagstones, curbs, facades, tell their inimitable tales; + Thy windows rich, and huge hotels—thy side-walks wide;) + Thou of the endless sliding, mincing, shuffling feet! + Thou, like the parti-colored world itself—like infinite, teeming, + mocking life! + Thou visor’d, vast, unspeakable show and lesson! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0316" id="link2H_4_0316"></a> + To Get the Final Lilt of Songs + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To get the final lilt of songs, + To penetrate the inmost lore of poets—to know the mighty ones, + Job, Homer, Eschylus, Dante, Shakespere, Tennyson, Emerson; + To diagnose the shifting-delicate tints of love and pride and doubt— + to truly understand, + To encompass these, the last keen faculty and entrance-price, + Old age, and what it brings from all its past experiences. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0317" id="link2H_4_0317"></a> + Old Salt Kossabone + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Far back, related on my mother’s side, + Old Salt Kossabone, I’ll tell you how he died: + (Had been a sailor all his life—was nearly 90—lived with his + married grandchild, Jenny; + House on a hill, with view of bay at hand, and distant cape, and + stretch to open sea;) + The last of afternoons, the evening hours, for many a year his + regular custom, + In his great arm chair by the window seated, + (Sometimes, indeed, through half the day,) + Watching the coming, going of the vessels, he mutters to himself— + And now the close of all: + One struggling outbound brig, one day, baffled for long—cross-tides + and much wrong going, + At last at nightfall strikes the breeze aright, her whole luck veering, + And swiftly bending round the cape, the darkness proudly entering, + cleaving, as he watches, + “She’s free—she’s on her destination"—these the last words—when + Jenny came, he sat there dead, + Dutch Kossabone, Old Salt, related on my mother’s side, far back. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0318" id="link2H_4_0318"></a> + The Dead Tenor + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As down the stage again, + With Spanish hat and plumes, and gait inimitable, + Back from the fading lessons of the past, I’d call, I’d tell and own, + How much from thee! the revelation of the singing voice from thee! + (So firm—so liquid-soft—again that tremulous, manly timbre! + The perfect singing voice—deepest of all to me the lesson—trial + and test of all:) + How through those strains distill’d—how the rapt ears, the soul of + me, absorbing + Fernando’s heart, Manrico’s passionate call, Ernani’s, sweet Gennaro’s, + I fold thenceforth, or seek to fold, within my chants transmuting, + Freedom’s and Love’s and Faith’s unloos’d cantabile, + (As perfume’s, color’s, sunlight’s correlation:) + From these, for these, with these, a hurried line, dead tenor, + A wafted autumn leaf, dropt in the closing grave, the shovel’d earth, + To memory of thee. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0319" id="link2H_4_0319"></a> + Continuities + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost, + No birth, identity, form—no object of the world. + Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing; + Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain. + Ample are time and space—ample the fields of Nature. + The body, sluggish, aged, cold—the embers left from earlier fires, + The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again; + The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons continual; + To frozen clods ever the spring’s invisible law returns, + With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0320" id="link2H_4_0320"></a> + Yonnondio + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A song, a poem of itself—the word itself a dirge, + Amid the wilds, the rocks, the storm and wintry night, + To me such misty, strange tableaux the syllables calling up; + Yonnondio—I see, far in the west or north, a limitless ravine, with + plains and mountains dark, + I see swarms of stalwart chieftains, medicine-men, and warriors, + As flitting by like clouds of ghosts, they pass and are gone in the + twilight, + (Race of the woods, the landscapes free, and the falls! + No picture, poem, statement, passing them to the future:) + Yonnondio! Yonnondio!—unlimn’d they disappear; + To-day gives place, and fades—the cities, farms, factories fade; + A muffled sonorous sound, a wailing word is borne through the air + for a moment, + Then blank and gone and still, and utterly lost. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0321" id="link2H_4_0321"></a> + Life + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ever the undiscouraged, resolute, struggling soul of man; + (Have former armies fail’d? then we send fresh armies—and fresh again;) + Ever the grappled mystery of all earth’s ages old or new; + Ever the eager eyes, hurrahs, the welcome-clapping hands, the loud + applause; + Ever the soul dissatisfied, curious, unconvinced at last; + Struggling to-day the same—battling the same. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0322" id="link2H_4_0322"></a> + “Going Somewhere” + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My science-friend, my noblest woman-friend, + (Now buried in an English grave—and this a memory-leaf for her dear sake,) + Ended our talk—"The sum, concluding all we know of old or modern + learning, intuitions deep, + “Of all Geologies—Histories—of all Astronomy—of Evolution, + Metaphysics all, + “Is, that we all are onward, onward, speeding slowly, surely bettering, + “Life, life an endless march, an endless army, (no halt, but it is + duly over,) + “The world, the race, the soul—in space and time the universes, + “All bound as is befitting each—all surely going somewhere.” +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0323" id="link2H_4_0323"></a> + Small the Theme of My Chant + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Small the theme of my Chant, yet the greatest—namely, One’s-Self— + a simple, separate person. That, for the use of the New World, I sing. + Man’s physiology complete, from top to toe, I sing. Not physiognomy alone, + nor brain alone, is worthy for the Muse;—I say the Form complete + is worthier far. The Female equally with the Male, I sing. + Nor cease at the theme of One’s-Self. I speak the word of the + modern, the word En-Masse. + My Days I sing, and the Lands—with interstice I knew of hapless War. + (O friend, whoe’er you are, at last arriving hither to commence, I + feel through every leaf the pressure of your hand, which I return. + And thus upon our journey, footing the road, and more than once, and + link’d together let us go.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0324" id="link2H_4_0324"></a> + True Conquerors + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Old farmers, travelers, workmen (no matter how crippled or bent,) + Old sailors, out of many a perilous voyage, storm and wreck, + Old soldiers from campaigns, with all their wounds, defeats and scars; + Enough that they’ve survived at all—long life’s unflinching ones! + Forth from their struggles, trials, fights, to have emerged at all— + in that alone, + True conquerors o’er all the rest. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0325" id="link2H_4_0325"></a> + The United States to Old World Critics + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Here first the duties of to-day, the lessons of the concrete, + Wealth, order, travel, shelter, products, plenty; + As of the building of some varied, vast, perpetual edifice, + Whence to arise inevitable in time, the towering roofs, the lamps, + The solid-planted spires tall shooting to the stars. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0326" id="link2H_4_0326"></a> + The Calming Thought of All + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + That coursing on, whate’er men’s speculations, + Amid the changing schools, theologies, philosophies, + Amid the bawling presentations new and old, + The round earth’s silent vital laws, facts, modes continue. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0327" id="link2H_4_0327"></a> + Thanks in Old Age + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thanks in old age—thanks ere I go, + For health, the midday sun, the impalpable air—for life, mere life, + For precious ever-lingering memories, (of you my mother dear—you, + father—you, brothers, sisters, friends,) + For all my days—not those of peace alone—the days of war the same, + For gentle words, caresses, gifts from foreign lands, + For shelter, wine and meat—for sweet appreciation, + (You distant, dim unknown—or young or old—countless, unspecified, + readers belov’d, + We never met, and neer shall meet—and yet our souls embrace, long, + close and long;) + For beings, groups, love, deeds, words, books—for colors, forms, + For all the brave strong men—devoted, hardy men—who’ve forward + sprung in freedom’s help, all years, all lands + For braver, stronger, more devoted men—(a special laurel ere I go, + to life’s war’s chosen ones, + The cannoneers of song and thought—the great artillerists—the + foremost leaders, captains of the soul:) + As soldier from an ended war return’d—As traveler out of myriads, + to the long procession retrospective, + Thanks—joyful thanks!—a soldier’s, traveler’s thanks. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0328" id="link2H_4_0328"></a> + Life and Death + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The two old, simple problems ever intertwined, + Close home, elusive, present, baffled, grappled. + By each successive age insoluble, pass’d on, + To ours to-day—and we pass on the same. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0329" id="link2H_4_0329"></a> + The Voice of the Rain + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower, + Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated: + I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain, + Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea, + Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form’d, altogether changed, and + yet the same, + I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe, + And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn; + And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin, + and make pure and beautify it; + (For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment, wandering, + Reck’d or unreck’d, duly with love returns.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0330" id="link2H_4_0330"></a> + Soon Shall the Winter’s Foil Be Here + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Soon shall the winter’s foil be here; + Soon shall these icy ligatures unbind and melt—A little while, + And air, soil, wave, suffused shall be in softness, bloom and + growth—a thousand forms shall rise + From these dead clods and chills as from low burial graves. + + Thine eyes, ears—all thy best attributes—all that takes cognizance + of natural beauty, + Shall wake and fill. Thou shalt perceive the simple shows, the + delicate miracles of earth, + Dandelions, clover, the emerald grass, the early scents and flowers, + The arbutus under foot, the willow’s yellow-green, the blossoming + plum and cherry; + With these the robin, lark and thrush, singing their songs—the + flitting bluebird; + For such the scenes the annual play brings on. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0331" id="link2H_4_0331"></a> + While Not the Past Forgetting + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + While not the past forgetting, + To-day, at least, contention sunk entire—peace, brotherhood uprisen; + For sign reciprocal our Northern, Southern hands, + Lay on the graves of all dead soldiers, North or South, + (Nor for the past alone—for meanings to the future,) + Wreaths of roses and branches of palm. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0332" id="link2H_4_0332"></a> + The Dying Veteran + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Amid these days of order, ease, prosperity, + Amid the current songs of beauty, peace, decorum, + I cast a reminiscence—(likely ’twill offend you, + I heard it in my boyhood;)—More than a generation since, + A queer old savage man, a fighter under Washington himself, + (Large, brave, cleanly, hot-blooded, no talker, rather spiritualistic, + Had fought in the ranks—fought well—had been all through the + Revolutionary war,) + Lay dying—sons, daughters, church-deacons, lovingly tending him, + Sharping their sense, their ears, towards his murmuring, half-caught words: + “Let me return again to my war-days, + To the sights and scenes—to forming the line of battle, + To the scouts ahead reconnoitering, + To the cannons, the grim artillery, + To the galloping aides, carrying orders, + To the wounded, the fallen, the heat, the suspense, + The perfume strong, the smoke, the deafening noise; + Away with your life of peace!—your joys of peace! + Give me my old wild battle-life again!” +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0333" id="link2H_4_0333"></a> + Stronger Lessons + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Have you learn’d lessons only of those who admired you, and were + tender with you, and stood aside for you? + Have you not learn’d great lessons from those who reject you, and + brace themselves against you? or who treat you with contempt, + or dispute the passage with you? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0334" id="link2H_4_0334"></a> + A Prairie Sunset + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Shot gold, maroon and violet, dazzling silver, emerald, fawn, + The earth’s whole amplitude and Nature’s multiform power consign’d + for once to colors; + The light, the general air possess’d by them—colors till now unknown, + No limit, confine—not the Western sky alone—the high meridian— + North, South, all, + Pure luminous color fighting the silent shadows to the last. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0335" id="link2H_4_0335"></a> + Twenty Years + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Down on the ancient wharf, the sand, I sit, with a new-comer chatting: + He shipp’d as green-hand boy, and sail’d away, (took some sudden, + vehement notion;) + Since, twenty years and more have circled round and round, + While he the globe was circling round and round, —and now returns: + How changed the place—all the old land-marks gone—the parents dead; + (Yes, he comes back to lay in port for good—to settle—has a + well-fill’d purse—no spot will do but this;) + The little boat that scull’d him from the sloop, now held in leash I see, + I hear the slapping waves, the restless keel, the rocking in the sand, + I see the sailor kit, the canvas bag, the great box bound with brass, + I scan the face all berry-brown and bearded—the stout-strong frame, + Dress’d in its russet suit of good Scotch cloth: + (Then what the told-out story of those twenty years? What of the future?) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0336" id="link2H_4_0336"></a> + Orange Buds by Mail from Florida + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A lesser proof than old Voltaire’s, yet greater, + Proof of this present time, and thee, thy broad expanse, America, + To my plain Northern hut, in outside clouds and snow, + Brought safely for a thousand miles o’er land and tide, + Some three days since on their own soil live-sprouting, + Now here their sweetness through my room unfolding, + A bunch of orange buds by mall from Florida. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0337" id="link2H_4_0337"></a> + Twilight + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The soft voluptuous opiate shades, + The sun just gone, the eager light dispell’d—(I too will soon be + gone, dispell’d,) + A haze—nirwana—rest and night—oblivion. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0338" id="link2H_4_0338"></a> + You Lingering Sparse Leaves of Me + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You lingering sparse leaves of me on winter-nearing boughs, + And I some well-shorn tree of field or orchard-row; + You tokens diminute and lorn—(not now the flush of May, or July + clover-bloom—no grain of August now;) + You pallid banner-staves—you pennants valueless—you overstay’d of time, + Yet my soul-dearest leaves confirming all the rest, + The faithfulest—hardiest—last. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0339" id="link2H_4_0339"></a> + Not Meagre, Latent Boughs Alone + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not meagre, latent boughs alone, O songs! (scaly and bare, like + eagles’ talons,) + But haply for some sunny day (who knows?) some future spring, some + summer—bursting forth, + To verdant leaves, or sheltering shade—to nourishing fruit, + Apples and grapes—the stalwart limbs of trees emerging—the fresh, + free, open air, + And love and faith, like scented roses blooming. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0340" id="link2H_4_0340"></a> + The Dead Emperor + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To-day, with bending head and eyes, thou, too, Columbia, + Less for the mighty crown laid low in sorrow—less for the Emperor, + Thy true condolence breathest, sendest out o’er many a salt sea mile, + Mourning a good old man—a faithful shepherd, patriot. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0341" id="link2H_4_0341"></a> + As the Greek’s Signal Flame + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As the Greek’s signal flame, by antique records told, + Rose from the hill-top, like applause and glory, + Welcoming in fame some special veteran, hero, + With rosy tinge reddening the land he’d served, + So I aloft from Mannahatta’s ship-fringed shore, + Lift high a kindled brand for thee, Old Poet. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0342" id="link2H_4_0342"></a> + The Dismantled Ship + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In some unused lagoon, some nameless bay, + On sluggish, lonesome waters, anchor’d near the shore, + An old, dismasted, gray and batter’d ship, disabled, done, + After free voyages to all the seas of earth, haul’d up at last and + hawser’d tight, + Lies rusting, mouldering. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0343" id="link2H_4_0343"></a> + Now Precedent Songs, Farewell + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now precedent songs, farewell—by every name farewell, + (Trains of a staggering line in many a strange procession, waggons, + From ups and downs—with intervals—from elder years, mid-age, or youth,) + “In Cabin’d Ships, or Thee Old Cause or Poets to Come + Or Paumanok, Song of Myself, Calamus, or Adam, + Or Beat! Beat! Drums! or To the Leaven’d Soil they Trod, + Or Captain! My Captain! Kosmos, Quicksand Years, or Thoughts, + Thou Mother with thy Equal Brood,” and many, many more unspecified, + From fibre heart of mine—from throat and tongue—(My life’s hot + pulsing blood, + The personal urge and form for me—not merely paper, automatic type + and ink,) + Each song of mine—each utterance in the past—having its long, long + history, + Of life or death, or soldier’s wound, of country’s loss or safety, + (O heaven! what flash and started endless train of all! compared + indeed to that! + What wretched shred e’en at the best of all!) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0344" id="link2H_4_0344"></a> + An Evening Lull + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + After a week of physical anguish, + Unrest and pain, and feverish heat, + Toward the ending day a calm and lull comes on, + Three hours of peace and soothing rest of brain. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0345" id="link2H_4_0345"></a> + Old Age’s Lambent Peaks + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The touch of flame—the illuminating fire—the loftiest look at last, + O’er city, passion, sea—o’er prairie, mountain, wood—the earth itself, + The airy, different, changing hues of all, in failing twilight, + Objects and groups, bearings, faces, reminiscences; + The calmer sight—the golden setting, clear and broad: + So much i’ the atmosphere, the points of view, the situations whence + we scan, + Bro’t out by them alone—so much (perhaps the best) unreck’d before; + The lights indeed from them—old age’s lambent peaks. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0346" id="link2H_4_0346"></a> + After the Supper and Talk + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + After the supper and talk—after the day is done, + As a friend from friends his final withdrawal prolonging, + Good-bye and Good-bye with emotional lips repeating, + (So hard for his hand to release those hands—no more will they meet, + No more for communion of sorrow and joy, of old and young, + A far-stretching journey awaits him, to return no more,) + Shunning, postponing severance—seeking to ward off the last word + ever so little, + E’en at the exit-door turning—charges superfluous calling back— + e’en as he descends the steps, + Something to eke out a minute additional—shadows of nightfall deepening, + Farewells, messages lessening—dimmer the forthgoer’s visage and form, + Soon to be lost for aye in the darkness—loth, O so loth to depart! + Garrulous to the very last. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0347" id="link2H_4_0347"></a> + BOOKXXXV. GOOD-BYE MY FANCY + </h2> + <p> + Sail out for Good, Eidolon Yacht! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Heave the anchor short! + Raise main-sail and jib—steer forth, + O little white-hull’d sloop, now speed on really deep waters, + (I will not call it our concluding voyage, + But outset and sure entrance to the truest, best, maturest;) + Depart, depart from solid earth—no more returning to these shores, + Now on for aye our infinite free venture wending, + Spurning all yet tried ports, seas, hawsers, densities, gravitation, + Sail out for good, eidolon yacht of me! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0348" id="link2H_4_0348"></a> + Lingering Last Drops + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And whence and why come you? + + We know not whence, (was the answer,) + We only know that we drift here with the rest, + That we linger’d and lagg’d—but were wafted at last, and are now here, + To make the passing shower’s concluding drops. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0349" id="link2H_4_0349"></a> + Good-Bye My Fancy + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Good-bye my fancy—(I had a word to say, + But ’tis not quite the time—The best of any man’s word or say, + Is when its proper place arrives—and for its meaning, + I keep mine till the last.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0350" id="link2H_4_0350"></a> + On, on the Same, Ye Jocund Twain! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On, on the same, ye jocund twain! + My life and recitative, containing birth, youth, mid-age years, + Fitful as motley-tongues of flame, inseparably twined and merged in + one—combining all, + My single soul—aims, confirmations, failures, joys—Nor single soul alone, + I chant my nation’s crucial stage, (America’s, haply humanity’s)— + the trial great, the victory great, + A strange eclaircissement of all the masses past, the eastern world, + the ancient, medieval, + Here, here from wanderings, strayings, lessons, wars, defeats—here + at the west a voice triumphant—justifying all, + A gladsome pealing cry—a song for once of utmost pride and satisfaction; + I chant from it the common bulk, the general average horde, (the + best sooner than the worst)—And now I chant old age, + (My verses, written first for forenoon life, and for the summer’s, + autumn’s spread, + I pass to snow-white hairs the same, and give to pulses + winter-cool’d the same;) + As here in careless trill, I and my recitatives, with faith and love, + wafting to other work, to unknown songs, conditions, + On, on ye jocund twain! continue on the same! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0351" id="link2H_4_0351"></a> + MY 71st Year + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + After surmounting three-score and ten, + With all their chances, changes, losses, sorrows, + My parents’ deaths, the vagaries of my life, the many tearing + passions of me, the war of ’63 and ’4, + As some old broken soldier, after a long, hot, wearying march, or + haply after battle, + To-day at twilight, hobbling, answering company roll-call, Here, + with vital voice, + Reporting yet, saluting yet the Officer over all. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0352" id="link2H_4_0352"></a> + Apparitions + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A vague mist hanging ’round half the pages: + (Sometimes how strange and clear to the soul, + That all these solid things are indeed but apparitions, concepts, + non-realities.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0353" id="link2H_4_0353"></a> + The Pallid Wreath + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Somehow I cannot let it go yet, funeral though it is, + Let it remain back there on its nail suspended, + With pink, blue, yellow, all blanch’d, and the white now gray and ashy, + One wither’d rose put years ago for thee, dear friend; + But I do not forget thee. Hast thou then faded? + Is the odor exhaled? Are the colors, vitalities, dead? + No, while memories subtly play—the past vivid as ever; + For but last night I woke, and in that spectral ring saw thee, + Thy smile, eyes, face, calm, silent, loving as ever: + So let the wreath hang still awhile within my eye-reach, + It is not yet dead to me, nor even pallid. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0354" id="link2H_4_0354"></a> + An Ended Day + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The soothing sanity and blitheness of completion, + The pomp and hurried contest-glare and rush are done; + Now triumph! transformation! jubilate! +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0355" id="link2H_4_0355"></a> + Old Age’s Ship & Crafty Death’s + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + From east and west across the horizon’s edge, + Two mighty masterful vessels sailers steal upon us: + But we’ll make race a-time upon the seas—a battle-contest yet! bear + lively there! + (Our joys of strife and derring-do to the last!) + Put on the old ship all her power to-day! + Crowd top-sail, top-gallant and royal studding-sails, + Out challenge and defiance—flags and flaunting pennants added, + As we take to the open—take to the deepest, freest waters. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0356" id="link2H_4_0356"></a> + To the Pending Year + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Have I no weapon-word for thee—some message brief and fierce? + (Have I fought out and done indeed the battle?) Is there no shot left, + For all thy affectations, lisps, scorns, manifold silliness? + Nor for myself—my own rebellious self in thee? + + Down, down, proud gorge!—though choking thee; + Thy bearded throat and high-borne forehead to the gutter; + Crouch low thy neck to eleemosynary gifts. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0357" id="link2H_4_0357"></a> + Shakspere-Bacon’s Cipher + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I doubt it not—then more, far more; + In each old song bequeath’d—in every noble page or text, + (Different—something unreck’d before—some unsuspected author,) + In every object, mountain, tree, and star—in every birth and life, + As part of each—evolv’d from each—meaning, behind the ostent, + A mystic cipher waits infolded. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0358" id="link2H_4_0358"></a> + Long, Long Hence + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + After a long, long course, hundreds of years, denials, + Accumulations, rous’d love and joy and thought, + Hopes, wishes, aspirations, ponderings, victories, myriads of readers, + Coating, compassing, covering—after ages’ and ages’ encrustations, + Then only may these songs reach fruition. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0359" id="link2H_4_0359"></a> + Bravo, Paris Exposition! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Add to your show, before you close it, France, + With all the rest, visible, concrete, temples, towers, goods, + machines and ores, + Our sentiment wafted from many million heart-throbs, ethereal but solid, + (We grand-sons and great-grandsons do not forget your grandsires,) + From fifty Nations and nebulous Nations, compacted, sent oversea to-day, + America’s applause, love, memories and good-will. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0360" id="link2H_4_0360"></a> + Interpolation Sounds + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Over and through the burial chant, + Organ and solemn service, sermon, bending priests, + To me come interpolation sounds not in the show—plainly to me, + crowding up the aisle and from the window, + Of sudden battle’s hurry and harsh noises—war’s grim game to sight + and ear in earnest; + The scout call’d up and forward—the general mounted and his aides + around him—the new-brought word—the instantaneous order issued; + The rifle crack—the cannon thud—the rushing forth of men from their + tents; + The clank of cavalry—the strange celerity of forming ranks—the + slender bugle note; + The sound of horses’ hoofs departing—saddles, arms, accoutrements. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0361" id="link2H_4_0361"></a> + To the Sun-Set Breeze + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ah, whispering, something again, unseen, + Where late this heated day thou enterest at my window, door, + Thou, laving, tempering all, cool-freshing, gently vitalizing + Me, old, alone, sick, weak-down, melted-worn with sweat; + Thou, nestling, folding close and firm yet soft, companion better + than talk, book, art, + (Thou hast, O Nature! elements! utterance to my heart beyond the + rest—and this is of them,) + So sweet thy primitive taste to breathe within—thy soothing fingers + my face and hands, + Thou, messenger—magical strange bringer to body and spirit of me, + (Distances balk’d—occult medicines penetrating me from head to foot,) + I feel the sky, the prairies vast—I feel the mighty northern lakes, + I feel the ocean and the forest—somehow I feel the globe itself + swift-swimming in space; + Thou blown from lips so loved, now gone—haply from endless store, + God-sent, + (For thou art spiritual, Godly, most of all known to my sense,) + Minister to speak to me, here and now, what word has never told, and + cannot tell, + Art thou not universal concrete’s distillation? Law’s, all + Astronomy’s last refinement? + Hast thou no soul? Can I not know, identify thee? +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0362" id="link2H_4_0362"></a> + Old Chants + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + An ancient song, reciting, ending, + Once gazing toward thee, Mother of All, + Musing, seeking themes fitted for thee, + Accept me, thou saidst, the elder ballads, + And name for me before thou goest each ancient poet. + + (Of many debts incalculable, + Haply our New World’s chieftest debt is to old poems.) + + Ever so far back, preluding thee, America, + Old chants, Egyptian priests, and those of Ethiopia, + The Hindu epics, the Grecian, Chinese, Persian, + The Biblic books and prophets, and deep idyls of the Nazarene, + The Iliad, Odyssey, plots, doings, wanderings of Eneas, + Hesiod, Eschylus, Sophocles, Merlin, Arthur, + The Cid, Roland at Roncesvalles, the Nibelungen, + The troubadours, minstrels, minnesingers, skalds, + Chaucer, Dante, flocks of singing birds, + The Border Minstrelsy, the bye-gone ballads, feudal tales, essays, plays, + Shakespere, Schiller, Walter Scott, Tennyson, + As some vast wondrous weird dream-presences, + The great shadowy groups gathering around, + Darting their mighty masterful eyes forward at thee, + Thou! with as now thy bending neck and head, with courteous hand + and word, ascending, + Thou! pausing a moment, drooping thine eyes upon them, blent + with their music, + Well pleased, accepting all, curiously prepared for by them, + Thou enterest at thy entrance porch. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0363" id="link2H_4_0363"></a> + A Christmas Greeting + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Welcome, Brazilian brother—thy ample place is ready; + A loving hand—a smile from the north—a sunny instant hall! + (Let the future care for itself, where it reveals its troubles, + impedimentas, + Ours, ours the present throe, the democratic aim, the acceptance and + the faith;) + To thee to-day our reaching arm, our turning neck—to thee from us + the expectant eye, + Thou cluster free! thou brilliant lustrous one! thou, learning well, + The true lesson of a nation’s light in the sky, + (More shining than the Cross, more than the Crown,) + The height to be superb humanity. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0364" id="link2H_4_0364"></a> + Sounds of the Winter + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sounds of the winter too, + Sunshine upon the mountains—many a distant strain + From cheery railroad train—from nearer field, barn, house, + The whispering air—even the mute crops, garner’d apples, corn, + Children’s and women’s tones—rhythm of many a farmer and of flail, + An old man’s garrulous lips among the rest, Think not we give out yet, + Forth from these snowy hairs we keep up yet the lilt. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0365" id="link2H_4_0365"></a> + A Twilight Song + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I sit in twilight late alone by the flickering oak-flame, + Musing on long-pass’d war-scenes—of the countless buried unknown + soldiers, + Of the vacant names, as unindented air’s and sea’s—the unreturn’d, + The brief truce after battle, with grim burial-squads, and the + deep-fill’d trenches + Of gather’d from dead all America, North, South, East, West, whence + they came up, + From wooded Maine, New-England’s farms, from fertile Pennsylvania, + Illinois, Ohio, + From the measureless West, Virginia, the South, the Carolinas, Texas, + (Even here in my room-shadows and half-lights in the noiseless + flickering flames, + Again I see the stalwart ranks on-filing, rising—I hear the + rhythmic tramp of the armies;) + You million unwrit names all, all—you dark bequest from all the war, + A special verse for you—a flash of duty long neglected—your mystic + roll strangely gather’d here, + Each name recall’d by me from out the darkness and death’s ashes, + Henceforth to be, deep, deep within my heart recording, for many + future year, + Your mystic roll entire of unknown names, or North or South, + Embalm’d with love in this twilight song. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0366" id="link2H_4_0366"></a> + When the Full-Grown Poet Came + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When the full-grown poet came, + Out spake pleased Nature (the round impassive globe, with all its + shows of day and night,) saying, He is mine; + But out spake too the Soul of man, proud, jealous and unreconciled, + Nay he is mine alone; + —Then the full-grown poet stood between the two, and took each + by the hand; + And to-day and ever so stands, as blender, uniter, tightly holding hands, + Which he will never release until he reconciles the two, + And wholly and joyously blends them. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0367" id="link2H_4_0367"></a> + Osceola + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When his hour for death had come, + He slowly rais’d himself from the bed on the floor, + Drew on his war-dress, shirt, leggings, and girdled the belt around + his waist, + Call’d for vermilion paint (his looking-glass was held before him,) + Painted half his face and neck, his wrists, and back-hands. + Put the scalp-knife carefully in his belt—then lying down, resting + moment, + Rose again, half sitting, smiled, gave in silence his extended hand + to each and all, + Sank faintly low to the floor (tightly grasping the tomahawk handle,) + Fix’d his look on wife and little children—the last: + + (And here a line in memory of his name and death.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0368" id="link2H_4_0368"></a> + A Voice from Death + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A voice from Death, solemn and strange, in all his sweep and power, + With sudden, indescribable blow—towns drown’d—humanity by + thousands slain, + The vaunted work of thrift, goods, dwellings, forge, street, iron bridge, + Dash’d pell-mell by the blow—yet usher’d life continuing on, + (Amid the rest, amid the rushing, whirling, wild debris, + A suffering woman saved—a baby safely born!) + + Although I come and unannounc’d, in horror and in pang, + In pouring flood and fire, and wholesale elemental crash, (this + voice so solemn, strange,) + I too a minister of Deity. + + Yea, Death, we bow our faces, veil our eyes to thee, + We mourn the old, the young untimely drawn to thee, + The fair, the strong, the good, the capable, + The household wreck’d, the husband and the wife, the engulfed forger + in his forge, + The corpses in the whelming waters and the mud, + The gather’d thousands to their funeral mounds, and thousands never + found or gather’d. + + Then after burying, mourning the dead, + (Faithful to them found or unfound, forgetting not, bearing the + past, here new musing,) + A day—a passing moment or an hour—America itself bends low, + Silent, resign’d, submissive. + + War, death, cataclysm like this, America, + Take deep to thy proud prosperous heart. + + E’en as I chant, lo! out of death, and out of ooze and slime, + The blossoms rapidly blooming, sympathy, help, love, + From West and East, from South and North and over sea, + Its hot-spurr’d hearts and hands humanity to human aid moves on; + And from within a thought and lesson yet. + + Thou ever-darting Globe! through Space and Air! + Thou waters that encompass us! + Thou that in all the life and death of us, in action or in sleep! + Thou laws invisible that permeate them and all, + Thou that in all, and over all, and through and under all, incessant! + Thou! thou! the vital, universal, giant force resistless, sleepless, calm, + Holding Humanity as in thy open hand, as some ephemeral toy, + How ill to e’er forget thee! + + For I too have forgotten, + (Wrapt in these little potencies of progress, politics, culture, + wealth, inventions, civilization,) + Have lost my recognition of your silent ever-swaying power, ye + mighty, elemental throes, + In which and upon which we float, and every one of us is buoy’d. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0369" id="link2H_4_0369"></a> + A Persian Lesson + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For his o’erarching and last lesson the greybeard sufi, + In the fresh scent of the morning in the open air, + On the slope of a teeming Persian rose-garden, + Under an ancient chestnut-tree wide spreading its branches, + Spoke to the young priests and students. + + “Finally my children, to envelop each word, each part of the rest, + Allah is all, all, all—immanent in every life and object, + May-be at many and many-a-more removes—yet Allah, Allah, Allah is there. + + “Has the estray wander’d far? Is the reason-why strangely hidden? + Would you sound below the restless ocean of the entire world? + Would you know the dissatisfaction? the urge and spur of every life; + The something never still’d—never entirely gone? the invisible need + of every seed? + + “It is the central urge in every atom, + (Often unconscious, often evil, downfallen,) + To return to its divine source and origin, however distant, + Latent the same in subject and in object, without one exception.” +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0370" id="link2H_4_0370"></a> + The Commonplace + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The commonplace I sing; + How cheap is health! how cheap nobility! + Abstinence, no falsehood, no gluttony, lust; + The open air I sing, freedom, toleration, + (Take here the mainest lesson—less from books—less from the schools,) + The common day and night—the common earth and waters, + Your farm—your work, trade, occupation, + The democratic wisdom underneath, like solid ground for all. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0371" id="link2H_4_0371"></a> + “The Rounded Catalogue Divine Complete” + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The devilish and the dark, the dying and diseas’d, + The countless (nineteen-twentieths) low and evil, crude and savage, + The crazed, prisoners in jail, the horrible, rank, malignant, + Venom and filth, serpents, the ravenous sharks, liars, the dissolute; + (What is the part the wicked and the loathesome bear within earth’s + orbic scheme?) + Newts, crawling things in slime and mud, poisons, + The barren soil, the evil men, the slag and hideous rot. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0372" id="link2H_4_0372"></a> + Mirages + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + More experiences and sights, stranger, than you’d think for; + Times again, now mostly just after sunrise or before sunset, + Sometimes in spring, oftener in autumn, perfectly clear weather, in + plain sight, + Camps far or near, the crowded streets of cities and the shopfronts, + (Account for it or not—credit or not—it is all true, + And my mate there could tell you the like—we have often confab’d + about it,) + People and scenes, animals, trees, colors and lines, plain as could be, + Farms and dooryards of home, paths border’d with box, lilacs in corners, + Weddings in churches, thanksgiving dinners, returns of long-absent sons, + Glum funerals, the crape-veil’d mother and the daughters, + Trials in courts, jury and judge, the accused in the box, + Contestants, battles, crowds, bridges, wharves, + Now and then mark’d faces of sorrow or joy, + (I could pick them out this moment if I saw them again,) + Show’d to me—just to the right in the sky-edge, + Or plainly there to the left on the hill-tops. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0373" id="link2H_4_0373"></a> + L. of G.’s Purport + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not to exclude or demarcate, or pick out evils from their formidable + masses (even to expose them,) + But add, fuse, complete, extend—and celebrate the immortal and the good. + Haughty this song, its words and scope, + To span vast realms of space and time, + Evolution—the cumulative—growths and generations. + + Begun in ripen’d youth and steadily pursued, + Wandering, peering, dallying with all—war, peace, day and night + absorbing, + Never even for one brief hour abandoning my task, + I end it here in sickness, poverty, and old age. + + I sing of life, yet mind me well of death: + To-day shadowy Death dogs my steps, my seated shape, and has for years— + Draws sometimes close to me, as face to face. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0374" id="link2H_4_0374"></a> + The Unexpress’d + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How dare one say it? + After the cycles, poems, singers, plays, + Vaunted Ionia’s, India’s—Homer, Shakspere—the long, long times’ + thick dotted roads, areas, + The shining clusters and the Milky Ways of stars—Nature’s pulses reap’d, + All retrospective passions, heroes, war, love, adoration, + All ages’ plummets dropt to their utmost depths, + All human lives, throats, wishes, brains—all experiences’ utterance; + After the countless songs, or long or short, all tongues, all lands, + Still something not yet told in poesy’s voice or print—something lacking, + (Who knows? the best yet unexpress’d and lacking.) +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0375" id="link2H_4_0375"></a> + Grand Is the Seen + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Grand is the seen, the light, to me—grand are the sky and stars, + Grand is the earth, and grand are lasting time and space, + And grand their laws, so multiform, puzzling, evolutionary; + But grander far the unseen soul of me, comprehending, endowing all those, + Lighting the light, the sky and stars, delving the earth, sailing + the sea, + (What were all those, indeed, without thee, unseen soul? of what + amount without thee?) + More evolutionary, vast, puzzling, O my soul! + More multiform far—more lasting thou than they. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0376" id="link2H_4_0376"></a> + Unseen Buds + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Unseen buds, infinite, hidden well, + Under the snow and ice, under the darkness, in every square or cubic inch, + Germinal, exquisite, in delicate lace, microscopic, unborn, + Like babes in wombs, latent, folded, compact, sleeping; + Billions of billions, and trillions of trillions of them waiting, + (On earth and in the sea—the universe—the stars there in the + heavens,) + Urging slowly, surely forward, forming endless, + And waiting ever more, forever more behind. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2> + <a name="link2H_4_0377" id="link2H_4_0377"></a> + Good-Bye My Fancy! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Good-bye my Fancy! + Farewell dear mate, dear love! + I’m going away, I know not where, + Or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again, + So Good-bye my Fancy. + + Now for my last—let me look back a moment; + The slower fainter ticking of the clock is in me, + Exit, nightfall, and soon the heart-thud stopping. + + Long have we lived, joy’d, caress’d together; + Delightful!—now separation—Good-bye my Fancy. + + Yet let me not be too hasty, + Long indeed have we lived, slept, filter’d, become really blended + into one; + Then if we die we die together, (yes, we’ll remain one,) + If we go anywhere we’ll go together to meet what happens, + May-be we’ll be better off and blither, and learn something, + May-be it is yourself now really ushering me to the true songs, (who + knows?) + May-be it is you the mortal knob really undoing, turning—so now finally, + Good-bye—and hail! my Fancy. +</pre> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1322 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/1322-h/images/cover.jpg b/1322-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..997c6eb --- /dev/null +++ b/1322-h/images/cover.jpg |
