Published Works In Whitman's Hand Life & Letters Commentary Resources Pictures & Sound About the Archive

contents   |   previous   |   next

View Page

LEAVES OF GRASS.

O ME! O LIFE!

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 will contribute          a verse.

THOUGHTS.

OF Public Opinion;

Of a calm and cool fiat, sooner or later, (How impas-          sive! How certain and final!)

Of the President with pale face, asking secretly to him-          self, What will the people say at last?

View Page 362

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 of personality;

—Of the New World—Of the Democracies, resplendent,          en-masse;

Of the conformity of politics, armies, navies, to them          and to me,

Of the shining sun by them—Of the inherent light,          greater than the rest,

Of the envelopment of all by them, and of the effusion          of all from them.

BEGINNERS.

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.

contents   |   previous   |   next

Comments?

Published Works | In Whitman's Hand | Life & Letters | Commentary | Resources | Pictures & Sound

Support the Archive | About the Archive

Distributed under a Creative Commons License. Ed Folsom & Kenneth M. Price, editors.