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

contents   |   previous   |   next

View Page

WALT WHITMAN.

1

1   I CELEBRATE myself;

And what I assume you shall assume;

For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to          you.

2   I loafe and invite my Soul;

I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of sum-          mer grass.

3   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.

4   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 undis-          guised and naked;

I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

2

5   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;

View Page 30

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, words          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.

6   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?

7   Stop this day and night with me, and you shall pos-          sess 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

8   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.

9   There was never any more inception than there is          now,

Nor any more youth or age than there is now;

View Page 31

And will never be any more perfection than there is          now,

Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

10   Urge, and urge, and urge;

Always the procreant urge of the world.

11   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.

12   To elaborate is no avail—learn'd and unlearn'd feel          that it is so.

13   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.

14   Clear and sweet is my Soul, and clear and sweet is all          that is not my Soul.

15   Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by          the seen,

Till that becomes unseen, and receives proof in its          turn.

16   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.

17   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.

View Page 32

18   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 a cent,

Exactly the contents of one, and exactly the contents of          two, and which is ahead?

4

19   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.

20   Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I          am;

Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, uni-          tary;

Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable          certain rest,

Looking with side-curved head, curious what will come          next;

View Page 33

Both in and out of the game, and watching and won-          dering at it.

21   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

22   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.

23   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.

24   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 my 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.

25   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, and heap'd stones,          elder, mullen, and poke-weed.

View Page 34

6

26   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.

27   I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of          hopeful green stuff woven.

28   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?

29   Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced          babe of the vegetation.

30   Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic;

And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and nar-          row zones,

Growing among black folks as among white;

Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the          same, I receive them the same.

31   And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of          graves.

32   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 and from women,          and from offspring taken soon out of their          mothers' laps;

And here you are the mothers' laps;

33   This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of          old mothers;

Darker than the colourless beards of old men;

Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

View Page 35

34   O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!

And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of          mouths for nothing.

35   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.

36   What do you think has become of the young and          old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and          children?

37   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.

38   All goes onward and outward—nothing collapses;

And to die is different from what any one supposed,          and luckier.

7

39   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.

40   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.

41   I am not on 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.)

View Page 36

42   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.

43   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

44   The little one sleeps in its cradle;

I lift the gauze, and look a long time, and silently          brush away flies with my hand.

45   The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up          the bushy hill;

I peeringly view them from the top.

46   The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bed-          room;

I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair—I note          where the pistol has fallen.

47   The blab of the pave, the 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, the clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of          snow-balls;

View Page 37

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 sun-          struck, 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

48   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.

49   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

50   Alone, far in the wilds and mountains, I hunt,

View Page 38 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.

51   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.

52   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.)

53   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.

54   The runaway slave came to my house and stopt out-          side;

I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the wood-          pile;

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,

View Page 39

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

55   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 lone-          some.

56   She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank;

She hides, handsome and richly drest, aft the blinds of          the window.

57   Which of the young men does she like the best?

Ah, the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

58   Where are you off to, lady? for I see you;

You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in          your room.

59   Dancing and laughing along the beach came the          twenty-ninth bather;

The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved          them.

60   The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it          ran from their long hair:

Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.

61   An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies;

It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.

View Page 40

62   The young men float on their backs—their white bel-          lies 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

63   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.

64   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.)

65   From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their          movements;

The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their          massive arms;

Over-hand the hammers swing—over-hand so slow—          over-hand so sure:

They do not hasten—each man hits in his place.

13

66   The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses          —the block swags underneath on its tied-over          chain;

The negro that drives the 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 moustache—falls          on the black of his polish'd and perfect limbs.

View Page 41

67   I behold the picturesque giant, and love him—and I          do not stop there;

I go with the team also.

68   In me the caresser of life wherever moving—back-          ward as well as forward slueing;

To niches aside and junior bending.

69   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.

70   My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck, on          my distant and day-long ramble;

They rise together—they slowly circle around.

71   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

72   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 listen          close;

I find its purpose and place up there toward the wintry          sky.)

View Page 42

73   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.

74   The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred          affections;

They scorn the best I can do to relate them.

75   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.

76   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

77   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;

View Page 43

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 bedroom;)

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 trav-          els 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 offer-          ing 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;

View Page 44

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 nine months' gone is in the parturition chamber,          her faintness and pains are advancing;

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 red 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 per-          formers 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 pur-          chaser higgling about the odd cent;)

The camera and plate are prepared, the lady must sit          for her daguerreotype;

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;

View Page 45

The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of hal-          ibut 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 pekan-trees;

Coon-seekers go through the regions of the Red river,          or through those drain'd by the Tennessee, or          through those of the Arkansaw;

Torches shine in the dark that hangs on the Chatta-          hooche 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 hus-          band sleeps by his wife;

And these one and all tend inward to me, and I tend          outward to them;

And such as it is to be of these, more or less, I am.

View Page 46

16

78   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 Great Nation, the nation of many nations,          the smallest the same, and the largest the same;

A southerner soon as a northerner—a planter non-          chalant 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 stern-          est 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-west-          erners, (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 thought-          fullest;

A novice beginning, yet experient of myriads of sea-          sons;

Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and reli-          gion;

A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker;

A prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest.

79   I resist anything better than my own diversity;

View Page 47 I breathe the air, but leave plenty after me,

And am not stuck up, and am in my place.

80   (The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place;

The suns I see, and the suns I cannot see, are in their          place;

The, palpable is in its place, and the impalpable is in its          place.)

17

81   These are 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.

82   This is the grass that grows wherever the land is, and          the water is;

This is the common air that bathes the globe.

18

83   With music strong I come—with my cornets and my          drums,

I play not marches for accepted victors only—I play          great marches for conquered and slain persons.

84   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.

85   I beat and pound for the dead;

I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest          for them.

86   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!

View Page 48

And to all generals that lost engagements! and all over-          come heroes!

And the numberless unknown heroes, equal to the          greatest heroes known.

19

87   This is the meal equally set—this is the meat for          natural hunger;

It is for the wicked just the 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 in-          vited:

There shall be no difference between them and the rest.

88   This is the press of a bashful hand—this is the float          and odor of hair;

This is the touch of my lips to yours—this is the mur-          mur of yearning:

This is the far-off depth and height reflecting my own          face;

This is the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet          again.

89   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.

90   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?

91   This hour I tell things in confidence;

I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

20

92   Who goes there? hankering, gross, mystical, nude;

How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?

View Page 49

93   What is a man, anyhow? What am I? What are you?

94   All I mark as my own, you shall offset it with your own;

Else it were time lost listening to me.

95   I do not snivel that snivel the world over,

That months are vacuums, and the ground but wallow          and filth;

That life is a suck and a sell, and nothing remains at          the end but threadbare crape, and tears.

96   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.

97   Why should I pray? Why should I venerate and be          ceremonious?

98   Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair,          counsell'd with doctors, and calculated close,

I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.

99   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.

100   And I know I am solid and sound;

To me the converging objects of the universe perpetu-          ally flow;

All are written to me, and I must get what the writing          means.

101   I know I am deathless;

I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by the car-          penter's compass;

I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with          a burnt stick at night.

102   I know I am august;

View Page 50

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.)

103   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;

104   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.

105   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

106   I am the poet of the Body;

And I am the poet of the Soul.

107   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 a new tongue.

108   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.

100   I chant the chant of dilation or pride;

We have had ducking and deprecating about enough;

I show that size is only development.

110   Have you outstript the rest? Are you the Presi-          dent?

View Page 51

It is a trifle—they will more than arrive there, every          one, and still pass on.

111   I am he that walks with the tender and growing          night;

I call to the earth and sea, half-held by the night.

112   Press close, bare-bosom'd night! Press close, mag-          netic, nourishing night!

Night of south winds! night of the large few stars!

Still, nodding night! mad, naked, summer night.

113   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!

114   Prodigal, you have given me love! Therefore I to          you give love!

O unspeakable, passionate love!

22

115   You sea! I resign myself to you also—I guess what          you mean;

I behold from the beach your crooked inviting 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.

116   Sea of stretch'd ground-swells!

View Page 52 Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths!

Sea of the brine of life! sea 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.

117   Partaker of influx and efflux I—extoller of hate and          conciliation;

Extoller of amies, and those that sleep in each others'          arms.

118   I am he attesting sympathy;

(Shall I make my list of things in the house, and skip          the house that supports them?)

119   I am not the poet of goodness only—I do not decline          to be the poet of wickedness also.

120   Washes and razors for foofoos—for me freckles and a          bristling beard.

121   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.

122   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?

123   I find one side a balance, and the antipodal side a          balance;

Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine;

Thoughts and deeds of the present, our rouse and early          start.

View Page 53

124   This minute that comes to me over the past decil-          lions,

There is no better than it and now.

125   What behaved well in the past, or behaves well to-          day, is not such a wonder;

The wonder is, always and always, how there can be a          mean man or an infidel.

23

126   Endless unfolding of words of ages!

And mine a word of the modern—the word En-Masse.

127   A word of the faith that never balks;

Here or henceforward, it is all the same to me—I          accept Time, absolutely.

128   It alone is without flaw—it rounds and completes          all;

That mystic, baffling wonder I love, alone completes          all.

120   I accept reality, and dare not question it;

Materialism first and last imbuing.

130   Hurrah for positive science! long live exact demon-          stration!

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 un-          known seas;

This is the geologist—this works with the scalpel—and          this is a mathematician.

131   Gentlemen! to you the first honors always:

Your facts are useful and real—and yet they are not          my dwelling;

(I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.)

132   View Page 54 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

133   Walt Whitman am I, a Kosmos, of mighty Manhat-          tan the son,

Turbulent, fleshy and sensual, eating, drinking and          breeding;

No sentimentalist—no stander above men and women,          or apart from them;

No more modest than immodest.

134   Unscrew the locks from the doors!

Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!

135   Whoever degrades another degrades me;

And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.

136   Through me the afflatus surging and surging—          through me the current and index.

137   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.

138   Through me many long dumb voices;

Voices of the interminable generations of slaves;

Voices of prostitutes, and of deform'd persons;

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;

View Page 55 Of the trivial, flat, foolish, despised,

Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.

139   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.

140   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.

141   I believe in the flesh and the appetites;

Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part          and tag of me is a miracle.

142   Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy what-          ever 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.

143   If I worship one thing more than another, it shall          be the spread of my own body, or any part of it.

144   Translucent mould of me, it shall be you!

Shaded ledges and rests, it shall be you!

Firm masculine colter, it shall be you.

145   Whatever goes to the tilth of me, it shall be you!

You my rich blood! Your milky stream, pale strippings          of my life.

146   Breast that presses against other breasts, it shall be          you!

My brain, it shall be your occult convolutions.

147   Root of wash'd sweet flag! timorous pond-snipe!          nest of guarded duplicate eggs! it shall be you!

View Page 56

Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be          you!

Trickling sap of maple! fibre of manly wheat! it shall          be you!

148   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.

149   I dote on myself—there is that lot of me, and all so          luscious;

Each moment, and whatever happens, thrills me with          joy.

150   O I am wonderful!

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.

151   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.

152   To behold the day-break!

The little light fades the immense and diaphanous          shadows;

The air tastes good to my palate.

153   Hefts of the moving world, at innocent gambols,          silently rising, freshly exuding,

Scooting obliquely high and low.

View Page 57

154   Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous          prongs;

Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.

155   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

156   Dazzling and tremendous, how quick the sun-rise          would kill me,

If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of          me.

157   We also ascend, dazzling and tremendous as the          sun;

We found our own, O my Soul, in the calm and cool          of the daybreak.

158   My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach;

With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds, and          volumes of worlds.

159   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?

160   Come now, I will not be tantalized—you conceive          too much of articulation.

161   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;

View Page 58

My knowledge my live parts—it keeping tally with the          meaning of things,

HAPPINESS—which, whoever hears me, let him or her set          out in search of this day.

162   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 to-          ward you.

163   Writing and talk do not prove me;

I carry the plenum of proof, and everything else, in my          face;

With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skep-          tic.

26

164   I think I will do nothing now but listen,

To accrue what I hear into myself—to let sounds con-          tribute toward me.

165   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;

View Page 59

The ring of alarm-bells—the cry of fire—the whirr of          swift-streaking engines and hose-carts, with pre-          monitory tinkles, and color'd lights;

The steam-whistle—the solid roll of the train of ap-          proaching 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.)

166   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.

167   I hear the chorus—it is a grand opera;

Ah, this indeed is music! This suits me.

168   A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me;

The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me          full.

169   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 exposed, cut by bitter and angry hail—I lose my          breath,

Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throt-          tled in fakes of death;

At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles,

And that we call BEING.

View Page 60

27

170   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 cal-          lous shell were enough.

171   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.

172   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

173   Is this then a touch? quivering me to a new iden-          tity,

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,

View Page 61

Then all uniting to stand on a headland and worry          me.

174   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.

175   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 car-          ried me there.

176   You villain touch! what are you doing? My breath          is tight in its throat;

Unclench your floodgates! you are too much for me.

29

177   Blind, loving, wrestling touch! sheath'd, hooded,          sharp tooth'd touch!

Did it make you ache so, leaving me?

178   Parting, track'd by arriving—perpetual payment of          perpetual loan;

Rich, showering rain, and recompense richer after-          ward.

179   Sprouts take and accumulate—stand by the curb          prolific and vital:

Landscapes, projected, masculine, full-sized and golden.

30

180   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?)

181   View Page 62 Logic and sermons never convince;

The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.

182   Only what proves itself to every man and woman is          so;

Only what nobody denies is so.

183   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 every one shall delight us, and we them.

31

184   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'uvre 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,

And I could come every afternoon of my life to look at          the farmer's girl boiling her iron tea-kettle and          baking short-cake.

185   I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss,          fruits, grains, esculent roots,

And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over,

View Page 63

And have distanced what is behind me for good rea-          sons,

And call anything close again, when I desire it.

186   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

187   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.

188   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 industrious over the whole          earth.

189   So they show their relations to me, and I accept          them;

They bring me tokens of myself—they evince them          plainly in their possession.

190   View Page 64 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 remem-          brancers;

Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him          on brotherly terms.

191   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, flex-          ibly moving.

192   His nostrils dilate, as my heels embrace him;

His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure, as we race          around and return.

193   I but use you a moment, 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

194   O swift wind! O space and time! now I see it is          true, what I guessed 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.

195   My ties and ballasts leave me—I travel—I sail—my          elbows rest in the sea-gaps;

I skirt the sierras—my palms cover continents;

I am afoot with my vision.

View Page 65

196   By the city's quadrangular houses—in log huts—          camping with lumbermen;

Along the ruts of the turnpike—along the dry gulch          and rivulet bed;

Weeding my onion-patch, or hoeing 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 tail;

Over the growing sugar—over the yellow-flower'd cotton          plant—over the rice in its low moist field;

Over the shar-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, hold-          ing 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 gold-bug drops through the dark;

Where flails keep time on the barn-floor;

Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree          and flows to the meadow;

View Page 66

Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremu-          lous shuddering of their hides;

Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen—where          andirons straddle the hearth-slab—where cob-          webs 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, (float-          ing 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 cur-          rents,

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 jibes, 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;

View Page 67

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 scattered—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 amidst wastes of snow and          icicled trees;

Where the yellow-crowned 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;

View Page 68

Pleas'd with the native, and pleas'd with the foreign—          pleas'd with the new and old;

Pleas'd with women, the homely as well as the hand-          some;

Pleas'd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet          and talks melodiously;

Pleas'd with the tune of the choir of the white-wash'd          church;

Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Metho-          dist preacher, or any preacher—impress'd seri-          ously 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,

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 Judea, 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;

View Page 69

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.

197   I visit the orchard of spheres, and look at the          product;

And look at quintillions ripened, and look at quintillions          green.

198   I fly the flight of the fluid and swallowing soul;

My course runs below the soundings of plummets.

199   I help myself to material and immaterial;

No guard can shut me off, nor law prevent me.

200   I anchor my ship for a little while only;

My messengers continually cruise away, or bring their          returns to me.

201   I go hunting polar furs and the seal—leaping chasms          with a pike-pointed staff—clinging to topples of          brittle and blue.

202   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 towards 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;

View Page 70

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.)

203   I am a free companion—I bivouac by invading          watchfires.

204   I turn the bridegroom out of bed, and stay with the          bride myself;

I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips.

205   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.

206   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 steam-ship, and Death chasing it up and          down the storm;

How he knuckled tight, and gave not back one 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—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.

207   The disdain and calmness of olden martyrs;

The mother, 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;

View Page 71

The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck—          the murderous buckshot and the bullets;

All these I feel, or am.

208   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.

209   Agonies are one of my changes of garments;

I do not ask the wounded person how he feels—I my-          self become the wounded person;

My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and          observe.

210   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.

211   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.

212   Distant and dead resuscitate;

They show as the dial or move as the hands of me—          I am the clock myself.

View Page 72

213   I am an old artillerist—I tell of my fort's bombard-          ment;

I am there again.

214   Again the long roll of the drummers;

Again the attacking cannon, mortars;

Again, to my listening ears, the cannon responsive.

215   I take part—I see and hear the whole;

The cries, curses, roar—the plaudits for well-aimed          shots;

The ambulanza slowly passing, trailing its red drip;

Workmen searching after damages, making indispen-          sable 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.

216   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

217   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 hun-          dred and twelve young men.

218   Retreating, they had form'd in a hollow square, with          their baggage for breastworks;

Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemy's,          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.

View Page 73

219   They were the glory of the race of rangers;

Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship,

Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affec-          tionate,

Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hun-          ters,

Not a single one over thirty years of age.

220   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.

221   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 liv-          ing 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.

222   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

223   Would you hear of an old-fashion'd sea-fight?

Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and          stars?

List to the story as my grandmother's father, the sailor,          told it to me.

View Page 74

224   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.

225   We closed with him—the yards entangled—the can-          non touch'd;

My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.

226   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.

227   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 them-          selves.

228   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.

229   Our frigate takes fire;

The other asks if we demand quarter?

If our colors are struck, and the fighting is done?

230   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 .

231   Only three guns are in use;

One is directed by the captain himself against the ene-          my's main-mast;

Two, well served with grape and canister, silence his          musketry and clear his decks.

View Page 75

232   The tops alone second the fire of this little battery,          especially the main-top;

They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.

233   Not a moment's cease;

The leaks again fast on the pumps—the fire eats toward          the powder-magazine.

234   One of the pumps has been shot away—it is gene-          rally thought we are sinking.

235   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-lan-          terns.

236   Toward twelve at night, there in the beams of the          moon, they surrender to us.

36

237   Stretch'd and still lies the midnight;

Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the dark-          ness;

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,

View Page 76

Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels,          strong scent,

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

238   O Christ! This is mastering me!

In at the conquer'd doors they crowd. I am possess'd.

239   I embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering;

See myself in prison shaped like another man,

And feel the dull unintermitted pain.

240   For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their car-          bines and keep watch;

It is I let out in the morning, and barr'd at night.

241   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.)

242   Not a youngster is taken for larceny, but I go up          too, and am tried and sentenced.

243   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.

244   Askers embody themselves in me, and I am embo-          died in them;

I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg.

View Page 77

245   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.

246   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 cru-          cifixion and bloody crowning.

247   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.

248   I troop forth replenish'd with supreme power, one          of an average unending procession;

Inland and sea-coast we go, and we pass all boundary          lines;

Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole          earth;

The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thou-          sands of years.

249   Eleves, I salute you! come forward!

Continue your annotations, continue your questionings.

39

250   The friendly and flowing savage, Who is he?

Is he waiting for civilization, or past it, and master-          ing it?

251   Is he some south-westerner, raised out-doors? Is he          Kanadian?

View Page 78

Is he from the Mississippi country? Iowa, Oregon,          California? the mountains? prairie-life, bush-          life? or from the sea?

252   Wherever he goes, men and women accept and de-          sire him;

They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to          them, stay with them.

253   Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as          grass, uncomb'd head, laughter, and naivete,

Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes          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

254   Flaunt of the sunshine, I need not your bask,—lie          over!

You light surfaces only—I force surfaces and depths          also.

255   Earth! you seem to look for something at my hands;

Say, old Top-knot! what do you want?

256   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.

257   Behold! I do not give lectures, or a little charity;

When I give, I give myself.

258   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;

View Page 79

I am not to be denied—I compel—I have stores? plenty          and to spare;

And anything I have I bestow.

259   I do not ask who you are—that is not so important          to me;

You can do nothing, and be nothing, but what I will          infold you.

260   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.

261   On women fit for conception I start bigger and          nimbler babes;

(This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant          republics.)

262   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.

263   I seize the descending man, and raise him with re-          sistless will.

264   O despairer, here is my neck;

By God! you shall not go down! Hang your whole          weight upon me.

265   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.

266   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;

View Page 80

And when you rise in the mornng you will find what I          tell you is so.

41

267   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.

268   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?

269   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;

View Page 81

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 destruc-          tion,

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 in-          terceding 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 worship'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.

42

270   A call in the midst of the crowd;

My own voice, orotund, sweeping, and final.

271   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.

272   Easily written, loose-finger'd chords! I feel the thrum          of your climax and close.