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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)

LEAVES
of
GRASS

BOSTON
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY
1881-82

COPYRIGHT 1881
BY WALT WHITMAN
All rights reserved

Electrotyped and Printed by Rand, Avery, & Co.,
Boston.

CONTENTS.

INSCRIPTIONS.	PAGE
ONE'S-SELF I SING	9
AS I PONDER'D IN SILENCE	9
IN CABIN'D SHIPS AT SEA	10
TO FOREIGN LANDS	11
TO A HISTORIAN	11
TO THEE OLD CAUSE	11
EIDÓLONS	12
FOR HIM I SING	14
WHEN I READ THE BOOK	14
BEGINNING MY STUDIES	14
BEGINNERS	15
TO THE STATES	15
ON JOURNEYS THROUGH THE STATES	15
TO A CERTAIN CANTATRICE	16
ME IMPERTURBE	16
SAVANTISM	16
THE SHIP STARTING	16
I HEAR AMERICA SINGING	17
WHAT PLACE IS BESIEGED?	17
STILL THOUGH THE ONE I SING	17
SHUT NOT YOUR DOORS	17
POETS TO COME	18
TO YOU	18
THOU READER	18

STARTING FROM PAUMANOK	18
SONG OF MYSELF	29

CHILDREN OF ADAM.
TO THE GARDEN THE WORLD	79
FROM PENT-UP ACHING RIVERS	79
I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC	81
A WOMAN WAITS FOR ME	88
SPONTANEOUS ME	89
ONE HOUR TO MADNESS AND JOY	91
OUT OF THE ROLLING OCEAN THE CROWD	92
AGES AND AGES RETURNING AT INTERVALS	92
WE TWO, HOW LONG WE WERE FOOL'D	93
O HYMEN! O HYMENEE!	93
I AM HE THAT ACHES WITH LOVE	93
NATIVE MOMENTS	94
ONCE I PASS'D THROUGH A POPULOUS CITY	94
I HEARD YOU SOLEMN-SWEET PIPES OF THE ORGAN	94
FACING WEST FROM CALIFORNIA'S SHORES	95
AS ADAM EARLY IN THE MORNING	95

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CALAMUS.	PAGE
IN PATHS UNTRODDEN	95
SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST	96
WHOEVER YOU ARE HOLDING ME NOW IN HAND	97
FOR YOU O DEMOCRACY	99
THESE I SINGING IN SPRING	99
NOT HEAVING FROM MY RIBB'D BREAST ONLY	100
OF THE TERRIBLE DOUBT OF APPEARANCES	101
THE BASE OF ALL METAPHYSICS	101
RECORDERS AGES HENCE	102
WHEN I HEARD AT THE CLOSE OF THE DAY	102
ARE YOU THE NEW PERSON DRAWN TOWARD ME?	103
ROOTS AND LEAVES THEMSELVES ALONE	103
NOT HEAT FLAMES UP AND CONSUMES	104
TRICKLE DROPS	104
CITY OF ORGIES	105
BEHOLD THIS SWARTHY FACE	105
I SAW IN LOUISIANA A LIVE-OAK GROWING	105
TO A STRANGER	106
THIS MOMENT YEARNING AND THOUGHTFUL	106
I HEAR IT WAS CHARGED AGAINST ME	107
THE PRAIRIE-GRASS DIVIDING	107
WHEN I PERUSE THE CONQUER'D FAME	107
WE TWO BOYS TOGETHER CLINGING	108
A PROMISE TO CALIFORNIA	108
HERE THE FRAILEST LEAVES OF ME	108
NO LABOR-SAVING MACHINE	108
A GLIMPSE	109
A LEAF FOR HAND IN HAND	109
EARTH MY LIKENESS	109
I DREAM'D IN A DREAM	109
WHAT THINK YOU I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND?	110
TO THE EAST AND TO THE WEST	110
SOMETIMES WITH ONE I LOVE	110
TO A WESTERN BOY	110
FAST-ANCHOR'D ETERNAL O LOVE	111
AMONG THE MULTITUDE	111
O YOU WHOM I OFTEN AND SILENTLY COME	111
THAT SHADOW MY LIKENESS	111
FULL OF LIFE NOW	111

SALUT AU MONDE!	112
SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD	120
CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY	129
SONG OF THE ANSWERER	134
OUR OLD FEUILLAGE	138
A SONG OF JOYS	142
SONG OF THE BROAD-AXE	148
SONG OF THE EXPOSITION	157
SONG OF THE REDWOOD-TREE	165
A SONG FOR OCCUPATIONS	169
A SONG OF THE ROLLING EARTH	176
YOUTH, DAY, OLD AGE, AND NIGHT	180

BIRDS OF PASSAGE.
SONG OF THE UNIVERSAL	181
PIONEERS! O PIONEERS!	183
TO YOU	186

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BIRDS OF PASSAGE.	PAGE
FRANCE THE 18TH YEAR OF THESE STATES	188
MYSELF AND MINE	189
YEAR OF METEORS (1859-60)	190
WITH ANTECEDENTS	191

A BROADWAY PAGEANT	193

SEA-DRIFT.
OUT OF THE CRADLE ENDLESSLY ROCKING	196
AS I EBB'D WITH THE OCEAN OF LIFE	202
TEARS	204
TO THE MAN-OF-WAR-BIRD	204
ABOARD AT A SHIP'S HELM	205
ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT	205
THE WORLD BELOW THE BRINE	206
ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE	207
SONG FOR ALL SEAS, ALL SHIPS	207
PATROLING BARNEGAT	208
AFTER THE SEA-SHIP	209

BY THE ROADSIDE.
A BOSTON BALLAD—1854	209
EUROPE THE 72D AND 73D YEARS OF THESE STATES	211
A HAND-MIRROR	213
GODS	213
GERMS	214
THOUGHTS	214
WHEN I HEARD THE LEARN'D ASTRONOMER	214
PERFECTIONS	214
O ME! O LIFE!	215
TO A PRESIDENT	215
I SIT AND LOOK OUT	215
TO RICH GIVERS	216
THE DALLIANCE OF THE EAGLES	216
ROAMING IN THOUGHT	216
A FARM PICTURE	216
A CHILD'S AMAZE	217
THE RUNNER	217
BEAUTIFUL WOMEN	217
MOTHER AND BABE	217
THOUGHT	217
VISOR'D	217
THOUGHT	217
GLIDING O'ER ALL	218
HAST NEVER COME TO THEE AN HOUR	218
THOUGHT	218
TO OLD AGE	218
LOCATIONS AND TIMES	218
OFFERINGS	218
TO IDENTIFY THE 16TH, 17TH, OR 18TH PRESIDENTIAD	218

DRUM-TAPS.
FIRST O SONGS FOR A PRELUDE	219
EIGHTEEEN SIXTY-ONE	221
BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!	222
FROM PAUMANOK STARTING I FLY LIKE A BIRD	222
SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAYBREAK	223
RISE O DAYS FROM YOUR FATHOMLESS DEEPS	228

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DRUM-TAPS.	PAGE
VIRGINIA—THE WEST	230
CITY OF SHIPS	230
THE CENTENARIAN'S STORY	231
CAVALRY CROSSING A FORD	235
BIVOUAC ON A MOUNTAIN SIDE	235
AN ARMY CORPS ON THE MARCH	236
BY THE BIVOUAC'S FITFUL FLAME	236
COME UP FROM THE FIELDS FATHER	236
VIGIL STRANGE I KEPT ON THE FIELD ONE NIGHT	238
A MARCH IN THE RANKS HARD-PREST	239
A SIGHT IN CAMP IN THE DAYBREAK GRAY AND DIM	240
AS TOILSOME I WANDER'D VIRGINIA'S WOODS	240
NOT THE PILOT	241
YEAR THAT TREMBLED AND REEL'D BENEATH ME	241
THE WOUND-DRESSER	241
LONG, TOO LONG AMERICA	244
GIVE ME THE SPLENDID SILENT SUN	244
DIRGE FOR TWO VETERANS	246
OVER THE CARNAGE ROSE PROPHETIC A VOICE	247
I SAW OLD GENERAL AT BAY	247
THE ARTILLERYMAN'S VISION	248
ETHIOPIA SALUTING THE COLORS	249
NOT YOUTH PERTAINS TO ME	249
RACE OF VETERANS	250
WORLD TAKE GOOD NOTICE	250
O TAN-FACED PRAIRIE-BOY	250
LOOK DOWN FAIR MOON	250
RECONCILIATION	250
HOW SOLEMN AS ONE BY ONE	251
AS I LAY WITH MY HEAD IN YOUR LAP CAMERADO	251
DELICATE CLUSTER	252
TO A CERTAIN CIVILIAN	252
LO, VICTRESS ON THE PEAKS	252
SPIRIT WHOSE WORK IS DONE	253
ADIEU TO A SOLDIER	253
TURN O LIBERTAD	254
TO THE LEAVEN'D SOIL THEY TROD	254

MEMORIES OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN.
WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D	255
O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN	262
HUSH'D BE THE CAMPS TO-DAY	263
THIS DUST WAS ONCE THE MAN	263

BY BLUE ONTARIO'S SHORE	264
REVERSALS	276

AUTUMN RIVULETS.
AS CONSEQUENT	277
THE RETURN OF THE HEROES	278
THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH	282
OLD IRELAND	284
THE CITY DEAD-HOUSE	284
THIS COMPOST	285
TO A FOIL'D EUROPEAN REVOLUTIONAIRE	287
UNNAMED LANDS	288
SONG OF PRUDENCE	289

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AUTUMN RIVULETS.	PAGE
THE SINGER IN THE PRISON	292
WARBLE FOR LILAC-TIME	293
OUTLINES FOR A TOMB	294
OUT FROM BEHIND THIS MASK	296
VOCALISM	297
TO HIM THAT WAS CRUCIFIED	298
YOU FELONS ON TRIAL IN COURTS	298
LAWS FOR CREATIONS	299
TO A COMMON PROSTITUTE	299
I WAS LOOKING A LONG WHILE	300
THOUGHT	300
MIRACLES	301
SPARKLES FROM THE WHEEL	301
TO A PUPIL	302
UNFOLDED OUT OF THE FOLDS	302
WHAT AM I AFTER ALL	303
KOSMOS	303
OTHERS MAY PRAISE WHAT THEY LIKE	304
WHO LEARNS MY LESSON COMPLETE	304
TESTS	305
THE TORCH	305
O STAR OF FRANCE (1870-71)	306
THE OX-TAMER	307
AN OLD MAN'S THOUGHT OF SCHOOL	308
WANDERING AT MORN	308
ITALIAN MUSIC IN DAKOTA	309
WITH ALL THY GIFTS	309
MY PICTURE-GALLERY	310
THE PRAIRIE STATES	310

PROUD MUSIC OF THE STORM	310
PASSAGE TO INDIA	315
PRAYER OF COLUMBUS	323
THE SLEEPERS	325
TRANSPOSITIONS	332
TO THINK OF TIME	333

WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH.
DAREST THOU NOW O SOUL	338
WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH	338
CHANTING THE SQUARE DEIFIC	339
OF HIM I LOVE DAY AND NIGHT	340
YET, YET, YE DOWNCAST HOURS	341
AS IF A PHANTOM CARESS'D ME	341
ASSURANCES	342
QUICKSAND YEARS	342
THAT MUSIC ALWAYS ROUND ME	343
WHAT SHIP PUZZLED AT SEA	343
A NOISELESS PATIENT SPIDER	343
O LIVING ALWAYS, ALWAYS DYING	344
TO ONE SHORTLY TO DIE	344
NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIES	344
THOUGHT	345
THE LAST INVOCATION	346
AS I WATCH'D THE PLOUGHMAN PLOUGHING	346
PENSIVE AND FALTERING	346

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	PAGE
THOU MOTHER WITH THY EQUAL BROOD	346
A PAUMANOK PICTURE	351

FROM NOON TO STARRY NIGHT.
THOU ORB ALOFT FULL-DAZZLING	352
FACES	353
THE MYSTIC TRUMPETER	356
TO A LOCOMOTIVE IN WINTER	358
O MAGNET-SOUTH	359
MANNAHATTA	360
ALL IS TRUTH	361
A RIDDLE SONG	362
EXCELSIOR	363
AH POVERTIES, WINCINGS, AND SULKY RETREATS	364
THOUGHTS	364
MEDIUMS	364
WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE	365
SPAIN, 1873-74	365
BY BROAD POTOMAC'S SHORE	366
FROM FAR DAKOTA'S CAñONS (JUNE 25, 1876)	366
OLD WAR-DREAMS	367
THICK-SPRINKLED BUNTING	367
WHAT BEST I SEE IN THEE	368
SPIRIT THAT FORM'D THIS SCENE	368
AS I WALK THESE BROAD MAJESTIC DAYS	369
A CLEAR MIDNIGHT	369

SONGS OF PARTING.
AS THE TIME DRAWS NIGH	370
YEARS OF THE MODERN	370
ASHES OF SOLDIERS	371
THOUGHTS	373
SONG AT SUNSET	374
AS AT THY PORTALS ALSO DEATH	376
MY LEGACY	376
PENSIVE ON HER DEAD GAZING	377
CAMPS OF GREEN	377
THE SOBBING OF THE BELLS	378
AS THEY DRAW TO A CLOSE	379
JOY, SHIPMATE, JOY	379
THE UNTOLD WANT	379
PORTALS	379
THESE CAROLS	379
NOW FINALÈ TO THE SHORE	380
SO LONG!	380

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INSCRIPTIONS.

ONE'S-SELF I SING.

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.

AS I PONDER'D IN SILENCE.

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 answered,

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,

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(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.

IN CABIN'D SHIPS AT SEA.

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.

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TO FOREIGN LANDS.

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.

TO A HISTORIAN.

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.

TO THEE OLD CAUSE.

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.

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EIDÓLONS.

I MET a seer,

Passing the hues and objects of the world,

The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,

To glean eidólons.

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 eidólons.

Ever the dim beginning,

Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle,

Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,)

Eidólons! eidólons!

Ever the mutable,

Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering,

Ever the ateliers, the factories divine,

Issuing eidólons.

Lo, I or you,

Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown,

We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build,

But really build eidólons.

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 eidólon.

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 eidólon.

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, eidólons.

The present now and here,

America's busy, teeming, intricate whirl,

Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing,

To-day's eidólons.

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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 eidólons.

Densities, growth, façades,

Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees,

Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave,

Eidólons everlasting.

Exaltè, rapt, ecstatic,

The visible but their womb of birth,

Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape,

The mighty earth-eidólon.

All space, all time,

(The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns,

Swelling, collapsing, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,)

Fill'd with eidólons only.

The noiseless myriads,

The infinite oceans where the rivers empty,

The separate countless free identities, like eyesight,

The true realities, eidólons.

Not this the world,

Nor these the universes, they the universes,

Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life,

Eidólons, eidólons.

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, eidólons.

Unfix'd yet fix'd,

Ever shall be, ever have been and are,

Sweeping the present to the infinite future,

Eidólons, eidólons, eidólons.

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 eidólons.

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And thee my soul,

Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations,

Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet,

Thy mates, eidólons.

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 eidólon.

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 eidólon.

FOR HIM I SING.

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.

WHEN I READ THE BOOK.

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.)

BEGINNING MY STUDIES.

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.

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BEGINNERS.

HOW they are provided for upon the earth, (appearing at inter-
vals,)

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 re-
ward,

And how the same inexorable price must still be paid for the same
great purchase.

TO THE STATES.

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 after-
ward resumes its liberty.

ON JOURNEYS THROUGH THE STATES.

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, mag-
netic,

And what you effuse may then return as the seasons return,

And may be just as much as the seasons.

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TO A CERTAIN CANTATRICE.

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 prog-
ress 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.

ME IMPERTURBE.

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 im-
portant than I thought,

Me toward the Mexican sea, or in the Mannahatta or the Tennes-
see, 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 contingen-
cies,

To confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as
the trees and animals do.

SAVANTISM.

THITHER as I look I see each result and glory retracing itself and
nestling close, always obligated,

Thither hours, months, years—thither trades, compacts, establish-
ments, 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.

THE SHIP STARTING.

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.

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I HEAR AMERICA SINGING.

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 deck-
hand 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 morn-
ing, 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.

WHAT PLACE IS BESIEGED?

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.

STILL THOUGH THE ONE I SING.

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 quench-
less, indispensable fire!)

SHUT NOT YOUR DOORS.

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.

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POETS TO COME.

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.

TO YOU.

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?

THOU READER.

THOU reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as I,

Therefore for thee the following chants.

STARTING FROM PAUMANOK.

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,

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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.

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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 equi-
distant,

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,

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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 weap-
ons 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 courte-
ously every city large and small,

And employments! I will put in my poems that with you is hero-
ism 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, indi-
cating 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?

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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 win
ner'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 cer-
tain the future is.

I say that the real and permanent grandeur of these States must
be their religion,

Otherwise there is 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.

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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 coin-
cide,

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 Reli-
gion.

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.

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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,

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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?

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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 Pau-
manok'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,

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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 wel-
come 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, Chatta-
hoochee, 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.

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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, fathom-
less, 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 com-
merce,

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.

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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.

SONG OF MYSELF.

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.

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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 pass-
ing 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 begin-
ning 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.

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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,

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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 valvèd 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,

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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,

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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 chil-
dren?

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.

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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.

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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.

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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 bend-
ing 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.

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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 miss-
ing,

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.

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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 Thanks-
giving 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 manu-
script;

The malform'd limbs are tied to the surgeon's table,

What is removed drops horribly in a pail;

View Page 40

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 part-
ners, 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 hig-
gling about the odd cent;)

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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-grand-
sons 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,

View Page 42

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 overlakes 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 tack-
ing,

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, (lov-
ing 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.)

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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 the same as the righteous, I make appoint-
ments 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.

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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, con-
formity 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,

View Page 45

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 my-
self,

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 a 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.

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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.

22

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.

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,

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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 antipodal 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 a
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 abso-
lutely.

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 scalpel, 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.

View Page 48

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 cur-
rent 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 coun-
terpart 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.

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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 friend-
ship 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 meta-
physics of books.

To behold the day-break!

The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows,

The air tastes good to my palate.

View Page 50

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 day-
break.

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.

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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 pronoun-
cing 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-streak-
ing 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,

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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,

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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,

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And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre 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?

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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.

The Walt Whitman Archive