[But that before all my insolent]
| But that before all my insolent |
| poems the real me still stands |
| untouched, untold, altogether unreached, |
| Withdrawn far—mocking me with |
| mock‑congratulatory signs and bows, |
| With peeals of distant ironical laughte[r?]
|
| at every word I have written or |
| shall write, |
| Striking me with insults till I fall |
| helpless upon the sand. |
|
| |
| 7. O I think I have not understood |
| anything—not a single object,— |
| And that no man ever can. |
|
| |
| 8. I think Nature here, in sight of |
| the sea, is taking advantage of |
| me to oppress me, |
| Because I was assuming too
^
so much, |
| And because I have dared to open |
| my mouth to sing at all.— |
|
| |
| |
|
|
leaf 1 verso
6 |
| 9. You oceans both! You tangible |
| land! Nature! |
| Be not too stern with me—I submit— |
| I close with you, |
| These little shreds shall ^
indeed stand for all. |
|
| |
| 10. You friable shore, with trails of debris! |
| You fish‑shaped island! I take then
|
| what is underfoot, |
| What is yours is mine, my father. |
|
| |
| 11. I too, Paumanok, |
| I too have bubbled up, floated the |
| measureless float, and been washed |
| on your shores. |
|
| |
| 12. I too am but a trail of drift |
| and debris, |
| I too leave little wrecks upon you, |
| you fish‑shaped island. |
|
| |
| 13. I throw myself upon your breast, my |
| father, |
| I cling to you so that you cannot |
| unloose me, |
| I hold you so firm, till you answer me |
| something. |
|
| |
| |
|
|
leaf 2 recto
7 |
| 14. Kiss me, my father, |
| Touch me with your lips, as I |
| touch those I love, |
| Breathe to me, while I hold you |
| close, the secret of the wondrous |
| murmuring I envy, |
| For I fear I may
shall become crazed if |
| I cannot emulate it, and utter |
| myself after
^
as well as it. |
|
| |
| 15. Sea‑raff! Torn leaves! |
| O I will yet sing, ^
some day, what you have |
| certainly said to me. |
|
| |
| 16. Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will return,) |
| Cease not your moaning, you |
| fierce old mother, |
| Endlessly cry for your castaways— |
| yet fear not, deny not me, |
| Rustle not up so hoarse and angry |
| against my feet as I touch you, |
| or gather from you. |
|
| |
| 17. I mean tenderly by you, |
| I gather for myself, and for this phantom, |
| looking down where we lead, and following |
| me and mine.— |
|
|
|
leaf 2 verso |
|
-
Date
- This manuscript was likely written not long before the poem's publication in the April, 1860 Atlantic Monthly.
-
Editorial note
- This manuscript is a partial fair copy of "Bardic Symbols," a poem first published in the April 1860 issue of the Atlantic Monthly. The poem was later revised and ultimately took the title "As I Ebb'd with the Ocean of Life."
-
Notes written on manuscript
- In bottom margin, inunknown hand:277
- In bottom margin, inunknown hand:277
- In top margin, inunknown hand:Walt Whitman, autograph verses.
-
Location
- As I ebb'd with the ocean of life MS Am 1659(277) | Manuscripts Department, Houghton Library, Harvard University.
-
Whitman Archive ID
- har.00003
|
