Published Works

Books by Whitman


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Leaves of Grass
Including
SANDS AT SEVENTY . . . 1st Annex,
GOOD-BYE MY FANCY . . . 2d Annex,
A BACKWARD GLANCE O'ER TRAVEL'D ROADS,
and Portrait from Life.
COME, said my Soul,
Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,)
That should I after death invisibly return,
Or, long, long hence, in other spheres,
There to some group of mates the chants resuming,
(Tallying Earth's soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,)
Ever with pleas'd smile I may keep on,
Ever and ever yet the verses owning—as, first, I here and now,
Signing for Soul and Body, set to them my name,
PHILADELPHIA
DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER
23 SOUTH NINTH STREET
1891-'2

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COPYRIGHTS, &c.

1st ed'n 1855, Brooklyn (N. Y., South District)—renew'd (1883) 14 yrs.
2d ed'n 1856, Brooklyn—renew'd (1884) 14 yrs.
3d ed'n 1860, Boston, Thayer & Eldridge Pub'rs.
4th ed'n 1867, N.Y., So. Dist.: Pub'd New York.
5th ed'n 1871, Washington, D. C.
6th ed'n 1876—Centennial issue—inc'd'g TWO RIVULETS: two vols.
7th ed'n 1881, Boston, Mass.: Osgood Pub.: [This includes in the present vol. pages 1 to 382.]
8th ed'n 1882, Philadelphia: McKay Pub'r.
Sands at Seventy: Annex, 1888—November Boughs—Philadelphia.
A Backward Glance, &c.: November Boughs, 1888—Philadelphia.
Good-Bye my Fancy: 2d Annex, 1891—Philadelphia.

     To wit: Be it remembered . . . That on the 19th day of May, anno Domini, 1891, Walt Whitman, of Camden, N.J., has deposited in this office the title of a Book, the title or description of which is in the following words, to wit:
GOOD-BYE MY FANCY,
2d Annex to Leaves of Grass.
Philadelphia . . . David McKay . . . 1891. The right whereof he claims as author, in conformity with the laws of the United States respecting copyrights.

POFFORD
[Which last-named copyright (holding good to 1919—then, on application continued 14 years further) expires May 19, 1933.]

      ☞ As there are now several editions of L. of G., different texts and dates, I wish to say that I prefer and recommend this present one, complete, for future printing, if there should be any; a copy and fac-simile, indeed, of the text of these 438 pages. The subsequent adjusting interval which is so important to form'd and launch'd work, books especially, has pass'd; and waiting till fully after that, I have given (pages 423-438) my concluding words.


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CONTENTS.


INSCRIPTIONS. PAGE
         ONE'S-SELF I SING9
         AS I PONDER'D IN SILENCE9
         IN CABIN'D SHIPS AT SEA10
         TO FOREIGN LANDS11
         TO A HISTORIAN11
         TO THEE OLD CAUSE11
         EIDÓLONS12
         FOR HIM I SING14
         WHEN I READ THE BOOK14
         BEGINNING MY STUDIES14
         BEGINNERS15
         TO THE STATES15
         ON JOURNEYS THROUGH THE STATES15
         TO A CERTAIN CANTATRICE16
         ME IMPERTURBE16
         SAVANTISM16
         THE SHIP STARTING16
         I HEAR AMERICA SINGING17
         WHAT PLACE IS BESIEGED?17
         STILL THOUGH THE ONE I SING17
         SHUT NOT YOUR DOORS17
         POETS TO COME18
         TO YOU18
         THOU READER18
STARTING FROM PAUMANOK18
SONG OF MYSELF29
CHILDREN OF ADAM.
         TO THE GARDEN THE WORLD79
         FROM PENT-UP ACHING RIVERS79
         I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC81
         A WOMAN WAITS FOR ME88
         SPONTANEOUS ME89
         ONE HOUR TO MADNESS AND JOY91
         OUT OF THE ROLLING OCEAN THE CROWD92
         AGES AND AGES RETURNING AT INTERVALS92
         WE TWO, HOW LONG WE WERE FOOL'D93
         O HYMEN! O HYMENEE!93
         I AM HE THAT ACHES WITH LOVE93
         NATIVE MOMENTS94
         ONCE I PASS'D THROUGH A POPULOUS CITY94
         I HEARD YOU SOLEMN-SWEET PIPES OF THE ORGAN94
         FACING WEST FROM CALIFORNIA'S SHORES95
         AS ADAM EARLY IN THE MORNING95

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CALAMUS. PAGE
         IN PATHS UNTRODDEN95
         SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST96
         WHOEVER YOU ARE HOLDING ME NOW IN HAND97
         FOR YOU O DEMOCRACY99
         THESE I SINGING IN SPRING99
         NOT HEAVING FROM MY RIBB'D BREAST ONLY100
         OF THE TERRIBLE DOUBT OF APPEARANCES101
         THE BASE OF ALL METAPHYSICS101
         RECORDERS AGES HENCE102
         WHEN I HEARD AT THE CLOSE OF THE DAY102
         ARE YOU THE NEW PERSON DRAWN TOWARD ME?103
         ROOTS AND LEAVES THEMSELVES ALONE103
         NOT HEAT FLAMES UP AND CONSUMES104
         TRICKLE DROPS104
         CITY OF ORGIES105
         BEHOLD THIS SWARTHY FACE105
         I SAW IN LOUISIANA A LIVE-OAK GROWING105
         TO A STRANGER106
         THIS MOMENT YEARNING AND THOUGHTFUL106
         I HEAR IT WAS CHARGED AGAINST ME107
         THE PRAIRIE-GRASS DIVIDING107
         WHEN I PERUSE THE CONQUER'D FAME107
         WE TWO BOYS TOGETHER CLINGING108
         A PROMISE TO CALIFORNIA108
         HERE THE FRAILEST LEAVES OF ME108
         NO LABOR-SAVING MACHINE108
         A GLIMPSE109
         A LEAF FOR HAND IN HAND109
         EARTH MY LIKENESS109
         I DREAM'D IN A DREAM109
         WHAT THINK YOU I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND?110
         TO THE EAST AND TO THE WEST110
         SOMETIMES WITH ONE I LOVE110
         TO A WESTERN BOY110
         FAST-ANCHOR'D ETERNAL O LOVE111
         AMONG THE MULTITUDE111
         O YOU WHOM I OFTEN AND SILENTLY COME111
         THAT SHADOW MY LIKENESS111
         FULL OF LIFE NOW111
SALUT AU MONDE!112
SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD120
CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY129
SONG OF THE ANSWERER134
OUR OLD FEUILLAGE138
A SONG OF JOYS142
SONG OF THE BROAD-AXE148
SONG OF THE EXPOSITION157
SONG OF THE REDWOOD-TREE165
A SONG FOR OCCUPATIONS169
A SONG OF THE ROLLING EARTH176
YOUTH, DAY, OLD AGE, AND NIGHT180
BIRDS OF PASSAGE.
         SONG OF THE UNIVERSAL181
         PIONEERS! O PIONEERS!183
         TO YOU186

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BIRDS OF PASSAGE. PAGE
         FRANCE THE 18TH YEAR OF THESE STATES188
         MYSELF AND MINE189
         YEAR OF METEORS (1859-60)190
         WITH ANTECEDENTS191
A BROADWAY PAGEANT193
SEA-DRIFT.
         OUT OF THE CRADLE ENDLESSLY ROCKING196
         AS I EBB'D WITH THE OCEAN OF LIFE202
         TEARS204
         TO THE MAN-OF-WAR-BIRD204
         ABOARD AT A SHIP'S HELM205
         ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT205
         THE WORLD BELOW THE BRINE206
         ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE207
         SONG FOR ALL SEAS, ALL SHIPS207
         PATROLING BARNEGAT208
         AFTER THE SEA-SHIP209
BY THE ROADSIDE.
         A BOSTON BALLAD—1854209
         EUROPE THE 72D AND 73D YEARS OF THESE STATES211
         A HAND-MIRROR213
         GODS213
         GERMS214
         THOUGHTS214
         WHEN I HEARD THE LEARN'D ASTRONOMER214
         PERFECTIONS214
         O ME! O LIFE!215
         TO A PRESIDENT215
         I SIT AND LOOK OUT215
         TO RICH GIVERS216
         THE DALLIANCE OF THE EAGLES216
         ROAMING IN THOUGHT216
         A FARM PICTURE216
         A CHILD'S AMAZE217
         THE RUNNER217
         BEAUTIFUL WOMEN217
         MOTHER AND BABE217
         THOUGHT217
         VISOR'D217
         THOUGHT217
         GLIDING O'ER ALL218
         HAST NEVER COME TO THEE AN HOUR218
         THOUGHT218
         TO OLD AGE218
         LOCATIONS AND TIMES218
         OFFERINGS218
         TO IDENTIFY THE 16TH, 17TH OR 18TH PRESIDENTIAD218
DRUM-TAPS.
         FIRST O SONGS FOR A PRELUDE219
         EIGHTEEEN SIXTY-ONE221
         BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!222
         FROM PAUMANOK STARTING I FLY LIKE A BIRD222
         SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAYBREAK223
         RISE O DAYS FROM YOUR FATHOMLESS DEEPS228

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DRUM-TAPS. PAGE
         VIRGINIATHE WEST230
         CITY OF SHIPS230
         THE CENTENARIAN'S STORY231
         CAVALRY CROSSING A FORD235
         BIVOUAC ON A MOUNTAIN SIDE235
         AN ARMY CORPS ON THE MARCH236
         BY THE BIVOUAC'S FITFUL FLAME236
         COME UP FROM THE FIELDS FATHER236
         VIGIL STRANGE I KEPT ON THE FIELD ONE NIGHT238
         A MARCH IN THE RANKS HARD-PREST239
         A SIGHT IN CAMP IN THE DAYBREAK GRAY AND DIM240
         AS TOILSOME I WANDER'D VIRGINIA'S WOODS240
         NOT THE PILOT241
         YEAR THAT TREMBLED AND REEL'D BENEATH ME241
         THE WOUND-DRESSER241
         LONG, TOO LONG AMERICA244
         GIVE ME THE SPLENDID SILENT SUN244
         DIRGE FOR TWO VETERANS246
         OVER THE CARNAGE ROSE PROPHETIC A VOICE247
         I SAW OLD GENERAL AT BAY247
         THE ARTILLERYMAN'S VISION248
         ETHIOPIA SALUTING THE COLORS249
         NOT YOUTH PERTAINS TO ME249
         RACE OF VETERANS250
         WORLD TAKE GOOD NOTICE250
         O TAN-FACED PRAIRIE-BOY250
         LOOK DOWN FAIR MOON250
         RECONCILIATION250
         HOW SOLEMN AS ONE BY ONE251
         AS I LAY WITH MY HEAD IN YOUR LAP CAMERADO251
         DELICATE CLUSTER252
         TO A CERTAIN CIVILIAN252
         LO, VICTRESS ON THE PEAKS252
         SPIRIT WHOSE WORK IS DONE253
         ADIEU TO A SOLDIER253
         TURN O LIBERTAD254
         TO THE LEAVEN'D SOIL THEY TROD254
MEMORIES OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN.
         WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D255
         O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN262
         HUSH'D BE THE CAMPS TO-DAY263
         THIS DUST WAS ONCE THE MAN263
BY BLUE ONTARIO'S SHORE264
REVERSALS276
AUTUMN RIVULETS.
         AS CONSEQUENT277
         THE RETURN OF THE HEROES278
         THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH282
         OLD IRELAND284
         THE CITY DEAD-HOUSE284
         THIS COMPOST285
         TO A FOIL'D EUROPEAN REVOLUTIONAIRE287
         UNNAMED LANDS288
         SONG OF PRUDENCE289

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AUTUMN RIVULETS. PAGE
         THE SINGER IN THE PRISON292
         WARBLE FOR LILAC-TIME293
         OUTLINES FOR A TOMB294
         OUT FROM BEHIND THIS MASK296
         VOCALISM297
         TO HIM THAT WAS CRUCIFIED298
         YOU FELONS ON TRIAL IN COURTS298
         LAWS FOR CREATIONS299
         TO A COMMON PROSTITUTE299
         I WAS LOOKING A LONG WHILE300
         THOUGHT300
         MIRACLES301
         SPARKLES FROM THE WHEEL301
         TO A PUPIL302
         UNFOLDED OUT OF THE FOLDS302
         WHAT AM I AFTER ALL303
         KOSMOS303
         OTHERS MAY PRAISE WHAT THEY LIKE304
         WHO LEARNS MY LESSON COMPLETE304
         TESTS305
         THE TORCH305
         O STAR OF FRANCE (1870-71)306
         THE OX-TAMER307
         AN OLD MAN'S THOUGHT OF SCHOOL308
         WANDERING AT MORN308
         ITALIAN MUSIC IN DAKOTA309
         WITH ALL THY GIFTS309
         MY PICTURE-GALLERY310
         THE PRAIRIE STATES310
PROUD MUSIC OF THE STORM310
PASSAGE TO INDIA315
PRAYER OF COLUMBUS323
THE SLEEPERS325
TRANSPOSITIONS332
TO THINK OF TIME333
WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH.
         DAREST THOU NOW O SOUL338
         WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH338
         CHANTING THE SQUARE DEIFIC339
         OF HIM I LOVE DAY AND NIGHT340
         YET, YET, YE DOWNCAST HOURS341
         AS IF A PHANTOM CARESS'D ME341
         ASSURANCES342
         QUICKSAND YEARS342
         THAT MUSIC ALWAYS ROUND ME343
         WHAT SHIP PUZZLED AT SEA343
         A NOISELESS PATIENT SPIDER343
         O LIVING ALWAYS, ALWAYS DYING344
         TO ONE SHORTLY TO DIE344
         NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIES344
         THOUGHT345
         THE LAST INVOCATION346
         AS I WATCH'D THE PLOUGHMAN PLOUGHING346
         PENSIVE AND FALTERING346

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PAGE
THOU MOTHER WITH THY EQUAL BROOD346
A PAUMANOK PICTURE351
FROM NOON TO STARRY NIGHT.
         THOU ORB ALOFT FULL-DAZZLING352
         FACES353
         THE MYSTIC TRUMPETER356
         TO A LOCOMOTIVE IN WINTER358
         O MAGNET-SOUTH359
         MANNAHATTA360
         ALL IS TRUTH361
         A RIDDLE SONG362
         EXCELSIOR363
         AH POVERTIES, WINCINGS, AND SULKY RETREATS364
         THOUGHTS364
         MEDIUMS364
         WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE365
         SPAIN, 1873-74365
         BY BROAD POTOMAC'S SHORE366
         FROM FAR DAKOTA'S CAÑONS (JUNE 25, 1876)366
         OLD WAR-DREAMS367
         THICK-SPRINKLED BUNTING367
         WHAT BEST I SEE IN THEE368
         SPIRIT THAT FORM'D THIS SCENE368
         AS I WALK THESE BROAD MAJESTIC DAYS369
         A CLEAR MIDNIGHT369
SONGS OF PARTING.
         AS THE TIME DRAWS NIGH370
         YEARS OF THE MODERN370
         ASHES OF SOLDIERS371
         THOUGHTS373
         SONG AT SUNSET374
         AS AT THY PORTALS ALSO DEATH376
         MY LEGACY376
         PENSIVE ON HER DEAD GAZING377
         CAMPS OF GREEN377
         THE SOBBING OF THE BELLS378
         AS THEY DRAW TO A CLOSE379
         JOY, SHIPMATE, JOY379
         THE UNTOLD WANT379
         PORTALS379
         THESE CAROLS379
         NOW FINALÈ TO THE SHORE380
         SO LONG!380
1st Annex, SANDS AT SEVENTY.
         WITH INDEX OF CONTENTS383
2d Annex, GOOD-BYE MY FANCY.
         WITH INDEX OF CONTENTS405
A BACKWARD GLANCE O'ER TRAVEL'D ROADS 423


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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 answer'd,
I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one
          than any,
Waged in my book with varying fortune, with flight, advance and
          retreat, victory deferr'd and wavering,

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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 finalè 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 set-
         ing,
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;

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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,

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And such as it is to be of these more or less I am,
And of these one and all I weave the song of myself.

16


I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,
Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,
Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse and stuff'd with the stuff that
         is fine,
One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the
         largest the same,
A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and
         hospitable down by the Oconee I live,
A Yankee bound my own way ready for trade, my joints the
         limberest joints on earth and the sternest joints on
         earth,
A Kentuckian walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin
         leggings, a Louisianian or Georgian,
A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger,
         Buckeye;
At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with
         fishermen off Newfoundland,
At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and 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,

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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.

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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.

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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.

His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him,
His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and
         return.

I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion,
Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them?
Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.

33


Space and Time! now I see it is true, what I guess'd at,
What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass,
What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed,
And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the
         morning.

My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps,
I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents,
I am afoot with my vision.

By the city's quadrangular houses—in log huts, camping with
         lumbermen,
Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed,
Weeding my onion-patch or hoeing rows of carrots and parsnips,
         crossing savannas, trailing in forests,
Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new purchase,
Scorch'd ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat down the
         shallow river,
Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, where
         the buck turns furiously at the hunter,
Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, where the
         otter is feeding on fish,
Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou,

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Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the
         beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tail;
Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flower'd cotton plant, over
         the rice in its low moist field,
Over the sharp-peak'd farm house, with its scallop'd scum and
         slender shoots from the gutters,
Over the western persimmon, over the long-leav'd corn, over the
         delicate blue-flower flax,
Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there
         with the rest,
Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the
         breeze;
Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low
         scragged limbs,
Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of
         the brush,
Where the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and the wheat-lot,
Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great gold-
         bug drops through the dark,
Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to
         the meadow,
Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous shud-
         dering of their hides,
Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andirons
         straddle the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoons
         from the rafters;
Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling its cylinders,
Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its
         ribs,
Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, (floating in it my-
         self and looking composedly down,)
Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat
         hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand,
Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it,
Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant of smoke,
Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water,
Where the half-burn'd brig is riding on unknown currents,
Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupt-
         ing below;
Where the dense-starr'd flag is borne at the head of the regiments,
Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island,
Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance,
Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside,
Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game
         of base-ball,

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At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances,
         drinking, laughter,
At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking
         the juice through a straw,
At apple-peelings wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find,
At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings, house-raisings;
Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles,
         screams, weeps,
Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks
         are scatter'd, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel,
Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud
         to the mare, where the cock is treading the hen,
Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with short
         jerks,
Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome
         prairie,
Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square
         miles far and near,
Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long-
         lived swan is curving and winding,
Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her
         near-human laugh,
Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hid by
         the high weeds,
Where band-neck'd partridges roost in a ring on the ground with
         their heads out,
Where burial coaches enter the arch'd gates of a cemetery,
Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees,
Where the yellow-crown'd heron comes to the edge of the marsh
         at night and feeds upon small crabs,
Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon,
Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree
         over the well,
Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wired leaves,
Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs,
Through the gymnasium, through the curtain'd saloon, through the
         office or public hall;
Pleas'd with the native and pleas'd with the foreign, pleas'd with
         the new and old,
Pleas'd with the homely woman as well as the handsome,
Pleas'd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks
         melodiously,
Pleas'd with the tune of the choir of the whitewash'd church,
Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preach-
         er, impress'd seriously at the camp-meeting;

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Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole forenoon,
         flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass,
Wandering the same afternoon with my face turn'd up to the
         clouds, or down a lane or along the beach,
My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the
         middle;
Coming home with the silent and dark-cheek'd bush-boy, (behind
         me he rides at the drape of the day,)
Far from the settlements studying the print of animals' feet, or
         the moccasin print,
By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient,
Nigh the coffin'd corpse when all is still, examining with a candle;
Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure,
Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any,
Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him,
Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me
         a long while,
Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by
         my side,
Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars,
Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the
         diameter of eighty thousand miles,
Speeding with tail'd meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest,
Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in
         its belly,
Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning,
Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing,
I tread day and night such roads.

I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product,
And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green.

I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul,
My course runs below the soundings of plummets.

I help myself to material and immaterial,
No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me.

I anchor my ship for a little while only,
My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me.

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

I ascend to the foretruck,

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I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest,
We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough,
Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful
         beauty,
The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery
         is plain in all directions,
The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my
         fancies toward them,
We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon
         to be engaged,
We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with
         still feet and caution,
Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin'd city,
The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities
         of the globe.

I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires,
I turn the bridegroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself,
I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips.

My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs,
They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd.

I understand the large hearts of heroes,
The courage of present times and all times,
How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the
         steam-ship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm,
How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faith
         ful of days and faithful of nights,
And chalk'd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will
          not desert you;
How he follow'd with them and tack'd with them three days and
         would not give it up,
How he saved the drifting company at last,
How the lank loose-gown'd women look'd when boated from the
         side of their prepared graves,
How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharp-
         lipp'd unshaved men;
All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine,
I am the man, I suffer'd, I was there.

The disdain and calmness of martyrs,
The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood,
         her children gazing on,
The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blow-
         ing, cover'd with sweat,

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The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the mur-
         derous buckshot and the bullets,
All these I feel or am.

I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs,
Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marks-
         men,
I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the
         ooze of my skin,
I fall on the weeds and stones,
The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close,
Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with
         whip-stocks.

Agonies are one of my changes of garments,
I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become
         the wounded person,
My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.

I am the mash'd fireman with breast-bone broken,
Tumbling walls buried me in their debris,
Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my com-
         rades,
I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels,
They have clear'd the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth.

I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my
         sake,
Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy,
White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared
         of their fire-caps,
The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.

Distant and dead resuscitate,
They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock
         myself.

I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment,
I am there again.

Again the long roll of the drummers,
Again the attacking cannon, mortars,
Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive.

I take part, I see and hear the whole,

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The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aim'd shots,
The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip,
Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs,
The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explo-
         sion,
The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air.

Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves
         with his hand,
He gasps through the clot Mind not me—mind—the entrench-
          ments.

34


Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth,
(I tell not the fall of Alamo,
Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo,
The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo,)
'Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and
         twelve young men.

Retreating they had form'd in a hollow square with their baggage
         for breastworks,
Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemy's, nine times
         their number, was the price they took in advance,
Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone,
They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv'd writing and
         seal, gave up their arms and march'd back prisoners of war.

They were the glory of the race of rangers,
Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship,
Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate,
Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters,
Not a single one over thirty years of age.

The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads
         and massacred, it was beautiful early summer,
The work commenced about five o'clock and was over by eight.

None obey'd the command to kneel,
Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and
         straight,
A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead
         lay together,
The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw
them there,

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Some half-kill'd attempted to crawl away,
These were despatch'd with bayonets or batter'd with the blunts
         of muskets,
A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more
         came to release him,
The three were all torn and cover'd with the boy's blood.

At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies;
That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve
         young men.

35


Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight?
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me.

Our foe was no skulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,)
His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer,
         and never was, and never will be;
Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us.

We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch'd,
My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.

We had receiv'd some eighteen pound shots under the water,
On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire,
         killing all around and blowing up overhead.

Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark,
Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain,
         and five feet of water reported,
The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold
         to give them a chance for themselves.

The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels,
They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.

Our frigate takes fire,
The other asks if we demand quarter?
If our colors are struck and the fighting done?

Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,
We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our
          part of the fighting.

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Only three guns are in use,
One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-
         mast,
Two well serv'd with grape and canister silence his musketry and
         clear his decks.

The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the
         main-top,
They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.

Not a moment's cease,
The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-
         magazine.

One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we
         are sinking.

Serene stands the little captain,
He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low,
His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.

Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to
         us.

36


Stretch'd and still lies the midnight,
Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness,
Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the
         one we have conquer'd,
The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through
         a countenance white as a sheet,
Near by the corpse of the child that serv'd in the cabin,
The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully
         curl'd whiskers,
The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and below,
The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty,
Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of flesh
         upon the masts and spars,
Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of
         waves,
Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent,
A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining,
Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by the
         shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors,
The hiss of the surgeon's knife, the gnawing teeth of his saw,

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Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long,
         dull, tapering groan,
These so, these irretrievable.

37


You laggards there on guard! look to your arms!
In at the conquer'd doors they crowd! I am possess'd!
Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering,
See myself in prison shaped like another man,
And feel the dull unintermitted pain.

For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep
         watch,
It is I let out in the morning and barr'd at night.

Not a mutineer walks handcuff'd to jail but I am handcuff'd to
         him and walk by his side,
(I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat
         on my twitching lips.)

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

Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last
         gasp,
My face is ash-color'd, my sinews gnarl, away from me people
         retreat.

Askers embody themselves in me and I am embodied in them,
I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg.

38


Enough! enough! enough!
Somehow I have been stunn'd. Stand back!
Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams,
         gaping,
I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.

That I could forget the mockers and insults!
That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludg-
         eons and hammers!
That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and
         bloody crowning.

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I remember now,
I resume the overstaid fraction,
The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to
         any graves,
Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me.

I troop forth replenish'd with supreme power, one of an average
         unending procession,
Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines,
Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth,
The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of
         years.

Eleves, I salute you! come forward!
Continue your annotations, continue your questionings.

39


The friendly and flowing savage, who is he?
Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it?

Is he some Southwesterner rais'd out-doors? is he Kanadian?
Is he from the Mississippi country? Iowa, Oregon, California?
The mountains? prairie-life, bush-life? or sailor from the sea?

Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him,
They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay
         with them.

Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncomb'd
         head, laughter, and naivetè,
Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and ema-
         nations,
They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers,
They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out
         of the glance of his eyes.

40


Flaunt of the sunshine I need not your bask—lie over!
You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also.

Earth! you seem to look for something at my hands,
Say, old top-knot, what do you want?

Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, but cannot,

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And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot,
And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and
         days.

Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity,
When I give I give myself.

You there, impotent, loose in the knees,
Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you,
Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets,
I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare,
And any thing I have I bestow.

I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me,
You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you.

To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean,
On his right cheek I put the family kiss,
And in my soul I swear I never will deny him.

On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes,
(This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.)

To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door,
Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed,
Let the physician and the priest go home.

I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will,
O despairer, here is my neck,
By God, you shall not go down! hang your whole weight upon me.

I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up,
Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force,
Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.

Sleep—I and they keep guard all night,
Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you,
I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself,
And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so.

41


I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs,
And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help.

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I heard what was said of the universe,
Heard it and heard it of several thousand years;
It is middling well as far as it goes—but is that all?

Magnifying and applying come I,
Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters,
Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah,
Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson,
Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha,
In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf, the crucifix
         engraved,
With Odin and the hideous-faced Mexitli and every idol and image,
Taking them all for what they are worth and not a cent more,
Admitting they were alive and did the work of their days,
(They bore mites as for unfledg'd birds who have now to rise and
         fly and sing for themselves,)
Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself,
         bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see,
Discovering as much or more in a framer framing a house,
Putting higher claims for him there with his roll'd-up sleeves driving
         the mallet and chisel,
Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke
         or a hair on the back of my hand just as curious as any
         revelation,
Lads ahold of fire-engines and hook-and-ladder ropes no less to
         me than the gods of the antique wars,
Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction,
Their brawny limbs passing safe over charr'd laths, their white
         foreheads whole and unhurt out of the flames;
By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for
         every person born,
Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels
         with shirts bagg'd out at their waists,
The snag-tooth'd hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to
         come,
Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his
         brother and sit by him while he is tried for forgery;
What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about
         me, and not filling the square rod then,
The bull and the bug never worshipp'd half enough,
Dung and dirt more admirable than was dream'd,
The supernatural of no account, myself waiting my time to be one
         of the supremes,
The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as
         the best, and be as prodigious;

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By my life-lumps! becoming already a creator,
Putting myself here and now to the ambush'd womb of the shadows.

42


A call in the midst of the crowd,
My own voice, orotund sweeping and final.

Come my children,
Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates,
Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass'd his prelude
         on the reeds within.

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

My head slues round on my neck,
Music rolls, but not from the organ,
Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine.

Ever the hard unsunk ground,
Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun,
         ever the air and the ceaseless tides,
Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real,
Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn'd thumb, that
         breath of itches and thirsts,
Ever the vexer's hoot! hoot! till we find where the sly one hides
         and bring him forth,
Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life,
Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death.

Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking,
To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning,
Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going.
Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for pay-
         ment receiving,
A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming.

This is the city and I am one of the citizens,
Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets,
         newspapers, schools,
The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks,
         stores, real estate and personal estate.

The little plentiful manikins skipping around in collars and tail'd
         coats,

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I am aware who they are, (they are positively not worms or fleas,)
I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest
         is deathless with me,
What I do and say the same waits for them,
Every thought that flounders in me the same flounders in them.

I know perfectly well my own egotism,
Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less,
And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.

Not words of routine this song of mine,
But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring;
This printed and bound book—but the printer and the printing-
         office boy?
The well-taken photographs—but your wife or friend close and
         solid in your arms?
The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets—
         but the pluck of the captain and engineers?
In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture—but the host and
         hostess, and the look out of their eyes?
The sky up there—yet here or next door, or across the way?
The saints and sages in history—but you yourself?
Sermons, creeds, theology—but the fathomless human brain,
And what is reason? and what is love? and what is life?

43


I do not despise you priests, all time, the world over,
My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths,
Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between ancient
         and modern,
Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand
         years,
Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the gods, saluting the
         sun,
Making a fetich of the first rock or stump, powowing with sticks in
         the circle of obis,
Helping the llama or brahmin as he trims the lamps of the idols,
Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic procession, rapt and
         austere in the woods a gymnosophist,
Drinking mead from the skull-cup, to Shastas and Vedas admirant,
         minding the Koran,
Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife,
         beating the serpent-skin drum,
Accepting the Gospels, accepting him that was crucified, knowing
         assuredly that he is divine,

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To the mass kneeling or the puritan's prayer rising, or sitting
         patiently in a pew,
Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting dead-like till
         my spirit arouses me,
Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of pavement and
         land,
Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits.

One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like a
         man leaving charges before a journey.

Down-hearted doubters dull and excluded,
Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, dishearten'd, atheistical,
I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt,
         despair and unbelief.

How the flukes splash!
How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of
         blood!

Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers,
I take my place among you as much as among any,
The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same,
And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely
         the same.

I do not know what is untried and afterward,
But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail.

Each who passes is consider'd, each who stops is consider'd, not
         a single one can it fail.

It cannot fail the young man who died and was buried,
Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side,
Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back
         and was never seen again,
Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with
         bitterness worse than gall,
Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad dis-
         order,
Nor the numberless slaughter'd and wreck'd, nor the brutish koboo
         call'd the ordure of humanity,
Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in,
Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the
         earth,

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Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of
         myriads that inhabit them,
Nor the present, nor the least wisp that is known.

44


It is time to explain myself—let us stand up.

What is known I strip away,
I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.

The clock indicates the moment—but what does eternity indicate?

We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers,
There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.

Births have brought us richness and variety,
And other births will bring us richness and variety.

I do not call one greater and one smaller,
That which fills its period and place is equal to any.

Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my
         sister?
I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me,
All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation,
(What have I to do with lamentation?)

I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things
         to be.

My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs,
On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the
         steps,
All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.

Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me,
Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there,
I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist,
And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.

Long I was hugg'd close—long and long.

Immense have been the preparations for me,
Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me.

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Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen,
For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings,
They sent influences to look after what was to hold me.

Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me,
My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it.

For it the nebula cohered to an orb,
The long slow strata piled to rest it on,
Vast vegetables gave it sustenance,
Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited
         it with care.

All forces have been steadily employ'd to complete and delight me,
Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul.

45


O span of youth! ever-push'd elasticity!
O manhood, balanced, florid and full.

My lovers suffocate me,
Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin,
Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me
         at night,
Crying by day Ahoy! from the rocks of the river, swinging and
         chirping over my head,
Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush,
Lighting on every moment of my life,
Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses,
Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them
         to be mine.

Old age superbly rising! O welcome, ineffable grace of dying
         days!

Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows
         after and out of itself,
And the dark hush promulges as much as any.

I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems,
And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim
         of the farther systems.

Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding,
Outward and outward and forever outward.

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My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels,
He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit,
And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them.

There is no stoppage and never can be stoppage,
If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces,
         were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would
         not avail in the long run,
We should surely bring up again where we now stand,
And surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther.

A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not
         hazard the span or make it impatient,
They are but parts, any thing is but a part.

See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that,
Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that.

My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain,
The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms,
The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there.

46


I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured
         and never will be measured.

I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!)
My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from
         the woods,
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, no church, no philosophy,
I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
My left hand hooking you round the waist,
My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public
         road.

Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.

It is not far, it is within reach,
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not
         know,
Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.

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Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten
         forth,
Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go.

If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand
         on my hip,
And in due time you shall repay the same service to me,
For after we start we never lie by again.

This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded
         heaven,
And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those
          orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in
          them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then?
And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue
          beyond.

You are also asking me questions and I hear you,
I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.

Sit a while dear son,
Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink,
But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I
         kiss you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your
         egress hence.

Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams,
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every
         moment of your life.

Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore,
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout,
         and laughingly dash with your hair.

47


I am the teacher of athletes,
He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the
         width of my own,
He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the
         teacher.

The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived
         power, but in his own right,

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Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear,
Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak,
Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel
         cuts,
First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a skiff, to
         sing a song or play on the banjo,
Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox
         over all latherers,
And those well-tann'd to those that keep out of the sun.

I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me?
I follow you whoever you are from the present hour,
My words itch at your ears till you understand them.

I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while I
         wait for a boat,
(It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of
         you,
Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd.)

I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a house,
And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her
         who privately stays with me in the open air.

If you would understand me go to the heights or water-shore,
The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves
         a key,
The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words.

No shutter'd room or school can commune with me,
But roughs and little children better than they.

The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well,
The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me
         with him all day,
The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my
         voice,
In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen
         and love them.

The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine,
On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not
         fail them,
On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me
         seek me.

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My face rubs to the hunter's face when he lies down alone in his
         blanket,
The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon,
The young mother and old mother comprehend me,
The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget where
         they are,
They and all would resume what I have told them.

48


I have said that the soul is not more than the body,
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own
         funeral drest in his shroud,
And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the
         earth,
And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds
         the learning of all times,
And there is no trade or employment but the young man following
         it may become a hero,
And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd
         universe,
And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and
         composed before a million universes.

And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God,
For I who am curious about each am not curious about God,
(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God
         and about death.)

I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not
         in the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than
         myself.

Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each
         moment then,
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in
         the glass,
I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd
         by God's name,
And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go,
Others will punctually come for ever and ever.

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49


And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to
         try to alarm me.

To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes,
I see the elder-hand pressing receiving supporting,
I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors,
And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape.

And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does
         not offend me,
I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing,
I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.

And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths,
(No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.)

I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven,
O suns—O grass of graves—O perpetual transfers and pro-
         motions,
If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing?

Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest,
Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight,
Toss, sparkles of day and dusk—toss on the black stems that
         decay in the muck,
Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.

I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night,
I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected,
And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or
         small.

50


There is that in me—I do not know what it is—but I know it is
         in me.

Wrench'd and sweaty—calm and cool then my body becomes,
I sleep—I sleep long.

I do not know it—it is without name—it is a word unsaid,
It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.

Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on,
To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me.

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Perhaps I might tell more. Outlines! I plead for my brothers
         and sisters.

Do you see O my brothers and sisters?
It is not chaos or death—it is form, union, plan—it is eternal
         life—it is Happiness.

51


The past and present wilt—I have fill'd them, emptied them.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Listener up there! what have you to confide to me?
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute
         longer.)

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab.

Who has done his day's work? who will soonest be through with
         his supper?
Who wishes to walk with me?

Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too late?

52


The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my
         gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd
         wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

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You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

CHILDREN OF ADAM.


TO THE GARDEN THE WORLD


TO the garden the world anew ascending,
Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding,
The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being,
Curious here behold my resurrection after slumber,
The revolving cycles in their wide sweep having brought me again,
Amorous, mature, all beautiful to me, all wondrous,
My limbs and the quivering fire that ever plays through them, for
         reasons, most wondrous,
Existing I peer and penetrate still,
Content with the present, content with the past,
By my side or back of me Eve following,
Or in front, and I following her just the same.

FROM PENT-UP ACHING RIVERS.


FROM pent-up aching rivers,
From that of myself without which I were nothing,
From what I am determin'd to make illustrious, even if I stand
         sole among men,
From my own voice resonant, singing the phallus,
Singing the song of procreation,
Singing the need of superb children and therein superb grown
         people,
Singing the muscular urge and the blending,
Singing the bedfellow's song, (O resistless yearning!
O for any and each the body correlative attracting!

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O for you whoever you are your correlative body! O it, more than
         all else, you delighting!)
From the hungry gnaw that eats me night and day,
From native moments, from bashful pains, singing them,
Seeking something yet unfound though I have diligently sought it
         many a long year,
Singing the true song of the soul fitful at random,
Renascent with grossest Nature or among animals,
Of that, of them and what goes with them my poems informing,
Of the smell of apples and lemons, of the pairing of birds,
Of the wet of woods, of the lapping of waves,
Of the mad pushes of waves upon the land, I them chanting,
The overture lightly sounding, the strain anticipating,
The welcome nearness, the sight of the perfect body,
The swimmer swimming naked in the bath, or motionless on his
         back lying and floating,
The female form approaching, I pensive, love-flesh tremulous
         aching,
The divine list for myself or you or for any one making,
The face, the limbs, the index from head to foot, and what it
         arouses,
The mystic deliria, the madness amorous, the utter abandonment,
(Hark close and still what I now whisper to you,
I love you, O you entirely possess me,
O that you and I escape from the rest and go utterly off, free and
         lawless,
Two hawks in the air, two fishes swimming in the sea not more
         lawless than we;)
The furious storm through me careering, I passionately trembling.
The oath of the inseparableness of two together, of the woman
         that loves me and whom I love more than my life, that oath
         swearing,
(O I willingly stake all for you,
O let me be lost if it must be so!
O you and I! what is it to us what the rest do or think?
What is all else to us? only that we enjoy each other and exhaust
         each other if it must be so;)
From the master, the pilot I yield the vessel to,
The general commanding me, commanding all, from him permis-
         sion taking,
From time the programme hastening, (I have loiter'd too long as
         it is,)
From sex, from the warp and from the woof,
From privacy, from frequent repinings alone,
From plenty of persons near and yet the right person not near,

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From the soft sliding of hands over me and thrusting of fingers
         through my hair and beard,
From the long sustain'd kiss upon the mouth or bosom,
From the close pressure that makes me or any man drunk, fainting
         with excess,
From what the divine husband knows, from the work of fatherhood,
From exultation, victory and relief, from the bedfellow's embrace
         in the night,
From the act-poems of eyes, hands, hips and bosoms,
From the cling of the trembling arm,
From the bending curve and the clinch,
From side by side the pliant coverlet off-throwing,
From the one so unwilling to have me leave, and me just as un-
         willing to leave,
(Yet a moment O tender waiter, and I return,)
From the hour of shining stars and dropping dews,
From the night a moment I emerging flitting out,
Celebrate you act divine and you children prepared for,
And you stalwart loins.

I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC.


1


I SING the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the
         soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal
         themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile
         the dead?
And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?
And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?

2


The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body
         itself balks account,
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account,
But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his
         face,

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It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his
         hips and wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and
         knees, dress does not hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and
         broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoul-
         der-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women,
         the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street,
         the contour of their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims
         through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face
         up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water,
The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the
         horseman in his saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-
         kettles, and their wives waiting,
The female soothing a child, the farmer's daughter in the garden
         or cow-yard,
The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six
         horses through the crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty,
         good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-
         down after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,
The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blind-
         ing the eyes;
The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of mascu-
         line muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes
         suddenly again, and the listening on the alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv'd
         neck and the counting;
Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother's
         breast with the little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with
         the firemen, and pause, listen, count.

3


I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,
And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.

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This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,
The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and
         beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the
         richness and breadth of his manners,
These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,
He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were
         massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,
They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,
They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal
         love,
He drank water only, the blood show'd like scarlet through the
         clear-brown skin of his face,
He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail'd his boat himself,
         he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he
         had fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved
         him,
When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or
         fish, you would pick him out as the most beautiful and
         vigorous of the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to
         sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each
         other.

4


I have perceiv'd that to be with those I like is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh
         is enough,
To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so
         lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this
         then?
I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.

There is something in staying close to men and women and look-
         ing on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that
         pleases the soul well,
All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

5


This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless
         vapor, all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was
         expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are now consumed,

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Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response
         likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all dif
         fused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swell-
         ing and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of
         love, white-blow and delirious juice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the pros-
         trate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh'd day.

This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born
         of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the
         outlet again.

Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the
         exit of the rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.

The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veil'd, she is both passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as
         daughters.

As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness,
         sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female
         I see.

6


The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,
He too is all qualities, he is action and power,
The flush of the known universe is in him,
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him
         well,
The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is
         utmost become him well, pride is for him,
The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,
Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing
         to the test of himself,

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Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes
         soundings at last only here,
(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)

The man's body is sacred and the woman's body is sacred,
No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the
         laborers' gang?
Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?
Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just
         as much as you,
Each has his or her place in the procession.

(All is a procession,
The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)

Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she
         has no right to a sight?
Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float,
         and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegeta-
         tion sprouts,
For you only, and not for him and her?

7


A man's body at auction,
(For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the
         sale,)
I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.

Gentlemen look on this wonder,
Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,
For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one
         animal or plant,
For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll'd.

In this head the all-baffling brain,
In it and below it the makings of heroes.

Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in
         tendon and nerve,
They shall be stript that you may see them.

Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not
         flabby, good-sized arms and legs,
And wonders within there yet.

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Within there runs blood,
The same old blood! the same red-running blood!
There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings,
         aspirations,
(Do you think they are not there because they are not express'd in
         parlors and lecture-rooms?)

This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be
         fathers in their turns,
In him the start of populous states and rich republics,
Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and
         enjoyments.

How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his off-
         spring through the centuries?
(Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could
         trace back through the centuries?)

8


A woman's body at auction,
She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers,
She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the
         mothers.

Have you ever loved the body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the body of a man?
Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations
         and times all over the earth?

If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred,
And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood
         untainted,
And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more
         beautiful than the most beautiful face.

Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the
         fool that corrupted her own live body?
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.

9


O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and
         women, nor the likes of the parts of you,
I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the
         soul, (and that they are the soul,)

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I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and
         that they are my poems,
Man's, woman's, child's, youth's, wife's, husband's, mother's, father's,
         young man's, young woman's poems,
Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,
Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or
         sleeping of the lids,
Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-
         hinges,
Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,
Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-
         slue,
Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the
         ample side-round of the chest,
Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-
         bones,
Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger,
         finger-joints, finger-nails,
Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-
         side,
Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone,
Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-
         balls, man-root,
Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,
Leg-fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,
Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;
All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your
         body or of any one's body, male or female,
The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean,
The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,
Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity,
Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes
         from woman,
The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping,
         love-looks, love-perturbations and risings,
The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud,
Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming,
Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and
         tightening,
The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the
         eyes,
The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,
The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the
         naked meat of the body,
The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out,

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The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence down-
         ward toward the knees,
The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the
         marrow in the bones,
The exquisite realization of health;
O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but
         of the soul,
O I say now these are the soul!

A WOMAN WAITS FOR ME.


A WOMAN waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the
         right man were lacking.

Sex contains all, bodies, souls,
Meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal
         milk,
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves, beauties,
         delights of the earth,
All the governments, judges, gods, follow'd persons of the earth,
These are contain'd in sex as parts of itself and justifications of
         itself.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness
         of his sex,
Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women
         that are warm-blooded and sufficient for me,
I see that they understand me and do not deny me,
I see that they are worthy of me, I will be the robust husband
         of those women.

They are not one jot less than I am,
They are tann'd in the face by shining suns and blowing winds,
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike,
         retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
They are ultimate in their own right—they are calm, clear, well-
         possess'd of themselves.

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I draw you close to me, you women,
I cannot let you go, I would do you good,
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but
         for others' sakes,
Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards,
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.

It is I, you women, I make my way,
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable, but I love you,
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for these States, I
         press with slow rude muscle,
I brace myself effectually, I listen to no entreaties,
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated
         within me.

Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,
In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America,
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic girls,
         new artists, musicians, and singers,
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-spendings,
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and you
         interpenetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as I
         count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death, immortality,
         I plant so lovingly now.

SPONTANEOUS ME.


SPONTANEOUS me, Nature,
The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with,
The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder,
The hillside whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash,
The same late in autumn, the hues of red, yellow, drab, purple,
         and light and dark green,
The rich coverlet of the grass, animals and birds, the private
         untrimm'd bank, the primitive apples, the pebble-stones,
Beautiful dripping fragments, the negligent list of one after an-
         other as I happen to call them to me or think of them,
The real poems, (what we call poems being merely pictures,)
The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men like me,

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This poem drooping shy and unseen that I always carry, and that
         all men carry,
(Know once for all, avow'd on purpose, wherever are men like
         me, are our lusty lurking masculine poems,)
Love-thoughts, love-juice, love-odor, love-yielding, love-climbers,
         and the climbing sap,
Arms and hands of love, lips of love, phallic thumb of love, breasts
         of love, bellies press'd and glued together with love,
Earth of chaste love, life that is only life after love,
The body of my love, the body of the woman I love, the body
         of the man, the body of the earth,
Soft forenoon airs that blow from the south-west,
The hairy wild-bee that murmurs and hankers up and down, that
         gripes the full-grown lady-flower, curves upon her with
         amorous firm legs, takes his will of her, and holds himself
         tremulous and tight till he is satisfied;
The wet of woods through the early hours,
Two sleepers at night lying close together as they sleep, one with an
         arm slanting down across and below the waist of the other,
The smell of apples, aromas from crush'd sage-plant, mint, birch-
         bark,
The boy's longings, the glow and pressure as he confides to me
         what he was dreaming,
The dead leaf whirling its spiral whirl and falling still and content
         to the ground,
The no-form'd stings that sights, people, objects, sting me with,
The hubb'd sting of myself, stinging me as much as it ever can
         any one,
The sensitive, orbic, underlapp'd brothers, that only privileged
         feelers may be intimate where they are,
The curious roamer the hand roaming all over the body, the
         bashful withdrawing of flesh where the fingers soothingly
         pause and edge themselves,
The limpid liquid within the young man,
The vex'd corrosion so pensive and so painful,
The torment, the irritable tide that will not be at rest,
The like of the same I feel, the like of the same in others,
The young man that flushes and flushes, and the young woman
         that flushes and flushes,
The young man that wakes deep at night, the hot hand seeking to
         repress what would master him,
The mystic amorous night, the strange half-welcome pangs, visions,
         sweats,
The pulse pounding through palms and trembling encircling
         fingers, the young man all color'd, red, ashamed, angry;

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The souse upon me of my lover the sea, as I lie willing and naked,
The merriment of the twin babes that crawl over the grass in the
         sun, the mother never turning her vigilant eyes from them,
The walnut-trunk, the walnut-husks, and the ripening or ripen'd
         long-round walnuts,
The continence of vegetables, birds, animals,
The consequent meanness of me should I skulk or find myself
         indecent, while birds and animals never once skulk or
         find themselves indecent,
The great chastity of paternity, to match the great chastity of
         maternity,
The oath of procreation I have sworn, my Adamic and fresh
         daughters,
The greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I
         saturate what shall produce boys to fill my place when I
         am through,
The wholesome relief, repose, content,
And this bunch pluck'd at random from myself,
It has done its work—I toss it carelessly to fall where it may.

ONE HOUR TO MADNESS AND JOY.


ONE hour to madness and joy! O furious! O confine me not!
(What is this that frees me so in storms?
What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)

O to drink the mystic deliria deeper than any other man!
O savage and tender achings! (I bequeath them to you my
         children,
I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.)

O to be yielded to you whoever you are, and you to be yielded to
         me in defiance of the world!
O to return to Paradise! O bashful and feminine!
O to draw you to me, to plant on you for the first time the lips of
         a determin'd man.

O the puzzle, the thrice-tied knot, the deep and dark pool, all
         untied and illumin'd!
O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last!
To be absolv'd from previous ties and conventions, I from mine
         and you from yours!
To find a new unthought-of nonchalance with the best of Nature!

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To have the gag remov'd from one's mouth!
To have the feeling to-day or any day I am sufficient as I am.

O something unprov'd! something in a trance!
To escape utterly from others' anchors and holds!
To drive free! to love free! to dash reckless and dangerous!
To court destruction with taunts, with invitations!
To ascend, to leap to the heavens of the love indicated to me!
To rise thither with my inebriate soul!
To be lost if it must be so!
To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness and freedom!
With one brief hour of madness and joy.

OUT OF THE ROLLING OCEAN THE CROWD.


OUT of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me,
Whispering I love you, before long I die,
I have travel'd a long way merely to look on you to touch you,
For I could not die till I once look'd on you,
For I fear'd I might afterward lose you.

Now we have met, we have look'd, we are safe,
Return in peace to the ocean my love,
I too am part of that ocean my love, we are not so much sepa-
         rated,
Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect!
But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us,
As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse for-
         ever;
Be not impatient—a little space—know you I salute the air, the
         ocean and the land,
Every day at sundown for your dear sake my love.

AGES AND AGES RETURNING AT INTERVALS.


AGES and ages returning at intervals,
Undestroy'd, wandering immortal,
Lusty, phallic, with the potent original loins, perfectly sweet,
I, chanter of Adamic songs,
Through the new garden the West, the great cities calling,
Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these, offering
         myself,
Bathing myself, bathing my songs in Sex,
Offspring of my loins.

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WE TWO, HOW LONG WE WERE FOOL'D.


WE two, how long we were fool'd,
Now transmuted, we swiftly escape as Nature escapes,
We are Nature, long have we been absent, but now we return,
We become plants, trunks, foliage, roots, bark,
We are bedded in the ground, we are rocks,
We are oaks, we grow in the openings side by side,
We browse, we are two among the wild herds spontaneous as
         any,
We are two fishes swimming in the sea together,
We are what locust blossoms are, we drop scent around lanes
         mornings and evenings,
We are also the coarse smut of beasts, vegetables, minerals,
We are two predatory hawks, we soar above and look down,
We are two resplendent suns, we it is who balance ourselves orbic
         and stellar, we are as two comets,
We prowl fang'd and four-footed in the woods, we spring on
          prey,
We are two clouds forenoons and afternoons driving overhead,
We are seas mingling, we are two of those cheerful waves rolling
         over each other and interwetting each other,
We are what the atmosphere is, transparent, receptive, pervious,
         impervious,
We are snow, rain, cold, darkness, we are each product and
         influence of the globe,
We have circled and circled till we have arrived home again, we
         two,
We have voided all but freedom and all but our own joy.

O HYMEN! O HYMENEE!


O HYMEN! O hymenee! why do you tantalize me thus?
O why sting me for a swift moment only?
Why can you not continue? O why do you now cease?
Is it because if you continued beyond the swift moment you
         would soon certainly kill me?

I AM HE THAT ACHES WITH LOVE.


I AM he that aches with amorous love;
Does the earth gravitate? does not all matter, aching, attract all
         matter?
So the body of me to all I meet or know.

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NATIVE MOMENTS.


NATIVE moments—when you come upon me—ah you are here
         now,
Give me now libidinous joys only,
Give me the drench of my passions, give me life coarse and rank,
To-day I go consort with Nature's darlings, to-night too,
I am for those who believe in loose delights, I share the midnight
         orgies of young men,
I dance with the dancers and drink with the drinkers,
The echoes ring with our indecent calls, I pick out some low
         person for my dearest friend,
He shall be lawless, rude, illiterate, he shall be one condemn'd by
         others for deeds done,
I will play a part no longer, why should I exile myself from my
         companions?
O you shunn'd persons, I at least do not shun you,
I come forthwith in your midst, I will be your poet,
I will be more to you than to any of the rest.

ONCE I PASS'D THROUGH A POPULOUS CITY.


ONCE I pass'd through a populous city imprinting my brain for
         future use with its shows, architecture, customs, traditions,
Yet now of all that city I remember only a woman I casually met
         there who detain'd me for love of me,
Day by day and night by night we were together—all else has
         long been forgotten by me,
I remember I say only that woman who passionately clung to me,
Again we wander, we love, we separate again,
Again she holds me by the hand, I must not go,
I see her close beside me with silent lips sad and tremulous.

I HEARD YOU SOLEMN-SWEET PIPES OF THE ORGAN.


I HEARD you solemn-sweet pipes of the organ as last Sunday morn
         I pass'd the church,
Winds of autumn, as I walk'd the woods at dusk I heard your
         long-stretch'd sighs up above so mournful,
I heard the perfect Italian tenor singing at the opera, I heard the
         soprano in the midst of the quartet singing;
Heart of my love! you too I heard murmuring low through one
         of the wrists around my head,
Heard the pulse of you when all was still ringing little bells last
         night under my ear.

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FACING WEST FROM CALIFORNIA'S SHORES.


FACING west from California's shores,
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,
I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity,
         the land of migrations, look afar,
Look off the shores of my Western sea, the circle almost circled;
For starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kash-
         mere,
From Asia, from the north, from the God, the sage, and the
         hero,
From the south, from the flowery peninsulas and the spice islands,
Long having wander'd since, round the earth having wander'd,
Now I face home again, very pleas'd and joyous,
(But where is what I started for so long ago?
And why is it yet unfound?)

AS ADAM EARLY IN THE MORNING.


AS Adam early in the morning,
Walking forth from the bower refresh'd with sleep,
Behold me where I pass, hear my voice, approach,
Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass,
Be not afraid of my body.

CALAMUS.



IN PATHS UNTRODDEN.


IN paths untrodden,
In the growth by margins of pond-waters,
Escaped from the life that exhibits itself,
From all the standards hitherto publish'd, from the pleasures,
         profits, conformities,
Which too long I was offering to feed my soul,
Clear to me now standards not yet publish'd, clear to me that my
         soul,
That the soul of the man I speak for rejoices in comrades,
Here by myself away from the clank of the world,
Tallying and talk'd to here by tongues aromatic,

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No longer abash'd, (for in this secluded spot I can respond as I
         would not dare elsewhere,)
Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself, yet contains
         all the rest,
Resolv'd to sing no songs to-day but those of manly attachment,
Projecting them along that substantial life,
Bequeathing hence types of athletic love,
Afternoon this delicious Ninth-month in my forty-first year,
I proceed for all who are or have been young men,
To tell the secret of my nights and days,
To celebrate the need of comrades.

SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.


SCENTED herbage of my breast,
Leaves from you I glean, I write, to be perused best afterwards,
Tomb-leaves, body-leaves growing up above me above death,
Perennial roots, tall leaves, O the winter shall not freeze you
         delicate leaves,
Every year shall you bloom again, out from where you retired you
         shall emerge again;
O I do not know whether many passing by will discover you or
         inhale your faint odor, but I believe a few will;
O slender leaves! O blossoms of my blood! I permit you to tell
         in your own way of the heart that is under you,
O I do not know what you mean there underneath yourselves, you
         are not happiness,
You are often more bitter than I can bear, you burn and sting me,
Yet you are beautiful to me you faint tinged roots, you make me
         think of death,
Death is beautiful from you, (what indeed is finally beautiful except
         death and love?)
O I think it is not for life I am chanting here my chant of lovers,
         I think it must be for death,
For how calm, how solemn it grows to ascend to the atmosphere
         of lovers,
Death or life I am then indifferent, my soul declines to prefer,
(I am not sure but the high soul of lovers welcomes death most,)
Indeed O death, I think now these leaves mean precisely the same
         as you mean,
Grow up taller sweet leaves that I may see! grow up out of my
         breast!
Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!
Do not fold yourself so in your pink-tinged roots timid leaves!

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Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!
Come I am determin'd to unbare this broad breast of mine, I
         have long enough stifled and choked;
Emblematic and capricious blades I leave you, now you serve me
         not,
I will say what I have to say by itself,
I will sound myself and comrades only, I will never again utter a
         call only their call,
I will raise with it immortal reverberations through the States,
I will give an example to lovers to take permanent shape and
         will through the States,
Through me shall the words be said to make death exhilarating,
Give me your tone therefore O death, that I may accord with it,
Give me yourself, for I see that you belong to me now above all,
         and are folded inseparably together, you love and death are,
Nor will I allow you to balk me any more with what I was calling life,
For now it is convey'd to me that you are the purports essential,
That you hide in these shifting forms of life, for reasons, and that
         they are mainly for you,
That you beyond them come forth to remain, the real reality,
That behind the mask of materials you patiently wait, no matter
         how long,
That you will one day perhaps take control of all,
That you will perhaps dissipate this entire show of appearance,
That may-be you are what it is all for, but it does not last so very
         long,
But you will last very long.

WHOEVER YOU ARE HOLDING ME NOW IN HAND.


WHOEVER you are holding me now in hand,
Without one thing all will be useless,
I give you fair warning before you attempt me further,
I am not what you supposed, but far different.

Who is he that would become my follower?
Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?

The way is suspicious, the result uncertain, perhaps destructive,
You would have to give up all else, I alone would expect to be
         your sole and exclusive standard,
Your novitiate would even then be long and exhausting,
The whole past theory of your life and all conformity to the lives
         around you would have to be abandon'd,

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Therefore release me now before troubling yourself any further, let
         go your hand from my shoulders,
Put me down and depart on your way.

Or else by stealth in some wood for trial,
Or back of a rock in the open air,
(For in any roof'd room of a house I emerge not, nor in com-
         pany,
And in libraries I lie as one dumb, a gawk, or unborn, or dead,)
But just possibly with you on a high hill, first watching lest any
         person for miles around approach unawares,
Or possibly with you sailing at sea, or on the beach of the sea or
         some quiet island,
Here to put your lips upon mine I permit you,
With the comrade's long-dwelling kiss or the new husband's kiss,
For I am the new husband and I am the comrade.

Or if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing,
Where I may feel the throbs of your heart or rest upon your
         hip,
Carry me when you go forth over land or sea;
For thus merely touching you is enough, is best,
And thus touching you would I silently sleep and be carried
         eternally.

But these leaves conning you con at peril,
For these leaves and me you will not understand,
They will elude you at first and still more afterward, I will
         certainly elude you,
Even while you should think you had unquestionably caught me,
         behold!
Already you see I have escaped from you.

For it is not for what I have put into it that I have written this
         book,
Nor is it by reading it you will acquire it,
Nor do those know me best who admire me and vauntingly praise
         me,
Nor will the candidates for my love (unless at most a very few)
         prove victorious,
Nor will my poems do good only, they will do just as much evil,
         perhaps more,
For all is useless without that which you may guess at many times
         and not hit, that which I hinted at;
Therefore release me and depart on your way.

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FOR YOU O DEMOCRACY.


COME, I will make the continent indissoluble,
I will make the most splendid race the sun ever shone upon,
I will make divine magnetic lands,
         With the love of comrades,
         With the life-long love of comrades.

I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the rivers of
         America, and along the shores of the great lakes, and all
         over the prairies,
I will make inseparable cities with their arms about each other's
         necks,
         By the love of comrades,
         By the manly love of comrades.

For you these from me, O Democracy, to serve you ma femme!
For you, for you I am trilling these songs.

THESE I SINGING IN SPRING.


THESE I singing in spring collect for lovers,
(For who but I should understand lovers and all their sorrow and
         joy?
And who but I should be the poet of comrades?)
Collecting I traverse the garden the world, but soon I pass the
         gates,
Now along the pond-side, now wading in a little, fearing not the
         wet,
Now by the post-and-rail fences where the old stones thrown there,
         pick'd from the fields, have accumulated,
(Wild-flowers and vines and weeds come up through the stones
         and partly cover them, beyond these I pass,)
Far, far in the forest, or sauntering later in summer, before I think
         where I go,
Solitary, smelling the earthy smell, stopping now and then in the
         silence,
Alone I had thought, yet soon a troop gathers around me,
Some walk by my side and some behind, and some embrace my
         arms or neck,
They the spirits of dear friends dead or alive, thicker they come,
         a great crowd, and I in the middle,
Collecting, dispensing, singing, there I wander with them,
Plucking something for tokens, tossing toward whoever is near me,
Here, lilac, with a branch of pine,

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Here, out of my pocket, some moss which I pull'd off a live-oak
         in Florida as it hung trailing down,
Here, some pinks and laurel leaves, and a handful of sage,
And here what I now draw from the water, wading in the pond-
         side,
(O here I last saw him that tenderly loves me, and returns again
         never to separate from me,
And this, O this shall henceforth be the token of comrades, this
         calamus-root shall,
Interchange it youths with each other! let none render it back!)
And twigs of maple and a bunch of wild orange and chestnut,
And stems of currants and plum-blows, and the aromatic cedar,
These I compass'd around by a thick cloud of spirits,
Wandering, point to or touch as I pass, or throw them loosely
         from me,
Indicating to each one what he shall have, giving something to
         each;
But what I drew from the water by the pond-side, that I reserve,
I will give of it, but only to them that love as I myself am capable
         of loving.

NOT HEAVING FROM MY RIBB'D BREAST ONLY.


NOT heaving from my ribb'd breast only,
Not in sighs at night in rage dissatisfied with myself,
Not in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs,
Not in many an oath and promise broken,
Not in my wilful and savage soul's volition,
Not in the subtle nourishment of the air,
Not in this beating and pounding at my temples and wrists,
Not in the curious systole and diastole within which will one day
         cease,
Not in many a hungry wish told to the skies only,
Not in cries, laughter, defiances, thrown from me when alone far
         in the wilds,
Not in husky pantings through clinch'd teeth,
Not in sounded and resounded words, chattering words, echoes,
         dead words,
Not in the murmurs of my dreams while I sleep,
Nor the other murmurs of these incredible dreams of every day,
Nor in the limbs and senses of my body that take you and dismiss
         you continually—not there,
Not in any or all of them O adhesiveness! O pulse of my life!
Need I that you exist and show yourself any more than in these
         songs.

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OF THE TERRIBLE DOUBT OF APPEARANCES.


OF the terrible doubt of appearances,
Of the uncertainty after all, that we may be deluded,
That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all,
That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful fable only,
May-be the things I perceive, the animals, plants, men, hills,
         shining and flowing waters,
The skies of day and night, colors, densities, forms, may-be these
         are (as doubtless they are) only apparitions, and the real
         something has yet to be known,
(How often they dart out of themselves as if to confound me and
         mock me!
How often I think neither I know, nor any man knows, aught of
         them,)
May-be seeming to me what they are (as doubtless they indeed
         but seem) as from my present point of view, and might
         prove (as of course they would) nought of what they
         appear, or nought anyhow, from entirely changed points
         of view;
To me these and the like of these are curiously answer'd by my
         lovers, my dear friends,
When he whom I love travels with me or sits a long while holding
         me by the hand,
When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that words and
         reason hold not, surround us and pervade us,
Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom, I am
         silent, I require nothing further,
I cannot answer the question of appearances or that of identity
         beyond the grave,
But I walk or sit indifferent, I am satisfied,
He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.

THE BASE OF ALL METAPHYSICS.


AND now gentlemen,
A word I give to remain in your memories and minds,
As base and finalè too for all metaphysics.

(So to the students the old professor,
At the close of his crowded course.)

Having studied the new and antique, the Greek and Germanic
         systems,
Kant having studied and stated, Fichte and Schelling and Hegel,

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Stated the lore of Plato, and Socrates greater than Plato,
And greater than Socrates sought and stated, Christ divine having
         studied long,
I see reminiscent to-day those Greek and Germanic systems,
See the philosophies all, Christian churches and tenets see,
Yet underneath Socrates clearly see, and underneath Christ the
         divine I see,
The dear love of man for his comrade, the attraction of friend to
         friend,
Of the well-married husband and wife, of children and parents,
Of city for city and land for land.

RECORDERS AGES HENCE.


RECORDERS ages hence,
Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior, I
         will tell you what to say of me,
Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest
         lover,
The friend the lover's portrait, of whom his friend his lover was
         fondest,
Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless ocean of
         love within him, and freely pour'd it forth,
Who often walk'd lonesome walks thinking of his dear friends, his
         lovers,
Who pensive away from one he lov'd often lay sleepless and dissat-
         isfied at night,
Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he lov'd
         might secretly be indifferent to him,
Whose happiest days were far away through fields, in woods, on
         hills, he and another wandering hand in hand, they twain
         apart from other men,
Who oft as he saunter'd the streets curv'd with his arm the shoul-
         der of his friend, while the arm of his friend rested upon
         him also.

WHEN I HEARD AT THE CLOSE OF THE DAY.


WHEN I heard at the close of the day how my name had been
         receiv'd with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy
         night for me that follow'd,
And else when I carous'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd,
         still I was not happy,

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But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health,
         refresh'd, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn,
When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in
         the morning light,
When I wander'd alone over the beach, and undressing bathed,
         laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise,
And when I thought how my dear friend my lover was on his way
         coming, O then I was happy,
O then each breath tasted sweeter, and all that day my food
         nourish'd me more, and the beautiful day pass'd well,
And the next came with equal joy, and with the next at evening
         came my friend,
And that night while all was still I heard the waters roll slowly
         continually up the shores,
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands as directed to
         me whispering to congratulate me,
For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover
         in the cool night,
In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined
         toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast—and that night I was
         happy.

ARE YOU THE NEW PERSON DRAWN TOWARD ME?


ARE you the new person drawn toward me?
To begin with take warning, I am surely far different from what
         you suppose;
Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?
Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?
Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy'd satisfaction?
Do you think I am trusty and faithful?
Do you see no further than this façade, this smooth and tolerant
         manner of me?
Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real
         heroic man?
Have you no thought O dreamer that it may be all maya, illusion?

ROOTS AND LEAVES THEMSELVES ALONE.


ROOTS and leaves themselves alone are these,
Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods and
         pond-side,

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Breast-sorrel and pinks of love, fingers that wind around tighter
         than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds hid in the foliage of trees as the
         sun is risen,
Breezes of land and love set from living shores to you on the living
         sea, to you O sailors!
Frost-mellow'd berries and Third-month twigs offer'd fresh to
          young persons wandering out in the fields when the winter
         breaks up,
Love-buds put before you and within you whoever you are,
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms,
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them they will open and
         bring form, color, perfume, to you,
If you become the aliment and the wet they will become flowers,
         fruits, tall branches and trees.

NOT HEAT FLAMES UP AND CONSUMES.


NOT heat flames up and consumes,
Not sea-waves hurry in and out,
Not the air delicious and dry, the air of ripe summer, bears lightly
         along white down-balls of myriads of seeds,
Wafted, sailing gracefully, to drop where they may;
Not these, O none of these more than the flames of me, consum-
         ing, burning for his love whom I love,
O none more than I hurrying in and out;
Does the tide hurry, seeking something, and never give up? O I
         the same,
O nor down-balls nor perfumes, nor the high rain-emitting clouds,
         are borne through the open air,
Any more than my soul is borne through the open air,
Wafted in all directions O love, for friendship, for you.

TRICKLE DROPS.


TRICKLE drops! my blue veins leaving!
O drops of me! trickle, slow drops,
Candid from me falling, drip, bleeding drops,
From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd,
From my face, from my forehead and lips,
From my breast, from within where I was conceal'd, press forth
         red drops, confession drops,
Stain every page, stain every song I sing, every word I say, bloody
         drops,

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Let them know your scarlet heat, let them glisten,
Saturate them with yourself all ashamed and wet,
Glow upon all I have written or shall write, bleeding drops,
Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.

CITY OF ORGIES.


CITY of orgies, walks and joys,
City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day
         make you illustrious,
Not the pageants of you, not your shifting tableaus, your specta-
         cles, repay me,
Not the interminable rows of your houses, nor the ships at the
         wharves,
Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright windows with
         goods in them,
Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my share in the soiree
         or feast;
Not those, but as I pass O Manhattan, your frequent and swift
         flash of eyes offering me love,
Offering response to my own—these repay me,
Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.

BEHOLD THIS SWARTHY FACE.


BEHOLD this swarthy face, these gray eyes,
This beard, the white wool unclipt upon my neck,
My brown hands and the silent manner of me without charm;
Yet comes one a Manhattanese and ever at parting kisses me
         lightly on the lips with robust love,
And I on the crossing of the street or on the ship's deck give a
         kiss in return,
We observe that salute of American comrades land and sea,
We are those two natural and nonchalant persons.

I SAW IN LOUISIANA A LIVE-OAK GROWING.


I SAW in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,
Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of
          dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,
But I wonder'd how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone
         there without its friend near, for I knew I could not,

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And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it,
         and twined around it a little moss,
And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my room,
It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,
(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)
Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly
         love;
For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana
         solitary in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend a lover near,
I know very well I could not.

TO A STRANGER.


PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon
         you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to
         me as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste,
         matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours
         only nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you
         take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone
         or wake at night alone,
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

THIS MOMENT YEARNING AND THOUGHTFUL.


THIS moment yearning and thoughtful sitting alone,
It seems to me there are other men in other lands yearning and
         thoughtful,
It seems to me I can look over and behold them in Germany,
         Italy, France, Spain,
Or far, far away, in China, or in Russia or Japan, talking other
         dialects,
And it seems to me if I could know those men I should become
         attached to them as I do to men in my own lands,
O I know we should be brethren and lovers,
I know I should be happy with them.

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I HEAR IT WAS CHARGED AGAINST ME.


I HEAR it was charged against me that I sought to destroy institu-
         tions,
But really I am neither for nor against institutions,
(What indeed have I in common with them? or what with the
         destruction of them?)
Only I will establish in the Mannahatta and in every city of these
         States inland and seaboard,
And in the fields and woods, and above every keel little or large
         that dents the water,
Without edifices or rules or trustees or any argument,
The institution of the dear love of comrades.

THE PRAIRIE-GRASS DIVIDING.


THE prairie-grass dividing, its special odor breathing,
I demand of it the spiritual corresponding,
Demand the most copious and close companionship of men,
Demand the blades to rise of words, acts, beings,
Those of the open atmosphere, coarse, sunlit, fresh, nutritious,
Those that go their own gait, erect, stepping with freedom and
         command, leading not following,
Those with a never-quell'd audacity, those with sweet and lusty
         flesh clear of taint,
Those that look carelessly in the faces of Presidents and governors,
         as to say Who are you?
Those of earth-born passion, simple, never constrain'd, never
         obedient,
Those of inland America.

WHEN I PERUSE THE CONQUER'D FAME.

WHEN I peruse the conquer'd fame of heroes and the victories
         of mighty generals, I do not envy the generals,
Nor the President in his Presidency, nor the rich in his great
         house,
But when I hear of the brotherhood of lovers, how it was with
         them,
How together through life, through dangers, odium, unchanging,
         long and long,
Through youth and through middle and old age, how unfaltering,
         how affectionate and faithful they were,
Then I am pensive—I hastily walk away fill'd with the bitterest
         envy.

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WE TWO BOYS TOGETHER CLINGING.


WE two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions
         making,
Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching,
Arm'd and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering, thieving,
         threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water drinking, on
         the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chas-
         ing,
Fulfilling our foray.

A PROMISE TO CALIFORNIA.


A PROMISE to California,
Or inland to the great pastoral Plains, and on to Puget sound and
         Oregon;
Sojourning east a while longer, soon I travel toward you, to remain,
         to teach robust American love,
For I know very well that I and robust love belong among you,
         inland, and along the Western sea;
For these States tend inland and toward the Western sea, and I
         will also.

HERE THE FRAILEST LEAVES OF ME.


HERE the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting,
Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them,
And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.

NO LABOR-SAVING MACHINE.


NO labor-saving machine,
Nor discovery have I made,
Nor will I be able to leave behind me any wealthy bequest to
         found a hospital or library,
Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage for America,
Nor literary success nor intellect, nor book for the book-shelf,
But a few carols vibrating through the air I leave,
For comrades and lovers.

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A GLIMPSE.


A GLIMPSE through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the
         stove late of a winter night, and I unremark'd seated in a
         corner,
Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching
         and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand,
A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking
         and oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
         perhaps not a word.

A LEAF FOR HAND IN HAND.


A LEAF for hand in hand;
You natural persons old and young!
You on the Mississippi and on all the branches and bayous of the
         Mississippi!
You friendly boatmen and mechanics! you roughs!
You twain! and all processions moving along the streets!
I wish to infuse myself among you till I see it common for you to
         walk hand in hand.

EARTH, MY LIKENESS.


EARTH, my likeness,
Though you look so impassive, ample and spheric there,
I now suspect that is not all;
I now suspect there is something fierce in you eligible to burst forth,
For an athlete is enamour'd of me, and I of him,
But toward him there is something fierce and terrible in me eligi-
         ble to burst forth,
I dare not tell it in words, not even in these songs.

I DREAM'D IN A DREAM.


I DREAM'D in a dream I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the
         whole of the rest of the earth,
I dream'd that was the new city of Friends,
Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love, it led
         the rest,
It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city,
And in all their looks and words.

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WHAT THINK YOU I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND?


WHAT think you I take my pen in hand to record?
The battle-ship, perfect-model'd, majestic, that I saw pass the
         offing to-day under full sail?
The splendors of the past day? or the splendor of the night that
         envelops me?
Or the vaunted glory and growth of the great city spread around
         me?—no;
But merely of two simple men I saw to-day on the pier in the
         midst of the crowd, parting the parting of dear friends,
The one to remain hung on the other's neck and passionately
         kiss'd him,
While the one to depart tightly prest the one to remain in his
         arms.

TO THE EAST AND TO THE WEST.


TO the East and to the West,
To the man of the Seaside State and of Pennsylvania,
To the Kanadian of the north, to the Southerner I love,
These with perfect trust to depict you as myself, the germs are in
         all men,
I believe the main purport of these States is to found a superb
         friendship, exaltè, previously unknown,
Because I perceive it waits, and has been always waiting, latent in
         all men.

SOMETIMES WITH ONE I LOVE.


SOMETIMES with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse
         unreturn'd love,
But now I think there is no unreturn'd love, the pay is certain one
         way or another,
(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return'd,
Yet out of that I have written these songs.)

TO A WESTERN BOY.


MANY things to absorb I teach to help you become eleve of mine;
Yet if blood like mine circle not in your veins,
If you be not silently selected by lovers and do not silently select
         lovers,
Of what use is it that you seek to become eleve of mine?

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FAST ANCHOR'D ETERNAL O LOVE!


FAST-ANCHOR'D eternal O love! O woman I love!
O bride! O wife! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of
         you!
Then separate, as disembodied or another born,
Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation,
I ascend, I float in the regions of your love O man,
O sharer of my roving life.

AMONG THE MULTITUDE.


AMONG the men and women the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother,
         child, any nearer than I am,
Some are baffled, but that one is not—that one knows me.

Ah lover and perfect equal,
I meant that you should discover me so by faint indirections,
And I when I meet you mean to discover you by the like in you.

O YOU WHOM I OFTEN AND SILENTLY COME.


O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are that I may
         be with you,
As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room
         with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is play-
         ing within me.

THAT SHADOW MY LIKENESS.


THAT shadow my likeness that goes to and fro seeking a liveli-
         hood, chattering, chaffering,
How often I find myself standing and looking at it where it
         flits,
How often I question and doubt whether that is really me;
But among my lovers and caroling these songs,
O I never doubt whether that is really me.

FULL OF LIFE NOW.


FULL of life now, compact, visible,
I, forty years old the eighty-third year of the States,

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To one a century hence or any number of centuries hence,
To you yet unborn these, seeking you.

When you read these I that was visible am become invisible,
Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me,
Fancying how happy you were if I could be with you and become
         your comrade;
Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now
         with you.)

SALUT AU MONDE!


1


O TAKE my hand Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!
Such join'd unended links, each hook'd to the next,
Each answering all, each sharing the earth with all.

What widens within you Walt Whitman?
What waves and soils exuding?
What climes? what persons and cities are here?
Who are the infants, some playing, some slumbering?
Who are the girls? who are the married women?
Who are the groups of old men going slowly with their arms about
         each other's necks?
What rivers are these? what forests and fruits are these?
What are the mountains call'd that rise so high in the mists?
What myriads of dwellings are they fill'd with dwellers?

2


Within me latitude widens, longitude lengthens,
Asia, Africa, Europe, are to the east—America is provided for in
         the west,
Banding the bulge of the earth winds the hot equator,
Curiously north and south turn the axis-ends,
Within me is the longest day, the sun wheels in slanting rings, it
         does not set for months,
Stretch'd in due time within me the midnight sun just rises above
         the horizon and sinks again,
Within me zones, seas, cataracts, forests, volcanoes, groups,
Malaysia, Polynesia, and the great West Indian islands.

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3


What do you hear Walt Whitman?

I hear the workman singing and the farmer's wife singing,
I hear in the distance the sounds of children and of animals early
         in the day,
I hear emulous shouts of Australians pursuing the wild horse,
I hear the Spanish dance with castanets in the chestnut shade, to
         the rebeck and guitar,
I hear continual echoes from the Thames,
I hear fierce French liberty songs,
I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recitative of old
         poems,
I hear the locusts in Syria as they strike the grain and grass with
         the showers of their terrible clouds,
I hear the Coptic refrain toward sundown, pensively falling on the
         breast of the black venerable vast mother the Nile,
I hear the chirp of the Mexican muleteer, and the bells of the
         mule,
I hear the Arab muezzin calling from the top of the mosque,
I hear the Christian priests at the altars of their churches, I hear
         the responsive base and soprano,
I hear the cry of the Cossack, and the sailor's voice putting to sea
         at Okotsk,
I hear the wheeze of the slave-coffle as the slaves march on, as
         the husky gangs pass on by twos and threes, fasten'd together
         with wrist-chains and ankle-chains,
I hear the Hebrew reading his records and psalms,
I hear the rhythmic myths of the Greeks, and the strong legends
         of the Romans,
I hear the tale of the divine life and bloody death of the beautiful
         God the Christ,
I hear the Hindoo teaching his favorite pupil the loves, wars,
         adages, transmitted safely to this day from poets who wrote
         three thousand years ago.

4


What do you see Walt Whitman?
Who are they you salute, and that one after another salute you?

I see a great round wonder rolling through space,
I see diminute farms, hamlets, ruins, graveyards, jails, factories,
         palaces, hovels, huts of barbarians, tents of nomads upon
         the surface,

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I see the shaded part on one side where the sleepers are sleeping,
         and the sunlit part on the other side,
I see the curious rapid change of the light and shade,
I see distant lands, as real and near to the inhabitants of them as
         my land is to me.

I see plenteous waters,
I see mountain peaks, I see the sierras of Andes where they range,
I see plainly the Himalayas, Chian Shahs, Altays, Ghauts,
I see the giant pinnacles of Elbruz, Kazbek, Bazardjusi,
I see the Styrian Alps, and the Karnac Alps,
I see the Pyrenees, Balks, Carpathians, and to the north the
         Dofrafields, and off at sea mount Hecla,
I see Vesuvius and Etna, the mountains of the Moon, and the
         Red mountains of Madagascar,
I see the Lybian, Arabian, and Asiatic deserts,
I see huge dreadful Arctic and Antarctic icebergs,
I see the superior oceans and the inferior ones, the Atlantic and
         Pacific, the sea of Mexico, the Brazilian sea, and the sea
         of Peru,
The waters of Hindustan, the China sea, and the gulf of Guinea,
The Japan waters, the beautiful bay of Nagasaki land-lock'd in its
         mountains,
The spread of the Baltic, Caspian, Bothnia, the British shores, and
         the bay of Biscay,
The clear-sunn'd Mediterranean, and from one to another of its
         islands,
The White sea, and the sea around Greenland.

I behold the mariners of the world,
Some are in storms, some in the night with the watch on the look-
         out,
Some drifting helplessly, some with contagious diseases.

I behold the sail and steamships of the world, some in clusters in
         port, some on their voyages,
Some double the cape of Storms, some cape Verde, others capes
         Guardafui, Bon, or Bajadore,
Others Dondra head, others pass the straits of Sunda, others cape
         Lopatka, others Behring's straits,
Others cape Horn, others sail the gulf of Mexico or along Cuba
         or Hayti, others Hudson's bay or Baffin's bay,
Others pass the straits of Dover, others enter the Wash, others the
         firth of Solway, others round cape Clear, others the Land's
         End,

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Others traverse the Zuyder Zee or the Scheld,
Others as comers and goers at Gibraltar or the Dardanelles,
Others sternly push their way through the northern winter-packs,
Others descend or ascend the Obi or the Lena,
Others the Niger or the Congo, others the Indus, the Burampooter
         and Cambodia,
Others wait steam'd up ready to start in the ports of Australia,
Wait at Liverpool, Glasgow, Dublin, Marseilles, Lisbon, Naples,
         Hamburg, Bremen, Bordeaux, the Hague, Copenhagen,
Wait at Valparaiso, Rio Janeiro, Panama.

5


I see the tracks of the railroads of the earth,
I see them in Great Britain, I see them in Europe,
I see them in Asia and in Africa.

I see the electric telegraphs of the earth,
I see the filaments of the news of the wars, deaths, losses, gains,
         passions, of my race.

I see the long river-stripes of the earth,
I see the Amazon and the Paraguay,
I see the four great rivers of China, the Amour, the Yellow River,
         the Yiang-tse, and the Pearl,
I see where the Seine flows, and where the Danube, the Loire, the
         Rhone, and the Guadalquiver flow,
I see the windings of the Volga, the Dnieper, the Oder,
I see the Tuscan going down the Arno, and the Venetian along
         the Po,
I see the Greek seaman sailing out of Egina bay.

6


I see the site of the old empire of Assyria, and that of Persia, and
         that of India,
I see the falling of the Ganges over the high rim of Saukara.

I see the place of the idea of the Deity incarnated by avatars in
         human forms,
I see the spots of the successions of priests on the earth, oracles,
         sacrificers, brahmins, sabians, llamas, monks, muftis, ex-
         horters,
I see where druids walk'd the groves of Mona, I see the mistletoe
         and vervain,
I see the temples of the deaths of the bodies of Gods, I see the
         old signifiers.

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I see Christ eating the bread of his last supper in the midst of
         youths and old persons,
I see where the strong divine young man the Hercules toil'd faith-
         fully and long and then died,
I see the place of the innocent rich life and hapless fate of the
         beautiful nocturnal son, the full-limb'd Bacchus,
I see Kneph, blooming, drest in blue, with the crown of feathers
         on his head,
I see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-belov'd, saying to the
         people Do not weep for me,
This is not my true country, I have lived banish'd from my true
          country, I now go back there,
I return to the celestial sphere where every one goes in his turn.

7


I see the battle-fields of the earth, grass grows upon them and
         blossoms and corn,
I see the tracks of ancient and modern expeditions.

I see the nameless masonries, venerable messages of the unknown
         events, heroes, records of the earth.

I see the places of the sagas,
I see pine-trees and fir-trees torn by northern blasts,
I see granite bowlders and cliffs, I see green meadows and lakes,
I see the burial-cairns of Scandinavian warriors,
I see them raised high with stones by the marge of restless oceans,
         that the dead men's spirits when they wearied of their quiet
         graves might rise up through the mounds and gaze on the
         tossing billows, and be refresh'd by storms, immensity,
         liberty, action.

I see the steppes of Asia,
I see the tumuli of Mongolia, I see the tents of Kalmucks and
         Baskirs,
I see the nomadic tribes with herds of oxen and cows,
I see the table-lands notch'd with ravines, I see the jungles and
         deserts,
I see the camel, the wild steed, the bustard, the fat-tail'd sheep,
         the antelope, and the burrowing wolf.

I see the highlands of Abyssinia,
I see flocks of goats feeding, and see the fig-tree, tamarind, date,
And see fields of teff-wheat and places of verdure and gold.

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I see the Brazilian vaquero,
I see the Bolivian ascending mount Sorata,
I see the Wacho crossing the plains, I see the incomparable rider
         of horses with his lasso on his arm,
I see over the pampas the pursuit of wild cattle for their hides.

8


I see the regions of snow and ice,
I see the sharp- eyed Samoiede and the Finn,
I see the seal-seeker in his boat poising his lance,
I see the Siberian on his slight-built sledge drawn by dogs,
I see the porpoise-hunters, I see the whale-crews of the south Pa-
         cific and the north Atlantic,
I see the cliffs, glaciers, torrents, valleys, of Switzerland—I mark
         the long winters and the isolation.

I see the cities of the earth and make myself at random a part of
         them,
I am a real Parisian,
I am a habitan of Vienna, St. Petersburg, Berlin, Constantinople,
I am of Adelaide, Sidney, Melbourne,
I am of London, Manchester, Bristol, Edinburgh, Limerick,
I am of Madrid, Cadiz, Barcelona, Oporto, Lyons, Brussels, Berne,
         Frankfort, Stuttgart, Turin, Florence,
I belong in Moscow, Cracow, Warsaw, or northward in Christiania
         or Stockholm, or in Siberian Irkutsk, or in some street in
         Iceland,
I descend upon all those cities, and rise from them again.

10


I see vapors exhaling from unexplored countries,
I see the savage types, the bow and arrow, the poison'd splint, the
         fetich, and the obi.

I see African and Asiatic towns,
I see Algiers, Tripoli, Derne, Mogadore, Timbuctoo, Monrovia,
I see the swarms of Pekin, Canton, Benares, Delhi, Calcutta, Tokio,
I see the Kruman in his hut, and the Dahoman and Ashantee-man
         in their huts,
I see the Turk smoking opium in Aleppo,
I see the picturesque crowds at the fairs of Khiva and those of
         Herat,
I see Teheran, I see Muscat and Medina and the intervening sands,
         I see the caravans toiling onward,

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I see Egypt and the Egyptians, I see the pyramids and obelisks,
I look on chisell'd histories, records of conquering kings, dynasties,
         cut in slabs of sand-stone, or on granite-blocks,
I see at Memphis mummy-pits containing mummies embalm'd,
         swathed in linen cloth, lying there many centuries,
I look on the fall'n Theban, the large-ball'd eyes, the side-drooping
         neck, the hands folded across the breast.

I see all the menials of the earth, laboring,
I see all the prisoners in the prisons,
I see the defective human bodies of the earth,
The blind, the deaf and dumb, idiots, hunchbacks, lunatics,
The pirates, thieves, betrayers, murderers, slave-makers of the earth,
The helpless infants, and the helpless old men and women.

I see male and female everywhere,
I see the serene brotherhood of philosophs,
I see the constructiveness of my race,
I see the results of the perseverance and industry of my race,
I see ranks, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, I go among them, I
         mix indiscriminately,
And I salute all the inhabitants of the earth.

11


You whoever you are!
You daughter or son of England!
You of the mighty Slavic tribes and empires! you Russ in Russia!
You dim-descended, black, divine-soul'd African, large, fine-
         headed, nobly-form'd, superbly destin'd, on equal terms
          with me!
You Norwegian! Swede! Dane! Icelander! you Prussian!
You Spaniard of Spain! you Portuguese!
You Frenchwoman and Frenchman of France!
You Belge! you liberty-lover of the Netherlands! (you stock
         whence I myself have descended;)
You sturdy Austrian! you Lombard! Hun! Bohemian! farmer of
         Styria!
You neighbor of the Danube!
You working-man of the Rhine, the Elbe, or the Weser! you
         working-woman too!
You Sardinian! you Bavarian! Swabian! Saxon! Wallachian!
         Bulgarian!
You Roman! Neapolitan! you Greek!
You lithe matador in the arena at Seville!
You mountaineer living lawlessly on the Taurus or Caucasus!

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You Bokh horse-herd watching your mares and stallions feeding!
You beautiful-bodied Persian at full speed in the saddle shooting
         arrows to the mark!
You Chinaman and Chinawoman of China! You Tartar of Tartary!
You women of the earth subordinated at your tasks!
You Jew journeying in your old age through every risk to stand
         once on Syrian ground!
You other Jews waiting in all lands for your Messiah!
You thoughtful Armenian pondering by some stream of the Eu-
         phrates! you peering amid the ruins of Nineveh! you
         ascending mount Ararat!
You foot-worn pilgrim welcoming the far-away sparkle of the
         minarets of Mecca!
You sheiks along the stretch from Suez to Bab-el-mandeb ruling
         your families and tribes!
You olive-grower tending your fruit on fields of Nazareth, Damas-
         cus, or lake Tiberias!
You Thibet trader on the wide inland or bargaining in the shops
         of Lassa!
You Japanese man or woman! you liver in Madagascar, Ceylon,
         Sumatra, Borneo!
All you continentals of Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, indifferent
         of place!
All you on the numberless islands of the archipelagoes of the sea!
And you of centuries hence when you listen to me!
And you each and everywhere whom I specify not, but include
         just the same!
Health to you! good will to you all, from me and America sent!

Each of us inevitable,
Each of us limitless—each of us with his or her right upon the
         earth,
Each of us allow'd the eternal purports of the earth,
Each of us here as divinely as any is here.

12


You Hottentot with clicking palate! you woolly-hair'd hordes!
You own'd persons dropping sweat-drops or blood-drops!
You human forms with the fathomless ever-impressive counte-
         nances of brutes!
You poor koboo whom the meanest of the rest look down upon
         for all your glimmering language and spirituality!
You dwarf'd Kamtschatkan, Greenlander, Lapp!
You Austral negro, naked, red, sooty, with protrusive lip, groveling,
         seeking your food!

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You Caffre, Berber, Soudanese!
You haggard, uncouth, untutor'd Bedowee!
You plague-swarms in Madras, Nankin, Kaubul, Cairo!
You benighted roamer of Amazonia! you Patagonian! you Feejee-
         man!
I do not prefer others so very much before you either,
I do not say one word against you, away back there where you
         stand,
(You will come forward in due time to my side.)

13


My spirit has pass'd in compassion and determination around the
         whole earth,
I have look'd for equals and lovers and found them ready for me
         in all lands,
I think some divine rapport has equalized me with them.

You vapors, I think I have risen with you, moved away to distant
         continents, and fallen down there, for reasons,
I think I have blown with you you winds;
You waters I have finger'd every shore with you,
I have run through what any river or strait of the globe has run
         through,
I have taken my stand on the bases of peninsulas and on the high
         embedded rocks, to cry thence:

Salut au monde!
What cities the light or warmth penetrates I penetrate those cities
         myself,
All islands to which birds wing their way I wing my way myself.

Toward you all, in America's name,
I raise high the perpendicular hand, I make the signal,
To remain after me in sight forever,
For all the haunts and homes of men.

SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD.


1


AFOOT and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

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Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)

2


You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all
         that is here,
I believe that much unseen is also here.

Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial,
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the illiterate
         person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the
         drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping
         couple,
The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the
         town, the return back from the town,
They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,
None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.

3


You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them
         shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear
         to me.

You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined
         sides! you distant ships!

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You rows of houses! you window-pierc'd façades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!
From all that has touch'd you I believe you have imparted to
         yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,
From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive
         surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and
         amicable with me.

4


The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
The picture alive, every part in its best light,
The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is
         not wanted,
The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of
         the road.

O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me?
Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost?
Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and un-
          denied, adhere to me?

O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love
         you,
You express me better than I can express myself,
You shall be more to me than my poem.

I think heroic deeds were all conceiv'd in the open air, and all
         free poems also,
I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and who-
         ever beholds me shall like me,
I think whoever I see must be happy.

5


From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary
         lines,
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
Listening to others, considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds
         that would hold me.

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I inhale great draughts of space,
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are
         mine.

I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me,
I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good
         to me I would do the same to you,
I will recruit for myself and you as I go,
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,
I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,
Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,
Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.

6


Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze
         me,
Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear'd it would
         not astonish me.

Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.

Here a great personal deed has room,
(Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,
Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all
         authority and all argument against it.)

Here is the test of wisdom,
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it to another not
         having it,
Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the
         excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes
         it out of the soul.

Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under
         the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing
         currents.

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Here is realization,
Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him,
The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you,
         you are vacant of them.

Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?

Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion'd, it is apropos;
Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers?
Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?

7


Here is the efflux of the soul,
The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower'd
         gates, ever provoking questions,
These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness
         why are they?
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the
         sunlight expands my blood?
Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious
         thoughts descend upon me?
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and
         always drop fruit as I pass;)
What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side?
What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I
         walk by and pause?
What gives me to be free to a woman's and man's good-will?
         what gives them to be free to mine?

8


The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,
Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.

Here rises the fluid and attaching character,
The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness
         of man and woman,
(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every
         day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh
         and sweet continually out of itself.)

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Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the
         love of young and old,
From it falls distill'd the charm that mocks beauty and attainments,
Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.

9


Allons! whoever you are come travel with me!
Traveling with me you find what never tires.

The earth never tires,
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude
         and incomprehensible at first,
Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd,
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words
         can tell.

Allons! we must not stop here,
However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwell-
         ing we cannot remain here,
However shelter'd this port and however calm these waters we
         must not anchor here,
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are per-
         mitted to receive it but a little while.

10


Allons! the inducements shall be greater,
We will sail pathless and wild seas,
We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper
         speeds by under full sail.

Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements,
Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;
Allons! from all formules!
From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests.

The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no
         longer.

Allons! yet take warning!
He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance,
None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health,
Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself,
Only those may come who come in sweet and determin'd bodies,
No diseas'd person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted
         here.

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(I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes,
We convince by our presence.)

11


Listen! I will be honest with you,
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes,
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is call'd riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,
You but arrive at the city to which you were destin'd, you hardly
         settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call'd by an
         irresistible call to depart,
You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those
         who remain behind you,
What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with
         passionate kisses of parting,
You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach'd
         hands toward you.

12


Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them!
They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—
         they are the greatest women,
Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of
         children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of
         coffins,
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious
         years each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their
         bearded and well-grain'd manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass'd, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or woman-
         hood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the
         universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.

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13


Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights
         they tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys,
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it
         and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you,
         however long but it stretches and waits for you,
To see no being, not God's or any, but you also go thither,
To see no possession, but you may possess it, enjoying all without
         labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting
         one particle of it,
To take the best of the farmer's farm and the rich man's elegant
         villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple,
         and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter
         them, to gather the love out of their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave
         them behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for
         traveling souls.

All parts away for the progress of souls,
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is
         apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and
         corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads
         of the universe.

Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand
         roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed
         emblem and sustenance.

Forever alive, forever forward,
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble,
         dissatisfied,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where
         they go,
But I know that they go toward the best—toward something
         great.

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Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house,
         though you built it, or though it has been built for you.

Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen!
It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it.

Behold through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash'd and
         trimm'd faces,
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.

No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession,
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and
         bland in the parlors,
In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bed-
         room, everywhere,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under
         the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial
         flowers,
Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,
Speaking of any thing else but never of itself.

14


Allons! through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.

Have the past struggles succeeded?
What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature?
Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things
         that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall
         come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.

My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion,
He going with me must go well arm'd,
He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry
         enemies, desertions.

15


Allons! the road is before us!
It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be
         not detain'd!

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Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the
         shelf unopen'd!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain
         unearn'd!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the
         court, and the judge expound the law.

Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY.


1


FLOOD-TIDE below me! I see you face to face!
Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you
         also face to face.

Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how
         curious you are to me!
On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, return-
         ing home, are more curious to me than you suppose,
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are
         more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might
         suppose.

2


The impalpable sustenance of me from all things at all hours of
         the day,
The simple, compact, well-join'd scheme, myself disintegrated,
         every one disintegrated yet part of the scheme,
The similitudes of the past and those of the future,
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings,
         on the walk in the street and the passage over the river,
The current rushing so swiftly and swimming with me far away,
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them,
The certainty of others, the life, love, sight, hearing of others.

Others will enter the gates of the ferry and cross from shore to
         shore,

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Others will watch the run of the flood-tide,
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and
         the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east,
Others will see the islands large and small;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half
         an hour high,
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence,
         others will see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring-in of the flood-tide, the falling-
         back to the sea of the ebb-tide.

3


It avails not, time nor place—distance avails not,
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so
         many generations hence,
Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt,
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd,
Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the
         bright flow, I was refresh'd,
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift
         current, I stood yet was hurried,
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships and the thick-
         stemm'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd.

I too many and many a time cross'd the river of old,
Watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls, saw them high in the air
         floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
Saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies and left
         the rest in strong shadow,
Saw the slow-wheeling circles and the gradual edging toward the
         south,
Saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams,
Look'd at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the shape of
         my head in the sunlit water,
Look'd on the haze on the hills southward and south-westward,
Look'd on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet,
Look'd toward the lower bay to notice the vessels arriving,
Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me,
Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, saw the ships at anchor,
The sailors at work in the rigging or out astride the spars,
The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender
         serpentine pennants,
The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-
         houses,

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The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of
         the wheels,
The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset,
The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the
         frolicsome crests and glistening,
The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of
         the granite storehouses by the docks,
On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank'd
         on each side by the barges, the hay-boat, the belated
         lighter,
On the neighboring shore the fires from the foundry chimneys
         burning high and glaringly into the night,
Casting their flicker of black contrasted with wild red and yellow
         light over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of
         streets.

4


These and all else were to me the same as they are to you,
I loved well those cities, loved well the stately and rapid river,
The men and women I saw were all near to me,
Others the same—others who look back on me because I look'd
         forward to them,
(The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.)

5


What is it then between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?

Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails
         not,
I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine,
I too walk'd the streets of Manhattan island, and bathed in the
         waters around it,
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,
In the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me,
In my walks home late at night or as I lay in my bed they came
         upon me,
I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution,
I too had receiv'd identity by my body,
That I was I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew
         I should be of my body.

6


It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall,
The dark threw its patches down upon me also,

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The best I had done seem'd to me blank and suspicious,
My great thoughts as I supposed them, were they not in reality
         meagre?
Nor is it you alone who know what it is to be evil,
I am he who knew what it was to be evil,
I too knitted the old knot of contrariety,
Blabb'd, blush'd, resented, lied, stole, grudg'd,
Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak,
Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant,
The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me,
The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not
         wanting,
Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these
         wanting,
Was one with the rest, the days and haps of the rest,
Was call'd by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men
         as they saw me approaching or passing,
Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of
         their flesh against me as I sat,
Saw many I loved in the street or ferry-boat or public assembly,
         yet never told them a word,
Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing,
         sleeping,
Play'd the part that still looks back on the actor or actress,
The same old role, the role that is what we make it, as great as we
         like,
Or as small as we like, or both great and small.

7


Closer yet I approach you,
What thought you have of me now, I had as much of you—I laid
         in my stores in advance,
I consider'd long and seriously of you before you were born.

Who was to know what should come home to me?
Who knows but I am enjoying this?
Who knows, for all the distance, but I am as good as looking at
         you now, for all you cannot see me?

8


Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than mast-
         hemm'd Manhattan?
River and sunset and scallop-edg'd waves of flood-tide?
The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight,
         and the belated lighter?

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What gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with
         voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest
         name as I approach?
What is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man
         that looks in my face?
Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you?

We understand then do we not?
What I promis'd without mentioning it, have you not accepted?
What the study could not teach—what the preaching could not
         accomplish is accomplish'd, is it not?

9


Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-
         tide!
Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg'd waves!
Gorgeous clouds of the sunset! drench with your splendor me, or
         the men and women generations after me!
Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers!
Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta! stand up, beautiful hills of
         Brooklyn!
Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers!
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution!
Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house or street or public
         assembly!
Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically call me by
         my nighest name!
Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress!
Play the old role, the role that is great or small according as one
         makes it!
Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown
         ways be looking upon you;
Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet
         haste with the hasting current;
Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in
         the air;
Receive the summer sky, you water, and faithfully hold it till all
         downcast eyes have time to take it from you!
Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any
         one's head, in the sunlit water!
Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down, white-sail'd
         schooners, sloops, lighters!
Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower'd at sunset!
Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at
         nightfall! cast red and yellow light over the tops of the
         houses!

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Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are,
You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul,
About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung out
         divinest aromas,
Thrive, cities—bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and
         sufficient rivers,
Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual,
Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting.

You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers,
We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate hence-
         forward,
Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves
         from us,
We use you, and do not cast you aside—we plant you perma-
         nently within us,
We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also,
You furnish your parts toward eternity,
Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul.

SONG OF THE ANSWERER.


1


NOW list to my morning's romanza, I tell the signs of the Answerer,
To the cities and farms I sing as they spread in the sunshine
         before me.

A young man comes to me bearing a message from his brother,
How shall the young man know the whether and when of his
         brother?
Tell him to send me the signs.

And I stand before the young man face to face, and take his right
         hand in my left hand and his left hand in my right hand,
And I answer for his brother and for men, and I answer for him
         that answers for all, and send these signs.

Him all wait for, him all yield up to, his word is decisive and final,
Him they accept, in him lave, in him perceive themselves as amid
         light,
Him they immerse and he immerses them.

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Beautiful women, the haughtiest nations, laws, the landscape,
         people, animals,
The profound earth and its attributes and the unquiet ocean, (so
         tell I my morning's romanza,)
All enjoyments and properties and money, and whatever money
         will buy,
The best farms, others toiling and planting and he unavoidably
         reaps,
The noblest and costliest cities, others grading and building and
         he domiciles there,
Nothing for any one but what is for him, near and far are for him,
         the ships in the offing,
The perpetual shows and marches on land are for him if they are
         for anybody.

He puts things in their attitudes,
He puts to-day out of himself with plasticity and love,
He places his own times, reminiscences, parents, brothers and
         sisters, associations, employment, politics, so that the rest
         never shame them afterward, nor assume to command
         them.

He is the Answerer,
What can be answer'd he answers, and what cannot be answer'd
         he shows how it cannot be answer'd.

A man is a summons and challenge,
(It is vain to skulk—do you hear that mocking and laughter? do
         you hear the ironical echoes?)

Books, friendships, philosophers, priests, action, pleasure, pride,
         beat up and down seeking to give satisfaction,
He indicates the satisfaction, and indicates them that beat up and
         down also.

Whichever the sex, whatever the season or place, he may go freshly
         and gently and safely by day or by night,
He has the pass-key of hearts, to him the response of the prying
         of hands on the knobs.

His welcome is universal, the flow of beauty is not more welcome
         or universal than he is,
The person he favors by day or sleeps with at night is blessed.

Every existence has its idiom, every thing has an idiom and tongue,

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He resolves all tongues into his own and bestows it upon men, and
         any man translates, and any man translates himself also,
One part does not counteract another part, he is the joiner, he
         sees how they join.

He says indifferently and alike How are you friend? to the
         President at his levee,
And he says Good-day my brother, to Cudge that hoes in the
         sugar-field,
And both understand him and know that his speech is right.

He walks with perfect ease in the capitol,
He walks among the Congress, and one Representative says to
         another, Here is our equal appearing and new.

Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic,
And the soldiers suppose him to be a soldier, and the sailors that
         he has follow'd the sea,
And the authors take him for an author, and the artists for an
         artist,
And the laborers perceive he could labor with them and love them,
No matter what the work is, that he is the one to follow it or has
         follow'd it,
No matter what the nation, that he might find his brothers and
         sisters there.

The English believe he comes of their English stock,
A Jew to the Jew he seems, a Russ to the Russ, usual and near,
         removed from none.

Whoever he looks at in the traveler's coffee-house claims him,
The Italian or Frenchman is sure, the German is sure, the Spaniard
         is sure, and the island Cuban is sure,
The engineer, the deck-hand on the great lakes, or on the Missis-
         sippi or St. Lawrence or Sacramento, or Hudson or Pau-
         manok sound, claims him.

The gentleman of perfect blood acknowledges his perfect blood,
The insulter, the prostitute, the angry person, the beggar, see
         themselves in the ways of him, he strangely transmutes them,
They are not vile any more, they hardly know themselves they are
         so grown.

2


The indications and tally of time,
Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs,

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Time, always without break, indicates itself in parts,
What always indicates the poet is the crowd of the pleasant com-
         pany of singers, and their words,
The words of the singers are the hours or minutes of the light or
         dark, but the words of the maker of poems are the general
         light and dark,
The maker of poems settles justice, reality, immortality,
His insight and power encircle things and the human race,
He is the glory and extract thus far of things and of the human
         race.

The singers do not beget, only the Poet begets,
The singers are welcom'd, understood, appear often enough, but
         rare has the day been, likewise the spot, of the birth of the
         maker of poems, the Answerer,
(Not every century nor every five centuries has contain'd such a
         day, for all its names.)

The singers of successive hours of centuries may have ostensible
         names, but the name of each of them is one of the singers,
The name of each is, eye-singer, ear-singer, head-singer, sweet-
         singer, night-singer, parlor-singer, love-singer, weird-singer,
         or something else.

All this time and at all times wait the words of true poems,
The words of true poems do not merely please,
The true poets are not followers of beauty but the august masters
         of beauty;
The greatness of sons is the exuding of the greatness of mothers
         and fathers,
The words of true poems are the tuft and final applause of science.

Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of reason, health, rudeness
         of body, withdrawnness,
Gayety, sun-tan, air-sweetness, such are some of the words of poems.

The sailor and traveler underlie the makers of poems, the Answerer,
The builder, geometer, chemist, anatomist, phrenologist, artist, all
         these underlie the maker of poems, the Answerer.

The words of the true poems give you more than poems,
They give you to form for yourself poems, religions, politics, war,
         peace, behavior, histories, essays, daily life, and every thing
         else,
They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes,

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They do not seek beauty, they are sought,
Forever touching them or close upon them follows beauty, longing,
         fain, love-sick.

They prepare for death, yet are they not the finish, but rather the
         outset,
They bring none to his or her terminus or to be content and full,
Whom they take they take into space to behold the birth of stars,
         to learn one of the meanings,
To launch off with absolute faith, to sweep through the ceaseless
         rings and never be quiet again.

OUR OLD FEUILLAGE.


ALWAYS our old feuillage!
Always Florida's green peninsula—always the priceless delta of
         Louisiana—always the cotton-fields of Alabama and Texas,
Always California's golden hills and hollows, and the silver moun-
         tains of New Mexico—always soft-breath'd Cuba,
Always the vast slope drain'd by the Southern sea, inseparable with
         the slopes drain'd by the Eastern and Western seas,
The area the eighty-third year of these States, the three and a half
         millions of square miles,
The eighteen thousand miles of sea-coast and bay-coast on the
         main, the thirty thousand miles of river navigation,
The seven millions of distinct families and the same number of
         dwellings—always these, and more, branching forth into
         numberless branches,
Always the free range and diversity—always the continent of
         Democracy;
Always the prairies, pastures, forests, vast cities, travelers, Kanada,
         the snows;
Always these compact lands tied at the hips with the belt stringing
         the huge oval lakes;
Always the West with strong native persons, the increasing density
         there, the habitans, friendly, threatening, ironical, scorning
         invaders;
All sights, South, North, East—all deeds, promiscuously done at
         all times,
All characters, movements, growths, a few noticed, myriads unno-
         ticed,
Through Mannahatta's streets I walking, these things gathering,

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On interior rivers by night in the glare of pine knots, steamboats
         wooding up,
Sunlight by day on the valley of the Susquehanna, and on the
         valleys of the Potomac and Rappahannock, and the valleys
         of the Roanoke and Delaware,
In their northerly wilds beasts of prey haunting the Adirondacks
         the hills, or lapping the Saginaw waters to drink,
In a lonesome inlet a sheldrake lost from the flock, sitting on the
         water rocking silently,
In farmers' barns oxen in the stable, their harvest labor done, they
         rest standing, they are too tired,
Afar on arctic ice the she-walrus lying drowsily while her cubs play
         around,
The hawk sailing where men have not yet sail'd, the farthest polar
         sea, ripply, crystalline, open, beyond the floes,
White drift spooning ahead where the ship in the tempest dashes,
On solid land what is done in cities as the bells strike midnight
         together,
In primitive woods the sounds there also sounding, the howl of the
         wolf, the scream of the panther, and the hoarse bellow of
         the elk,
In winter beneath the hard blue ice of Moosehead lake, in summer
         visible through the clear waters, the great trout swimming,
In lower latitudes in warmer air in the Carolinas the large black
         buzzard floating slowly high beyond the tree tops,
Below, the red cedar festoon'd with tylandria, the pines and
         cypresses growing out of the white sand that spreads far
         and flat,
Rude boats descending the big Pedee, climbing plants, parasites
         with color'd flowers and berries enveloping huge trees,
The waving drapery on the live-oak trailing long and low, noise-
         lessly waved by the wind,
The camp of Georgia wagoners just after dark, the supper-fires
         and the cooking and eating by whites and negroes,
Thirty or forty great wagons, the mules, cattle, horses, feeding
         from troughs,
The shadows, gleams, up under the leaves of the old sycamore-
         trees, the flames with the black smoke from the pitch-pine
         curling and rising;
Southern fishermen fishing, the sounds and inlets of North Caro-
         lina's coast, the shad-fishery and the herring-fishery, the
         large sweep-seines, the windlasses on shore work'd by
         horses, the clearing, curing, and packing-houses;
Deep in the forest in piney woods turpentine dropping from the
         incisions in the trees, there are the turpentine works,

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There are the negroes at work in good health, the ground in all
         directions is cover'd with pine straw;
In Tennessee and Kentucky slaves busy in the coalings, at the
         forge, by the furnace-blaze, or at the corn-shucking,
In Virginia, the planter's son returning after a long absence, joy-
         fully welcom'd and kiss'd by the aged mulatto nurse,
On rivers boatmen safely moor'd at nightfall in their boats under
         shelter of high banks,
Some of the younger men dance to the sound of the banjo or
         fiddle, others sit on the gunwale smoking and talking;
Late in the afternoon the mocking-bird, the American mimic,
         singing in the Great Dismal Swamp,
There are the greenish waters, the resinous odor, the plenteous
         moss, the cypress-tree, and the juniper-tree;
Northward, young men of Mannahatta, the target company from
         an excursion returning home at evening, the musket-muz-
         zles all bear bunches of flowers presented by women;
Children at play, or on his father's lap a young boy fallen asleep,
         (how his lips move! how he smiles in his sleep!)
The scout riding on horseback over the plains west of the Missis-
         sippi, he ascends a knoll and sweeps his eyes around;
California life, the miner, bearded, dress'd in his rude costume,
         the stanch California friendship, the sweet air, the graves
         one in passing meets solitary just aside the horse-path;
Down in Texas the cotton-field, the negro-cabins, drivers driving
         mules or oxen before rude carts, cotton bales piled on
         banks and wharves;