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Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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SEA-SHORE MEMORIES.
OUT OF THE CRADLE ENDLESSLY ROCKING.
1
1 OUT of the cradle endlessly rocking, |
Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle, |
Out of the Ninth-month midnight, |
Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the
child, leaving his bed, wander'd alone, bare-
headed, barefoot,
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Down from the shower'd halo, |
Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twist-
ing as if they were alive,
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Out from the patches of briers and blackberries, |
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me, |
From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful
risings and fallings I heard,
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From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and
swollen as if with tears,
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From those beginning notes of sickness and love there
in the transparent mist,
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From the thousand responses of my heart, never to
cease,
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From the myriad thence-arous'd words, |
From the word stronger and more delicious than any, |
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting, |
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing, |
Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly, |
A man—yet by these tears a little boy again, |
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Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves, |
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter, |
Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping
beyond them,
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2
When the snows had melted—when the lilac-scent was
in the air, and the Fifth-month grass was
growing,
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Up this seashore, in some briers, |
Two guests from Alabama—two together, |
And their nest, and four light-green eggs, spotted with
brown,
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And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand, |
And every day the she-bird, crouch'd on her nest, silent,
with bright eyes,
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And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never
disturbing them,
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Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating. |
3
Pour down your warmth, great Sun! |
While we bask—we two together. |
Winds blow South, or winds blow North, |
Day come white, or night come black, |
Home, or rivers and mountains from home, |
Singing all time, minding no time, |
While we two keep together. |
4
May-be kill'd, unknown to her mate, |
One forenoon the she-bird crouch'd not on the nest, |
Nor return'd that afternoon, nor the next, |
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And thenceforward, all summer, in the sound of the
sea,
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And at night, under the full of the moon, in calmer
weather,
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Over the hoarse surging of the sea, |
Or flitting from brier to brier by day, |
I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one, the he-
bird,
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The solitary guest from Alabama. |
5
Blow up, sea-winds, along Paumanok's shore! |
I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me. |
6
8 Yes, when the stars glisten'd, |
All night long, on the prong of a moss-scallop'd stake, |
Down, almost amid the slapping waves, |
Sat the lone singer, wonderful, causing tears. |
He pour'd forth the meanings which I, of all men, know. |
10 Yes, my brother, I know; |
The rest might not—but I have treasur'd every note; |
For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the
beach gliding,
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Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with
the shadows,
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Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the
sounds and sights after their sorts,
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The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, |
I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, |
1 Listen'd, to keep, to sing—now translating the notes, |
Following you, my brother. |
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7
12 Soothe! soothe! soothe! |
Close on its wave soothes the wave behind, |
And again another behind, embracing and lapping, every
one close,
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But my love soothes not me, not me. |
13 Low hangs the moon—it rose late; |
O it is lagging—O I think it is heavy with love, with love. |
14 O madly the sea pushes, pushes upon the land, |
15 O night! do I not see my love fluttering out among
the breakers?
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What is that little black thing I see there in the white? |
Loud I call to you, my love! |
High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves; |
Surely you must know who is here, is here; |
You must know who I am, my love. |
What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow? |
O it is the shape, the shape of my mate! |
O moon, do not keep her from me any longer. |
Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my
mate back again, if you only would;
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For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look. |
Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with
some of you.
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20 O throat! O trembling throat! |
Sound clearer through the atmosphere! |
Pierce the woods, the earth; |
Somewhere listening to catch you, must be the one I want. |
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Solitary here—the night's carols! |
Carols of lonesome love! Death's carols! |
Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon! |
O, under that moon, where she droops almost down into the
sea!
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O reckless, despairing carols. |
Soft! let me just murmur; |
And do you wait a moment, you husky-nois'd sea; |
For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to
me,
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So faint—I must be still, be still to listen; |
But not altogether still, for then she might not come imme-
diately to me.
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With this just-sustain'd note I announce myself to you; |
This gentle call is for you, my love, for you. |
24 Do not be decoy'd elsewhere! |
That is the whistle of the wind—it is not my voice; |
That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray; |
Those are the shadows of leaves. |
25 O darkness! O in vain! |
O I am very sick and sorrowful. |
26 O brown halo in the sky, near the moon, drooping upon
the sea!
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O troubled reflection in the sea! |
O throat! O throbbing heart! |
O all—and I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night. |
27 Yet I murmur, murmor on! |
O murmurs—you yourselves make me continue to sing, I
know not why.
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28 O past! O life! O songs of joy! |
In the air—in the woods—over fields, |
Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved! |
But my love no more, no more with me! |
8
All else continuing—the stars shining, |
The winds blowing—the notes of the bird continuous
echoing,
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With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly
moaning,
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On the sands of Paumanok's shore, gray and rustling; |
The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, droop-
ing, the face of the sea almost touching;
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The boy extatic—with his bare feet the waves, with his
hair the atmosphere dallying,
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The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last
tumultuously bursting,
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The aria's meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly deposit-
ing,
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The strange tears down the cheeks coursing, |
The colloquy there—the trio—each uttering, |
The undertone—the savage old mother, incessantly
crying,
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To the boy's Soul's questions sullenly timing—some
drown'd secret hissing,
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9
30 Demon or bird! (said the boy's soul,) |
Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it mostly
to me?
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For I, that was a child, my tongue's use sleeping, |
Now in a moment I know what I am for—I awake, |
And already a thousand singers—a thousand songs,
clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours,
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A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within
me,
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31 O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself—project-
ing me;
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O solitary me, listening—never more shall I cease per-
petuating you;
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Never more shall I escape, never more the reverbera-
tions,
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Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from
me,
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Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was
before what, there in the night,
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By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon, |
The messenger there arous'd—the fire, the sweet hell
within,
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The unknown want, the destiny of me. |
32 O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here some-
where;)
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O if I am to have so much, let me have more! |
O a word! O what is my destination? (I fear it is hence-
forth chaos;)
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O how joys, dreads, convolutions, humane shapes, and all
shapes, spring as from graves around me!
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O phantoms! You cover all the land and all the sea! |
O I cannot see in the dimness whether you smile or
frown upon me;
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O vapor, a look, a word! O well-beloved! |
O you dear women's and men's phantoms! |
33 A word then, (for I will conquer it,) |
The word final, superior to all, |
Subtle, sent up—what is it?—I listen; |
Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you
sea-waves?
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Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands? |
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34 Whereto answering, the sea, |
Delaying not, hurrying not, |
Whisper'd me through the night, and very plainly be-
fore daybreak,
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Lisp'd to me the low and delicious word DEATH; |
And again Death—ever Death, Death, Death, |
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird, nor like my
arous'd child's heart,
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But edging near, as privately for me, rustling at my
feet,
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Creeping thence steadily up to my ears, and laving me
softly all over,
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Death, Death, Death, Death, Death. |
35 Which I do not forget, |
But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother, |
That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok's
gray beach,
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With the thousand responsive songs, at random, |
My own songs, awaked from that hour; |
And with them the key, the word up from the waves, |
The word of the sweetest song, and all songs, |
That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my
feet,
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AS I EBB'D WITH THE OCEAN OF LIFE.
1
HOW I wish I could impress others as you have just
been impressing me!
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2 As I ebb'd with an an ebb of the ocean of life, |
As I wended the shores I know, |
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As I walk'd where the ripples continually wash you,
Paumanok,
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Where they rustle up, hoarse and sibilant, |
Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her
castaways,
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I, musing, late in the autumn day, gazing off south-
ward,
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Alone, held by this eternal self of me, out of the pride
of which I utter my poems,
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Was seiz'd by the spirit that trails in the lines under-
foot,
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In the rim, the sediment that stands for all the water
and all the land of the globe.
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2
4 As I wend to the shores I know not, |
As I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women
wreck'd,
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As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon
me,
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As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and
closer,
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I, too, but signify, at the utmost, a little wash'd-up
drift,
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A few sands and dead leaves to gather, |
Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and
drift.
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5 O baffled, balk'd, bent to the very earth, |
Oppress'd with myself that I have dared to open my
mouth,
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Aware now, that, amid all that blab whose echoes recoil
upon me, I have not once had the least idea
who or what I am,
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But that before all my arrogant poems the real ME
stands yet untouch'd, untold, altogether un-
reach'd,
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Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory
signs and bows,
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With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I
have written,
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Pointing in silence to these songs, and then to the sand
beneath.
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6 Now I perceive I have not understood any thing—not
a single object—and that no man ever can.
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7 I perceive Nature, here in sight of the sea, is taking
advantage of me, to dart upon me, and sting me,
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Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all. |
3
8 You oceans both! I close with you; |
We murmur alike reproachfully, rolling sands and
drift, knowing not why,
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These little shreds indeed, standing for you and me
and all.
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9 You friable shore, with trails of debris! |
You fish-shaped island! I take what is underfoot; |
What is yours is mine, my father. |
I too have bubbled up, floated the measureless float,
and been wash'd on your shores;
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I too am but a trail of drift and debris; |
I too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish-shaped
island.
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11 I throw myself upon your breast, my father, |
I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me, |
I hold you so firm, till you answer me something. |
Touch me with your lips, as I touch those I love, |
Breathe to me, while I hold you close, the secret of the
murmuring I envy.
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4
13 Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will return,) |
Cease not your moaning, you fierce old mother, |
Endlessly cry for your castaways—but fear not, deny
not me,
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Rustle not up so hoarse and angry against my feet, as I
touch you, or gather from you.
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14 I mean tenderly by you and all, |
I gather for myself, and for this phantom, looking down
where we lead, and following me and mine.
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We, loose windrows, little corpses, |
Froth, snowy white, and bubbles, |
(See! from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last! |
See—the prismatic colors glistening and rolling!) |
Tufts of straw, sands, fragments, |
Buoy'd hither from many moods, one contradicting
another,
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From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the swell; |
Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of
liquid or soil;
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Up just as much out of fathomless workings fermented
and thrown;
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A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves
floating, drifted at random;
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Just as much for us that sobbing dirge of Nature; |
Just as much, whence we come, that blare of the cloud-
trumpets;
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We, capricious, brought hither we know not whence,
spread out before you,
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You, up there, walking or sitting, |
Whoever you are—we too lie in drifts at your feet. |
TEARS.
In the night, in solitude, tears; |
On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the
sand;
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Tears—not a star shining—all dark and desolate; |
Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head: |
—O who is that ghost?—that form in the dark, with
tears?
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What shapeless lump is that, bent, crouch'd there on
the sand?
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Streaming tears—sobbing tears—throes, choked with
wild cries;
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O storm, embodied, rising, careering, with swift steps
along the beach;
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O wild and dismal night storm, with wind! O belching
and desperate!
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O shade, so sedate and decorous by day, with calm
countenance and regulated pace;
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But away, at night, as you fly, none looking—O then
the unloosen'd ocean,
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ABOARD, AT A SHIP'S HELM.
1 ABOARD at a ship's helm, |
A young steersman, steering with care. |
2 A bell through fog on a sea-coast dolefully ringing, |
An ocean-bell—O a warning bell, rock'd by the waves. |
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3 O you give good notice indeed, you bell by the sea-
reefs ringing,
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Ringing, ringing, to warn the ship from its wreck-place. |
4 For, as on the alert, O steersman, you mind the bell's
admonition,
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The bows turn,—the freighted ship, tacking, speeds
away under her gray sails,
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The beautiful and noble ship, with all her precious
wealth speeds away gayly and safe.
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5 But O the ship, the immortal ship! O ship aboard the
ship!
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O ship of the body—ship of the soul—voyaging, voyag-
ing, voyaging.
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ON THE BEACH, AT NIGHT.
1
1 ON the beach, at night, |
Stands a child, with her father, |
Watching the east, the autumn sky. |
2 Up through the darkness, |
While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black
masses spreading,
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Lower, sullen and fast, athwart and down the sky, |
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the
east,
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Ascends, large and calm, the lord-star Jupiter; |
And nigh at hand, only a very little above, |
Swim the delicate brothers, the Pleiades. |
2
3 From the beach, the child, holding the hand of her
father,
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Those burial-clouds that lower, victorious, soon to de-
vour all,
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Watching, silently weeps. |
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With these kisses let me remove your tears; |
The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious, |
They shall not long possess the sky—shall devour the
stars only inapparition:
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Jupiter shall emerge—be patient—watch again
another night—the Pleiades shall emerge,
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They are immortal—all those stars, both silvery and
golden, shall shine out again,
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The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again—
they endure;
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The vast immortal suns, and the long-enduring pensive
moons, shall again shine.
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3
5 Then, dearest child, mournest thou only for Jupiter? |
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars? |
(With my lips soothing thee, adding, I whisper, |
I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indi-
rection,)
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Something there is more immortal even than the stars, |
(Many the burials, many the days and night, passing
away,)
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Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous
Jupiter,
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Longer than sun, or any revolving satellite, |
Or the radiant brothers, the Pleiades. |
THE WORLD BELOW THE BRINE.
THE world below the brine; |
Forests at the bottom of the sea—the branches and
leaves,
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Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seeds—
the thick tangle, the openings, and the pink turf,
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Different colors, pale gray and green, purple, white,
and gold—the play of light through the water,
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Dumb swimmers there among the rocks—coral, gluten,
grass, rushes—and the aliment of the swimmers,
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Sluggish existences grazing there, suspended, or slowly
crawling close to the bottom,
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The sperm-whale at the surface, blowing air and spray,
or disporting with his flukes,
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The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle, the hairy
sea-leopard, and the sting-ray;
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Passions there—wars, pursuits, tribes—sight in those
ocean-depths—breathing that thick-breathing
air, as so many do;
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The change thence to the sight here, and to the subtle
air breathed by beings like us, who walk this
sphere;
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The change onward from ours, to that of beings who
walk other spheres.
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ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE.
1 ON the beach at night alone, |
As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her
husky song,
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As I watch the bright stars shining—I think a thought
of the clef of the universes, and of the future.
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2 A VAST SIMILITUDE interlocks all, |
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons,
planets, comets, asteroids,
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All the substances of the same, and all that is spiritual
upon the same,
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All distances of place, however wide, |
All distances of time—all inanimate forms, |
All Souls—all living bodies, though they be ever so
different, or in different worlds,
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All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes—the
fishes, the brutes,
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All men and women—me also; |
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages; |
All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this
globe, or any globe;
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All lives and deaths—all of the past, present, future; |
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd,
and shall forever span them, and compactly hold
them, and enclose them.
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