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Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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SONGS OF INSURRECTION.
STILL THOUGH THE ONE I SING.
STILL, though the one I sing, |
(One, yet of contradictions made,) I dedicate to Nation-
ality,
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I leave in him Revolt, (O latent right of insurrection! O
quenchless, indispensable fire!)
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TO A FOIL'D EUROPEAN REVOLUTIONAIRE.
1
1 COURAGE yet! my brother or my sister! |
Keep on! Liberty is to be subserv'd, whatever occurs; |
That is nothing, that is quell'd by one or two failures,
or any number of failures,
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Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people, or
by any unfaithfulness,
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Or the show of the tushes of power, soldiers, cannon,
penal statutes.
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2 Revolt! and still revolt! revolt! |
What we believe in waits latent forever through all
the continents, and all the islands and archi-
pelagos of the sea;
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What we believe in invites no one, promises nothing,
sits in calmness and light, is positive and com-
posed, knows no discouragement,
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Waiting patiently, waiting its time. |
3 (Not songs of loyalty alone are these, |
But songs of insurrection also; |
For I am the sworn poet of every dauntless rebel, the
world over,
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And he going with me leaves peace and routine behind
him,
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And stakes his life, to be lost at any moment.) |
2
4 Revolt! and the downfall of tyrants! |
The battle rages with many a loud alarm, and frequent
advance and retreat,
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The infidel triumphs—or supposes he triumphs, |
Then the prison, scaffold, garrote, hand-cuffs, iron neck-
lace and anklet, lead-balls, do their work,
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The named and unnamed heroes pass to other spheres, |
The great speakers and writers are exiled—they lie sick
in distant lands,
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The cause is asleep—the strongest throats are still,
choked with their own blood,
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The young men droop their eyelashes toward the ground
when they meet;
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—But for all this, liberty has not gone out of the place,
nor the infidel enter'd into full possession,
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5 When liberty goes out of a place, it is not the first to
go, nor the second or third to go,
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It waits for all the rest to go—it is the last. |
6 When there are no more memories of heroes and
martyrs,
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And when all life, and all the souls of men and women
are discharged from any part of the earth,
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Then only shall liberty, or the idea of liberty, be dis-
charged from that part of the earth,
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And the infidel come into full possession. |
3
7 Then courage! European revolter! revoltress! |
For, till all ceases, neither must you cease. |
8 I do not know what you are for, (I do not know what
I am for myself, nor what anything is for,)
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But I will search carefully for it even in being foil'd, |
In defeat, poverty, misconception, imprisonment—for
they too are great.
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9 Revolt! and the bullet for tyrants! |
Did we think victory great? |
So it is—But now it seems to me, when it cannot be
help'd, that defeat is great,
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And that death and dismay are great. |
FRANCE,
The 18th Year of These States.
1
1 A GREAT year and place; |
A harsh, discordant, natal scream out-sounding, to
touch the mother's heart closer than any yet.
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2 I walk'd the shores of my Eastern Sea, |
Heard over the waves the little voice, |
Saw the divine infant, where she woke, mournfully wail-
ing, amid the roar of cannon, curses, shouts,
crash of falling buildings;
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Was not so sick from the blood in the gutters running
—nor from the single corpses, nor those in heaps,
nor those borne away in the tumbrils;
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Was not so desperate at the battues of death—was not
so shock'd at the repeated fusillades of the guns.
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2
3 Pale, silent, stern, what could I say to that long-
accrued retribution?
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Could I wish humanity different? |
Could I wish the people made of wood and stone? |
Or that there be no justice in destiny or time? |
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4 O Liberty! O mate for me! |
Here too the blaze, the grape-shot and the axe, in re-
serve, to fetch them out in case of need;
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Here too, though long represt, can never be destroy'd; |
Here too could rise at last, murdering and extatic; |
Here too demanding full arrears of vengeance. |
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5 Hence I sign this salute over the sea, |
And I do not deny that terrible red birth and baptism, |
But remember the little voice that I heard wailing—and
wait with perfect trust, no matter how long;
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And from to-day, sad and cogent, I maintain the be-
queath'd cause, as for all lands,
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And I send these words to Paris with my love, |
And I guess some chansonniers there will understand
them,
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For I guess there is latent music yet in France—floods
of it;
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O I hear already the bustle of instruments—they will
soon be drowning all that would interrupt them;
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O I think the east wind brings a triumphal and free
march,
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It reaches hither—it swells me to joyful madness, |
I will run transpose it in words, to justify it, |
I will yet sing a song for you, MA FEMME. |
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EUROPE,
The 72d and 73d Years of These States.
1
1 SUDDENLY, out of its stale and drowsy lair, the lair of
slaves,
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Like lightning it le'pt forth, half startled at itself, |
Its feet upon the ashes and the rags—its hands tight to
the throats of kings.
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O aching close of exiled patriots' lives! |
Turn back unto this day, and make yourselves afresh. |
3 And you, paid to defile the People! you liars, mark! |
Not for numberless agonies, murders, lusts, |
For court thieving in its manifold mean forms, worming
from his simplicity the poor man's wages,
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For many a promise sworn by royal lips, and broken,
and laugh'd at in the breaking,
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Then in their power, not for all these, did the blows
strike revenge, or the heads of the nobles fall;
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The People scorn'd the ferocity of kings; |
2
4 But the sweetness of mercy brew'd bitter destruction,
and the frighten'd monarchs come back;
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Each comes in state, with his train—hangman, priest,
tax-gatherer,
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Soldier, lawyer, lord, jailer, and sycophant. |
5 Yet behind all, lowering, stealing—lo, a Shape, |
Vague as the night, draped interminably, head, front
and form, in scarlet folds,
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Whose face and eyes none may see, |
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Out of its robes only this—the red robes, lifted by the
arm,
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One finger, crook'd, pointed high over the top, like the
head of a snake appears.
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3
6 Meanwhile, corpses lie in new-made graves—bloody
corpses of young men,
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The rope of the gibbet hangs heavily, the bullets of
princes are flying, the creatures of power laugh
aloud,
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And all these things bear fruits—and they are good. |
7 Those corpses of young men, |
Those martyrs that hang from the gibbets—those hearts
pierc'd by the gray lead,
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Cold and motionless as they seem, live elsewhere with
unslaughter'd vitality.
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8 They live in other young men, O kings! |
They live in brothers, again ready to defy you! |
They were purified by death—they were taught and
exalted.
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9 Not a grave of the murder'd for freedom, but grows
seed for freedom, in its turn to bear seed,
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Which the winds carry afar and re-sow, and the rains
and the snows nourish.
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10 Not a disembodied spirit can the weapons of tyrants
let loose,
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But it stalks invisibly over the earth, whispering, coun-
seling, cautioning.
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4
11 Liberty! let others despair of you! I never despair
of you.
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12 Is the house shut? Is the master away? |
Nevertheless, be ready—be not weary of watching; |
He will soon return—his messengers come anon. |
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Walt Whitman's Caution.
To The States, or any one of them, or any city of The
States, Resist much, obey little;
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Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved; |
Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city, of this earth,
ever afterward resumes its liberty.
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To a Certain Cantatrice.
I was reserving it for some hero, speaker, or General, |
One who should serve the good old cause, the great
Idea, the progress and freedom of the race;
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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.
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