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Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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SONGS OF PARTING.
AS THE TIME DRAWS NIGH.
1
1 As the time draws nigh, glooming, a cloud, |
A dread beyond, of I know not what, darkens me. |
I shall traverse The States awhile—but I cannot tell
whither or how long;
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Perhaps soon, some day or night while I am singing,
my voice will suddenly cease.
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2
3 O book, O chants! must all then amount to but this? |
Must we barely arrive at this beginning of us?…
And yet it is enough, O soul!
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O soul! we have positively appear'd—that is enough. |
YEARS OF THE MODERN.
YEARS of the modern! years of the unperform'd! |
Your horizon rises—I see it parting away for more
august dramas;
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I see not America only—I see not only Liberty's nation,
but other nations preparing;
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I see tremendous entrances and exits—I see new com-
binations—I see the solidarity of races;
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I see that force advancing with irresistible power on the
world's stage;
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(Have the old forces, the old wars, played their parts?
are the acts suitable to them closed?)
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I see Freedom, completely arm'd, and victorious, and
very haughty, with Law on one side, and Peace
on the other,
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A stupendous Trio, all issuing forth against the idea of
caste;
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—What historic denouements are these we so rapidly
approach?
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I see men marching and countermarching by swift mil-
lions;
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I see the frontiers and boundaries of the old aristocracies
broken;
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I see the landmarks of European kings removed; |
I see this day the People beginning their landmarks,
(all others give way;)
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—Never were such sharp questions ask'd as this day; |
Never was average man, his soul, more energetic, more
like a God;
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Lo! how he urges and urges, leaving the masses no
rest;
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His daring foot is on land and sea everywhere—he col-
onizes the Pacific, the archipelagoes;
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With the steam-ship, the electric telegraph, the news-
paper, the wholesale engines of war,
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With these, and the world-spreading factories, he inter-
links all geography, all lands;
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—What whispers are these, O lands, running ahead of
you, passing under the seas?
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Are all nations communing? is there going to be but
one heart to the globe?
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Is humanity forming, en-masse?—for lo! tyrants trem-
ble, crowns grow dim;
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The earth, restive, confronts a new era, perhaps a gen-
eral divine war;
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No one knows what will happen next—such portents
fill the days and nights;
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Years prophetical! the space ahead as I walk, as I vain-
ly try to pierce it, is full of phantoms;
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Unborn deeds, things soon to be, project their shapes
around me;
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This incredible rush and heat—this strange extatic
fever of dreams, O years!
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Your dreams, O years, how they penetrate through me!
(I know not whether I sleep or wake!)
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The perform'd America and Europe grow dim, retiring
in shadow behind me,
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The unperform'd, more gigantic than ever, advance, ad-
vance upon me.
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THOUGHTS.
1
How they pass and have pass'd, through convuls'd
pains, as through parturitions;
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How America illustrates birth, muscular youth, the
promise, the sure fulfillment, the Absolute Suc-
cess, despite of people—Illustrates evil as well as
good;
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How many hold despairingly yet to the models de-
parted, caste, myths, obedience, compulsion, and
to infidelity;
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How few see the arrived models, the Athletes, the
Western States—or see freedom or spirituality—
or hold any faith in results,
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(But I see the Athletes—and I see the results of the war
glorious and inevitable—and they again leading
to other results;)
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How the great cities appear—How the Democratic
masses, turbulent, wilful, as I love them;
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How the whirl, the contest, the wrestle of evil with
good, the sounding and resounding, keep on
and on;
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How society waits unform'd, and is for a while between
things ended and things begun;
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How America is the continent of glories, and of the
triumph of freedom, and of the Democracies,
and of the fruits of society, and of all that is
begun;
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And how The States are complete in themselves—And
how all triumphs and glories are complete in
themselves, to lead onward,
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And how these of mine, and of The States, will in their
turn be convuls'd, and serve other parturitions
and transitions,
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And how all people, sights, combinations, the Demo-
cratic masses, too, serve—and how every fact,
and war itself, with all its horrors, serves,
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And how now, or at any time, each serves the exquisite
transition of death.
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2
OF seeds dropping into the ground—of birth, |
Of the steady concentration of America, inland, upward,
to impregnable and swarming places,
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Of what Indiana, Kentucky, Ohio and the rest, are to be, |
Of what a few years will show there in Nebraska, Col-
orado, Nevada, and the rest;
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(Of afar, mounting the Northern Pacific to Sitka or
Aliaska;)
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Of what the feuillage of America is the preparation for
—and of what all sights, North, South, East and
West, are;
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Of This Union, soak'd, welded in blood—of the solemn
price paid—of the unnamed lost, ever present in
my mind;
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—Of the temporary use of materials, for identity's sake, |
Of the present, passing, departing—of the growth of
completer men than any yet,
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Of myself, soon, perhaps, closing up my songs by these
shores,
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Of California, of Oregon—and of me journeying to live
and sing there;
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Of the Western Sea—of the spread inland between it
and the spinal river,
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Of the great pastoral area, athletic and feminine, |
Of all sloping down there where the fresh free giver,
the mother, the Mississippi flows,
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Of future women there—of happiness in those high
plateaus, ranging three thousand miles, warm
and cold;
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Of mighty inland cities yet unsurvey'd, and unsus-
pected, (as I am also, and as it must be;)
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Of the new and good names—of the modern develop-
ments—of inalienable homesteads;
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Of a free and original life there—of simple diet and
clean and sweet blood;
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Of litheness, majestic faces, clear eyes, and perfect
physique there;
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Of immense spiritual results, future years, far west,
each side of the Anahuacs;
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Of these leaves, well understood there, (being made for
that area;)
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Of the native scorn of grossness and gain there; |
(O it lurks in me night and day—What is gain, after
all, to savageness and freedom?)
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Song at Sunset.
1 SPLENDOR of ended day, floating and filling me! |
Hour prophetic—hour resuming the past! |
Inflating my throat—you, divine average! |
You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing. |
2 Open mouth of my Soul, uttering gladness, |
Eyes of my Soul, seeing perfection, |
Natural life of me, faithfully praising things; |
Corroborating forever the triumph of things. |
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Illustrious what we name space—sphere of unnum-
ber'd spirits;
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Illustrious the mystery of motion, in all beings, even
the tiniest insect;
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Illustrious the attribute of speech—the senses—the
body;
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Illustrious the passing light! Illustrious the pale
reflection on the new moon in the western sky!
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Illustrious whatever I see, or hear, or touch, to the last. |
In the satisfaction and aplomb of animals, |
In the annual return of the seasons, |
In the hilarity of youth, |
In the strength and flush of manhood, |
In the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age, |
In the superb vistas of Death. |
The heart, to jet the all-alike and innocent blood! |
To breathe the air, how delicious! |
To speak! to walk! to seize something by the hand! |
To prepare for sleep, for bed—to look on my rose-
color'd flesh;
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To be conscious of my body, so satisfied, so large; |
To be this incredible God I am; |
To have gone forth among other Gods—these men and
women I love.
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6 Wonderful how I celebrate you and myself! |
How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around! |
How the clouds pass silently overhead! |
How the earth darts on and on! and how the sun,
moon, stars, dart on and on!
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How the water sports and sings! (Surely it is alive!) |
How the trees rise and stand up—with strong trunks—
with branches and leaves!
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(Surely there is something more in each of the trees—
some living Soul,)
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7 O amazement of things! even the least particle! |
O spirituality of things! |
O strain musical, flowing through ages and continents
—now reaching me and America!
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I take your strong chords—I intersperse them, and
cheerfully pass them forward.
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8 I too carol the sun, usher'd, or at noon, or, as now,
setting,
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I too throb to the brain and beauty of the earth, and
of all the growths of the earth,
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I too have felt the resistless call of myself. |
9 As I sail'd down the Mississippi, |
As I wander'd over the prairies, |
As I have lived—As I have look'd through my windows,
my eyes,
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As I went forth in the morning—As I beheld the light
breaking in the east;
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As I bathed on the beach of the Eastern Sea, and again
on the beach of the Western Sea;
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As I roam'd the streets of inland Chicago—whatever
streets I have roam'd;
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Or cities, or silent woods, or peace, or even amid the
sights of war;
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Wherever I have been, I have charged myself with con-
tentment and triumph.
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10 I sing the Equalities, modern or old, |
I sing the endless finales of things; |
I say Nature continues—Glory continues; |
I praise with electric voice; |
For I do not see one imperfection in the universe; |
And I do not see one cause or result lamentable at last
in the universe.
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11 O setting sun! though the time has come, |
I still warble under you, if none else does, unmitigated
adoration.
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WHEN I HEARD THE LEARN'D ASTRONOMER.
WHEN I heard the learn'd astronomer; |
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns
before me;
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When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add,
divide, and measure them;
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When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lec-
tured with much applause in the lecture-room,
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How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick; |
Till rising and gliding out, I wander'd off by myself, |
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, |
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars. |
TO RICH GIVERS.
WHAT you give me, I cheerfully accept, |
A little sustenance, a hut and garden, a little money—
these, as I rendezvous with my poems;
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A traveler's lodging and breakfast as I journey through
The States—Why should I be ashamed to own
such gifts? Why to advertise for them?
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For I myself am not one who bestows nothing upon
man and woman;
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For I bestow upon any man or woman the entrance to
all the gifts of the universe.
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THOUGHT.
OF what I write from myself—As if that were not the
resumé;
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Of Histories—As if such, however complete, were not
less complete than the preceding poems;
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As if those shreds, the records of nations, could possibly
be as lasting as the preceding poems;
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As if here were not the amount of all nations, and of all
the lives of heroes.
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SO LONG!
1
1 To conclude—I announce what comes after me; |
I announce mightier offspring, orators, days, and then,
for the present, depart.
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2 I remember I said, before my leaves sprang at all, |
I would raise my voice jocund and strong, with reference
to consummations.
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3 When America does what was promis'd, |
When there are plentiful athletic bards, inland and
seaboard,
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When through These States walk a hundred millions of
superb persons,
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When the rest part away for superb persons, and con-
tribute to them,
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When breeds of the most perfect mothers denote
America,
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Then to me and mine our due fruition. |
4 I have press'd through in my own right, |
I have sung the Body and the Soul—War and Peace
have I sung,
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And the songs of Life and of Birth—and shown that
there are many births:
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I have offer'd my style to every one—I have journey'd
with confident step;
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While my pleasure is yet at the full, I whisper, So long! |
And take the young woman's hand, and the young
man's hand, for the last time.
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2
5 I announce natural persons to arise; |
I announce justice triumphant; |
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I announce uncompromising liberty and equality; |
I announce the justification of candor, and the justifica-
tion of pride.
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6 I announce that the identity of These States is a
single identity only;
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I announce the Union more and more compact, indis-
soluble;
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I announce splendors and majesties to make all the
previous politics of the earth insignificant.
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7 I announce adhesiveness—I say it shall be limitless,
unloosen'd;
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I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for. |
8 I announce a man or woman coming—perhaps you
are the one, ( So long! )
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I announce the great individual, fluid as Nature, chaste,
affectionate, compassionate, fully armed.
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9 I announce a life that shall be copious, vehement,
spiritual, bold;
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I announce an end that shall lightly and joyfully meet
its translation;
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I announce myriads of youths, beautiful, gigantic, sweet-
blooded;
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I announce a race of splendid and savage old men. |
3
10 O thicker and faster! ( So long! ) |
O crowding too close upon me; |
I foresee too much—it means more than I thought; |
It appears to me I am dying. |
11 Hasten throat, and sound your last! |
Salute me—salute the days once more. Peal the old
cry once more.
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12 Screaming electric, the atmosphere using, |
At random glancing, each as I notice absorbing, |
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Swiftly on, but a little while alighting, |
Curious envelop'd messages delivering, |
Sparkles hot, seed ethereal, down in the dirt dropping, |
Myself unknowing, my commission obeying, to question
it never daring,
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To ages, and ages yet, the growth of the seed leaving, |
To troops out of me, out of the army, the war arising—
they the tasks I have set promulging,
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To women certain whispers of myself bequeathing—
their affection me more clearly explaining,
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To young men my problems offering—no dallier I—I
the muscle of their brains trying,
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So I pass—a little time vocal, visible, contrary; |
Afterward, a melodious echo, passionately bent for—
(death making me really undying;)
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The best of me then when no longer visible—for toward
that I have been incessantly preparing.
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13 What is there more, that I lag and pause, and crouch
extended with unshut mouth?
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Is there a single final farewell? |
4
14 My songs cease—I abandon them; |
From behind the screen where I hid, I advance person-
ally, solely to you.
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15 Camerado! This is no book; |
Who touches this, touches a man; |
(Is it night? Are we here alone?) |
It is I you hold, and who holds you; |
I spring from the pages into your arms—decease calls
me forth.
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16 O how your fingers drowse me! |
Your breath falls around me like dew—your pulse lulls
the tympans of my ears;
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I feel immerged from head to foot; |
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17 Enough, O deed impromptu and secret! |
Enough, O gliding present! Enough, O summ'd-up
past!
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5
18 Dear friend, whoever you are, take this kiss, |
I give it especially to you—Do not forget me; |
I feel like one who has done work for the day, to retire
awhile;
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I receive now again of my many translations—from my
avataras ascending—while others doubtless await
me;
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An unknown sphere, more real than I dream'd, more
direct, darts awakening rays about me— So long!
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Remember my words—I may again return, |
I love you—I depart from materials; |
I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead. |
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