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Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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POEM OF JOYS.
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| 1 O to make the most jubilant poem! |
Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols
of Death.
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O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, in-
fancy!
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| Full of common employments! full of grain and trees. |
2 O for the voices of animals! O for the swiftness and
balance of fishes!
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| O for the dropping of rain-drops in a poem! |
| O for the sunshine, and motion of waves in a poem. |
3 O the joy of my spirit! it is uncaged! it darts like
lightning!
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| It is not enough to have this globe, or a certain time— |
| I will have thousands of globes, and all time. |
2
To hear the hiss of steam—the merry shriek—the
steam-whistle, the—laughing locomotive!
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To push with resistless way, and speed off in the dis-
tance.
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| 5 O the gleesome saunter over fields and hill-sides! |
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The leaves and flowers of the commonest weeds—the
moist fresh stillness of the woods,
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The exquisite smell of the earth at day-break, and
all through the forenoon.
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| 6 O the horseman's and horsewoman's joys! |
The saddle—the gallop—the pressure upon the seat—
the cool gurgling by the ears and hair.
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| I hear the alarm at dead of night, |
| I hear bells—shouts!—I pass the crowd—I run! |
| The sight of the flames maddens me with pleasure. |
8 O the joy of the strong-brawn'd fighter, towering in
the arena, in perfect condition, conscious of
power, thirsting to meet his opponent.
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9 O the joy of that vast elemental sympathy which only
the human Soul is capable of generating and
emitting in steady and limitless floods.
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The watching—the endurance—the precious love—the
anguish—the patiently yielded life.
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| 11 O the joy of increase, growth, recuperation; |
The joy of soothing and pacifying—the joy of concord
and harmony.
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| 12 O to go back to the place where I was born! |
| To hear the birds sing once more! |
To ramble about the house and barn and over the
fields once more,
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And through the orchard and along the old lanes once
more.
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5
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O the presence of women! (I swear there is nothing
more exquisite to me than the mere presence of
women;)
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O for the girl, my mate! O for the happiness with my
mate!
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O the young man as I pass! O I am sick after the
friendship of him who, I fear, is indifferent to
me.
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| 14 O the streets of cities! |
The flitting faces—the expressions, eyes, feet costumes!
O I cannot tell how welcome they are to me.
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15 O to have been brought up on bays, lagoons, creeks,
or along the coast!
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| O to continue and be employ'd there all my life! |
O the briny and damp smell—the shore—the salt weeds
exposed at low water,
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The work of fishermen—the work of the eel-fisher and
clam-fisher.
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I come with my clam-rake and spade! I come with my
eel-spear;
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Is the tide out? I join the group of clam-diggers on the
flats,
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I laugh and work with them—I joke at my work like a
mettlesome young man.
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17 In winter I take my eel-basket and eel-spear and
travel out on foot on the ice—I have a small axe
to cut holes in the ice;
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Behold me, well-clothed, going gaily, or returning in
the afternoon—my brood of tough boys accom-
panying me,
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My brood of grown and part-grown boys, who love to
be with no one else so well as they love to be
with me,
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| By day to work with me, and by night to sleep with me. |
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18 Or, another time, in warm weather, out in a boat, to
lift the lobster-pots, where they are sunk with
heavy stones, (I know the buoys;)
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O the sweetness of the Fifth-month morning upon the
water, as I row, just before sunrise, toward the
buoys;
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I pull the wicker pots up slantingly—the dark green
lobsters are desperate with their claws, as I take
them out—I insert wooden pegs in the joints of
their pincers,
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I go to all the places, one after another, and then row
back to the shore,
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There, in a huge kettle of boiling water, the lobsters
shall be boil'd till their color becomes scarlet.
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| 19 Or, another time, mackerel-taking, |
Voracious, mad for the hook, near the surface, they
seem to fill the water for miles:
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Or, another time, fishing for rock-fish in Chesapeake
Bay—I one of the brown-faced crew:
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Or, another time, trailing for blue-fish off Paumanok, I
stand with braced body,
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My left foot is on the gunwale—my right arm throws
the coils of slender rope,
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In sight around me the quick veering and darting of
fifty skiffs, my companions.
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| 20 O boating on the rivers! |
The voyage down the Niagara, (the St. Lawrence,)—
the superb scenery—the steamers,
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The ships sailing—the Thousand Islands—the occa-
sional timber-raft, and the raftsmen with long-
reaching sweep-oars,
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The little huts on the rafts, and the stream of smoke
when they cook supper at evening.
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| 21 O something pernicious and dread! |
| Something far away from a puny and pious life! |
| Something unproved! Something in a trance! |
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Something escaped from the anchorage, and driving
free.
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| 22 O to work in mines, or forging iron! |
Foundry casting—the foundry itself—the rude high
roof—the ample and shadow'd space,
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| The furnace—the hot liquid pour'd out and running. |
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| 23 O to resume the joys of the soldier: |
To feel the presence of a brave general! to feel his sym-
pathy!
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To behold his calmness! to be warm'd in the rays of his
smile!
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To go to battle! to hear the bugles play and the drums
beat!
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To hear the crash of artillery! to see the glittering of
the bayonets and musket-barrels in the sun!
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| To see men fall and die, and not complain! |
| To taste the savage taste of blood! to be so devilish! |
| To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy. |
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24 O the whaleman's joys! O I cruise my old cruise
again!
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I feel the ship's motion under me—I feel the Atlantic
breezes fanning me,
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I hear the cry again sent down from the mast-head—
There—she blows!
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—Again I spring up the rigging, to look with the rest
—We see—we descend, wild with excitement,
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I leap in the lower'd boat—We row toward our prey,
where he lies,
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We approach, stealthy and silent—I see the mountain-
ous mass, lethargic, basking,
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I see the harpooneer standing up—I see the weapon
dart from his vigorous arm:
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O swift, again, now, far out in the ocean the wounded
whale, settling, running to windward, tows me;
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—Again I see him rise to breathe—We row close
again,
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I see a lance driven through his side, press'd deep,
turn'd in the wound,
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Again we back off—I see him settle again—the life is
leaving him fast,
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As he rises he spouts blood—I see him swim in circles
narrower and narrower, swiftly cutting the water
—I see him die,
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He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the circle,
and then falls flat and still in the bloody foam.
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| 25 O the old manhood of me, my joy! |
My children and grand-children—my white hair and
beard,
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My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long stretch
of my life.
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| 26 O ripen'd joy of womanhood! |
| O perfect happiness at last! |
I am more than eighty years of age—my hair, too, is
pure white—I am the most venerable mother;
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How clear is my mind! how all people draw nigh to
me!
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What attractions are these, beyond any before? what
bloom, more than the bloom of youth?
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What beauty is this that descends upon me, and rises
out of me?
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To inflate the chest—to roll the thunder of the voice
out from the ribs and throat,
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To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with your-
self,
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| To lead America—to quell America with a great tongue. |
28 O the joy of my soul leaning pois'd on itself—receiv-
ing identity through materials, and loving them
—observing characters, and absorbing them;
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O my soul, vibrated back to me, from them—from
facts, sight, hearing, touch, my phrenology,
reason, articulation, comparison, memory, and
the like;
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The real life of my senses and flesh, transcending my
senses and flesh;
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My body, done with materials—my sight, done with
my material eyes;
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Proved to me this day, beyond cavil, that it is not my
material eyes which finally see,
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Nor my material body which finally loves, walks, laughs,
shouts, embraces, procreates.
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Ohioan's, Illinoisian's, Wisconsinese', Kanadian's, Io-
wan's, Kansian's, Missourian's, Oregonese' joys;
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| To rise at peep of day, and pass forth nimbly to work, |
| To plough land in the fall for winter-sown crops, |
| To plough land in the spring for maize, |
To train orchards—to graft the trees—to gather apples
in the fall.
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| 30 O the pleasure with trees! |
The orchard—the foreset—the oak, cedar, pine, pekan-
tree,
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The honey-locust, black-walnut, cottonwood, and mag-
nolia.
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| 31 O Death! the voyage of Death! |
The beautiful touch of Death, soothing and benumbing
a few moments, for reasons;
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Myself, discharging my excrementitious body, to be
burn'd, or render'd to powder, or buried,
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| My real body doubtless left to me for other spheres, |
My voided body, nothing more to me, returning to the
purifications, further offices, eternal uses of the
earth.
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32 O to bathe in the swimming-bath, or in a good place
along shore!
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To splash the water! to walk ankle-deep—to race naked
along the shore.
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| The plenteousness of all—that there are no bounds; |
To emerge and be of the sky—of the sun and moon,
and flying clouds, as one with them.
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| 34 O the joy of a manly self-hood! |
Personality—to be servile to none—to defer to none—
not to any tyrant, known or unknown,
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| To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and elastic, |
| To look with calm gaze, or with a flashing eye, |
To speak with a full and sonorous voice, out of a broad
chest,
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To confront with your personality all the other person-
alities of the earth.
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| 35 Know'st thou the excellent joys of youth? |
Joys of the dear companions, and of the merry word,
and laughing face?
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Joys of the glad, light-beaming day—joy of the wide-
breath'd games?
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Joy of sweet music—joy of the lighted ball-room and
the dancers?
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Joy of the friendly, plenteous dinner—the strong
carouse, and drinking?
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| 36 Yet, O my soul supreme! |
| Know'st thou the joys of pensive thought? |
Joys of the free and lonesome heart—the tender,
gloomy heart?
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Joy of the solitary walk—the spirit bow'd yet proud—
the suffering and the struggle?
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The agonistic throes, the exstasies—joys of the solemn
musings, day or night?
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Joys of the thought of Death—the great spheres Time
and Space?
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Prophetic joys of better, loftier love's ideals, the Di-
vine Wife—the sweet, eternal, perfect Comrade?
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Joys all thine own, undying one—joys worthy thee, O
Soul.
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| 37 O, while I live, to be the ruler of life—not a slave, |
| To meet life as a powerful conqueror, |
No fumes—no ennui—no more complaints, or scornful
criticisms.
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| 38 O me repellent and ugly! |
To these proud laws of the air, the water, and the
ground, proving my interior Soul impregnable,
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| And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me. |
| 39 O to attract by more than attraction! |
How it is I know not—yet behold! the something
which obeys none of the rest,
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It is offensive, never defensive—yet how magnetic it
draws.
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To struggle against great odds! to meet enemies un-
daunted!
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To be entirely alone with them! to find how much one
can stand!
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To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, death,
face to face!
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To mount the scaffold! to advance to the muzzles of
guns with perfect nonchalance!
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| 41 O, to sail to sea in a ship! |
| To leave this steady, unendurable land, |
To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the side-
walks and the houses;
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To leave you, O you solid motionless land, and entering
a ship,
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| To sail, and sail, and sail! |
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| 42 O to have my life henceforth a poem of new joys! |
To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on,
float on,
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| To be a sailor of the world, bound for all ports, |
A ship itself, (see indeed these sails I spread to the sun
and air,)
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A swift and swelling ship, full of rich words—full of
joys.
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