Leaves of Grass (1881-82)

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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 num-
         ber of failures,
Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people, or by any
Or the show of the tushes of power, soldiers, cannon, penal statutes.

What we believe in waits latent forever through all the continents,
Invites no one, promises nothing, sits in calmness and light, is
         positive and composed, knows no discouragement,
Waiting patiently, waiting its time.

(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,
And he going with me leaves peace and routine behind him,
And stakes his life to be lost at any moment.)

The battle rages with many a loud alarm and frequent advance
         and retreat,
The infidel triumphs, or supposes he triumphs,
The prison, scaffold, garroté, handcuffs, iron necklace and lead-
         balls do their work,
The named and unnamed heroes pass to other spheres,
The great speakers and writers are exiled, they lie sick in distant
The cause is asleep, the strongest throats are choked with their
         own blood,
The young men droop their eyelashes toward the ground when
         they meet;
But for all this Liberty has not gone out of the place, nor the
         infidel enter'd into full possession.

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View Page 288

When liberty goes out of a place it is not the first to go, nor the
         second or third to go,
It waits for all the rest to go, it is the last.

When there are no more memories of heroes and martyrs,
And when all life and all the souls of men and women are dis-
         charged from any part of the earth,
Then only shall liberty or the idea of liberty be discharged from
         that part of the earth,
And the infidel come into full possession.

Then courage European revolter, revoltress!
For till all ceases neither must you cease.

I do not know what you are for, (I do not know what I am for
         myself, nor what any thing is for,)
But I will search carefully for it even in being foil'd,
In defeat, poverty, misconception, imprisonment—for they too
         are great.

Did we think victory great?
So it is—but now it seems to me, when it cannot be help'd, that
         defeat is great,
And that death and dismay are great.
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