Search Results

O longings for my dear home! O soft and sunny airs! O pensive!

O my Soul! O lips becoming tremulous, powerless! O centuries, centuries yet ahead!

How perfect is my Soul! How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon it!

My Soul! if I realize you, I have satisfaction, Animals and vegetables!

I cannot define my satisfaction, yet it is so, I cannot define my life, yet it is so.

hitherto published—from the pleasures, profits, conformities, Which too long I was offering to feed to my

Soul Clear to me now, standards not yet published— clear to me that my Soul, That the Soul of the man

substantial life, Bequeathing, hence, types of athletic love, 29* Afternoon, this delicious Ninth Month, in my

forty- first year, I proceed, for all who are, or have been, young men, To tell the secret of my nights

when you refer to me, mind not so much my poems, Nor speak of me that I prophesied of The States, and

I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior—I will tell you what to say of me: Publish my

name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover, The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom

WHEN I heard at the close of the day how my name had been received with plaudits in the capitol, still

it was not a happy night for me that fol- lowed followed ; And else, when I caroused, or when my plans

ing undressing , bathed, laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise, And when I thought how my

all that day my food nourished me more—And the beautiful day passed well, And the next came with equal

joy—And with the next, at evening, came my friend; And that night, while all was still, I heard the

down-balls, nor perfumes, nor the high rain-emitting clouds, are borne through the open air, Any more than my

, from me falling—drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prisoned, From my

face—from my forehead and lips, From my breast—from within where I was con- cealed concealed —Press

May-be one is now reading this who knows some wrong-doing of my past life, Or may-be a stranger is reading

this who has secretly loved me, Or may-be one who meets all my grand assumptions and egotisms with derision

in the room where I eat or sleep, I should be satisfied, And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my

CITY of my walks and joys!

nor the bright win- dows windows , with goods in them, Nor to converse with learned persons, or bear my

your fre- quent frequent and swift flash of eyes offering me love, Offering me the response of my own—these

Behold this swarthy and unrefined face—these gray eyes, This beard—the white wool, unclipt upon my neck

, My brown hands, and the silent manner of me, with- out without charm; Yet comes one, a Manhattanese

SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves

O blossoms of my blood!

O I think it is not for life I am chanting here my chant of lovers—I think it must be for Death, For

Grow up out of my breast! Spring away from the concealed heart there!

Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!

leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss, And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my

room, It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, (For I believe lately I think of little

or a girl with me, I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my

body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard,

it seems to me if I could know those men better, I should become attached to them, as I do to men in my

own lands, It seems to me they are as wise, beautiful, benevolent, as any in my own lands; O I know

Who is he that would become my follower?

Who would sign himself a candidate for my affec- tions affections ? Are you he?

doned abandoned ; Therefore release me now, before troubling yourself any further—Let go your hand from my

it, Nor do those know me best who admire me, and vauntingly praise me, Nor will the candidates for my

love, (unless at most a very few,) prove victorious, Nor will my poems do good only—they will do just

WHAT think you I take my pen in hand to record?

my likeness!

PRIMEVAL my love for the woman I love, O bride ! O wife !

Then separate, as disembodied, the purest born, The ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation

, I ascend—I float in the regions of your love, O man, O sharer of my roving life.

is certain, one way or another, Doubtless I could not have perceived the universe, or written one of my

and then in the silence, Alone I had thought—yet soon a silent troop gathers around me, Some walk by my

side, and some behind, and some embrace my arms or neck, They, the spirits of friends, dead or alive—thicker

lilac, with a branch of pine, Here, out of my pocket, some moss which I pulled off a live-oak in Florida

THAT shadow, my likeness, that goes to and fro, seek- ing seeking a livelihood, chattering, chaffering

it where it flits, How often I question and doubt whether that is really me; But in these, and among my

lovers, and carolling my songs, O I never doubt whether that is really me.

I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections, And I, when I meet you, mean to discover

HERE my last words, and the most baffling, Here the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest- lasting

, Here I shade down and hide my thoughts—I do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my

you read these, I, that was visible, am become invisible; Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my

There shall from me be a new friendship—It shall be called after my name, It shall circulate through

other shall be invincible, They shall finally make America completely victo- rious victorious , in my

NOT heaving from my ribbed breast only, Not in sighs at night, in rage, dissatisfied with myself, Not

in those long-drawn, ill-suppressed sighs, Not in many an oath and promise broken, Not in my wilful

savage soul's volition, Not in the subtle nourishment of the air, Not in this beating and pounding at my

sleep, Nor the other murmurs of these incredible dreams of every day, Nor in the limbs and senses of my

O pulse of my life! Need I that you exist and show yourself, any more than in these songs.

aught of them;) May-be they only seem to me what they are, (as doubtless they indeed but seem,) as from my

from entirely changed points of view; To me, these, and the like of these, are curiously answered by my

lovers, my dear friends; When he whom I love travels with me, or sits a long while holding me by the

appearances, or that of identity beyond the grave, But I walk or sit indifferent—I am satisfied, He ahold of my

Then my lands engrossed me—Lands of the prairies, Ohio's land, the southern savannas, engrossed me—For

to enclose all, it came to me to strike up the songs of the New World—And then I be- lieved believed my

knowledge, and the grandeur of The States, and the example of heroes, no more, I am indifferent to my

heavy-hearted, Hours of the dusk, when I withdraw to a lonesome and unfrequented spot, seating myself, leaning my

face in my hands; Hours sleepless, deep in the night, when I go forth, speeding swiftly the country

(I am ashamed—but it is useless—I am what I am;) Hours of my torment—I wonder if other men ever have

untrodden and mouldy—I see no longer any axe upon it, I see the mighty and friendly emblem of the power of my

I do not vaunt my love for you, I have what I have. The axe leaps!

response, Take what I have then, (saying fain,) take the pay you approached for, Take the white tears of my

COME closer to me, Push closer, my lovers, and take the best I possess, Yield closer and closer, and

Neither a servant nor a master am I, I take no sooner a large price than a small price— I will have my

become so for your sake, If you remember your foolish and outlawed deeds, do you think I cannot remember my

are, I am this day just as much in love with them as you, Then I am in love with you, and with all my

friendly companions, I intend to reach them my hand, and make as much of them as I do of men and women

New Orleans, San Francisco, The departing ships, when the sailors heave at the capstan; Evening—me in my

room—the setting sun, The setting summer sun shining in my open window, showing me flies, suspended,

, futurity, In space, the sporades, the scattered islands, the stars —on the firm earth, the lands, my

less in myself than the whole of the Manna- hatta Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my

ever united lands —my body no more inevitably united, part to part, and made one identity, any more

myself make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, reproduce all in my

Have you studied out MY LAND, its idioms and men?

What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?

Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, nobility, meanness—to appear again in my strength, gait

own Soul or defiled my body, I have claimed nothing to myself which I have not carefully claimed for

sake, Of departing—of the growth of a mightier race than any yet, Of myself, soon, perhaps, closing up my

all—aplomb in the midst of irrational things, Imbued as they—passive, receptive, silent as they, Finding my

woods, or of any farm- life of These States, or of the coast, or the lakes, or Kanada, Me, wherever my

Then my realities, What else is so real as mine?

done and gone, we remain, There is no final reliance but upon us, Democracy rests finally upon us, (I, my

and let one line of my poems contradict another! Let the people sprawl with yearning aimless hands!

Let him who is without my poems be assassinated!

WITH antecedents, With my fathers and mothers, and the accumulations of past ages, With all which, had

In the name of These States, and in your and my name, the Past, And in the name of These States, and

in your and my name, the Present time.

SPLENDOR of falling day, floating and filling me, Hour prophetic—hour resuming the past, Inflating my

Open mouth of my Soul, uttering gladness, Eyes of my Soul, seeing perfection, Natural life of me, faithfully

To prepare for sleep, for bed—to look on my rose- colored flesh, To be conscious of my body, so amorous

How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around! How the clouds pass silently overhead!

sailed down the Mississippi, As I wandered over the prairies, As I have lived—As I have looked through my

O blossoms of my blood!

face—from my forehead and lips, From my breast—from within where I was con- cealed concealed —Press

CITY of my walks and joys!

my likeness!

, Here I shade down and hide my thoughts—I do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my

Have you studied out MY LAND, its idioms and men?

What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?

in your and my name, the Present time.

Open mouth of my Soul, uttering gladness, Eyes of my Soul, seeing perfection, Natural life of me, faithfully

To prepare for sleep, for bed—to look on my rose- colored flesh, To be conscious of my body, so amorous

36 DESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night, The sad voice of Death—the call of my

alarmed, uncertain, This sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me, Come tell me where I am speeding—tell me my

O MY children! O mates!

O my body!

, Or that touches my face, or leans against me.)

songs in sex, Offspring of my loins. 13.

voice—approach, Touch me—touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body.

body to meet my lover the sea, I will not touch my flesh to the earth, as to other flesh, to renew me

and which are my miracles?

friends, but listen to my enemies—as I my- self myself do; I charge you, too, forever, reject those

WHO learns my lesson complete?

Me, ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chained with iron, or my ankles with iron?

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your

O I have been dilatory and dumb, I should have made my way straight to you long ago, I should have blabbed

paint myriads of heads, but paint no head with- out without its nimbus of gold-colored light, From my

my brother or my sister! Keep on!

Softly I lay my right hand upon you—you just feel it, I do not argue—I bend my head close, and half-

it harmed me, giving others the same chances and rights as myself—As if it were not indispensable to my

AS I sit with others, at a great feast, suddenly, while the music is playing, To my mind, (whence it

if that were not the resumé; Of Histories—As if such, however complete, were not less complete than my

poems; As if the shreds, the records of nations, could possibly be as lasting as my poems; As if here

you suppose, And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to me, and more in my

walks home late at night, or as I lay in my bed, they came upon me.

, That I was, I knew was of my body—and what I should be, I knew I should be of my body.

Manhatta , My river and sun-set, and my scallop-edged waves of flood-tide, The sea-gulls oscillating

loudly and musically call me by my nighest name! Live, old life!

Debris 5 DESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night, The sad voice of Death—the call of my

alarmed, uncertain, This sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me, Come tell me where I am speeding—tell me my

daughters, sons, preluding, The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being, Curious, here behold my

wide sweep, having brought me again, Amorous, mature—all beautiful to me—all won- drous wondrous , My

wondrous; Existing, I peer and penetrate still, Content with the present—content with the past, By my