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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

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

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

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

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

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!

My South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse, and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me!

O dear to me my birth-things—All moving things, and the trees where I was born—the grains, plants, rivers

; Dear to me my own slow sluggish rivers where they flow, distant, over flats of silvery sands, or through

the Tombigbee, the Santee, the Coosa, and the Sabine; O pensive, far away wandering, I return with my

the graceful palmetto; I pass rude sea-headlands and enter Pamlico Sound through an inlet, and dart my

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!

MY spirit to yours, dear brother, Do not mind because many, sounding your name, do not understand you

I do not sound your name, but I understand you, (there are others also;) I specify you with joy, O my

divisions, jealousies, recriminations on every side, They close peremptorily upon us, to surround us, my

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

I exclude you, Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you, do my

My girl, I appoint with you an appointment—and I charge you that you make preparation to be worthy to

cheerfully accept, A little sustenance, a hut and garden, a little money —these as I rendezvous with my

who should serve the good old cause, the prog- ress progress and freedom of the race, the cause of my

for something to repre- sent represent the new race, our self-poised Democracy, Therefore I send you my

I WAS asking for something specific and perfect for my city, and behold!

there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient, I see that the word of my

my city! The city of such women, I am mad to be with them!

I walked the shores of my Eastern Sea, Heard over the waves the little voice, Saw the divine infant,

and cogent, I maintain the bequeath'd cause, as for all lands, And I send these words to Paris, with my

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

that was not the end of those nations, or any person of them, any more than this shall be the end of my

Thither every-day life, speech, utensils, politics, per- sons persons , estates, Thither we also, I with my

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

Receive me and my lover too—he will not let me go without him.

my clothes were stolen while I was abed, Now I am thrust forth, where shall I run?

I descend my western course, my sinews are flaccid, Perfume and youth course through me, and I am their

carefully darn my grandson's stockings.

How he informs against my brother and sister, and takes pay for their blood!

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.

To My Soul TO MY SOUL.

The States—but I cannot tell whither or how long; Perhaps soon, some day or night while I am singing, my

Then all may arrive to but this; The glances of my eyes, that swept the daylight, The unspeakable love

I interchanged with women, My joys in the open air—my walks through the Man- nahatta Manahatta , The

of my mouth, rude, ignorant, arrogant— my many faults and derelictions, 38* The light touches, on my

I remember I said to myself at the winter-close, before my leaves sprang at all, that I would become

a candid and unloosed summer-poet, I said I would raise my voice jocund and strong, with reference to

what was promised, When each part is peopled with free people, When there is no city on earth to lead my

I have pressed through in my own right, I have offered my style to every one—I have jour- neyed journeyed

Remember my words—I love you—I depart from materials, I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead.

Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,(says my grandmother's father;) We have

my Captain!

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 1 O CAPTAIN! my captain!

Leave you not the little spot, Where on the deck my captain lies.

Fallen cold and dead. 2 O captain! my captain!

What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)

Give me the drench of my passions! Give me life coarse and rank!

self myself from my companions?

songs in Sex, Offspring of my loins.

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

SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.

O blossoms of my blood!

WHAT THINK YOU I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND? WHAT think you I take my pen in hand to record?

MY LIKENESS! EARTH! my likeness!

THAT SHADOW, MY LIKENESS.

I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my friends, but listen to my enemies—as I myself do;

WHO learns my lesson complete?

as every one is immortal; I know it is wonderful—but my eye-sight is equally wonderful, and how I was

And that my Soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other without ever seeing each other, and

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

O lips of my soul, already becoming powerless! O ample and grand Presidentiads! New history!

(I must not venture—the ground under my feet men- aces menaces me—it will not support me;) O present!