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WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D . . . 255 O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN . . . . . . . . 262 HUSH'D BE
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O CAPTAIN! my Captain!
O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain!
my Captain!
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse
WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D . . . 255 O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN . . . . . . . . 262 HUSH'D BE
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O CAPTAIN! my Captain!
O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain!
my Captain!
or "To the Leaven'd Soil they Trod," Or "Captain! My Captain!"
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!
We closed with him—the yards entangled—the can- non cannon touch'd; My captain lash'd fast with his own
Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries
Only three guns are in use; One is directed by the captain himself against the ene- my's enemy's main-mast
Serene stands the little captain; He is not hurried—his voice is neither high nor low; His eyes give
The black ship, mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets—but the pluck of the captain and engineers
We closed with him—the yards entangled—the cannon touched, My captain lashed fast with his own hands.
I laughed content when I heard the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cried
Only three guns were in use, One was directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast, Two
Serene stood the little captain, He was not hurried—his voice was neither high nor low, His eyes gave
Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic, And the soldiers suppose him to be a captain, and the sailors
Section 2 of the Calamus group was permanently retitled Scented Herbage of my Breast in 1867.
50-51uva.00246xxx.00072[Was it I who walked the]Scented Herbage of My Breast1857-1859poetryhandwritten1
who walked the / earth..." were not used in Calamus, but the five lines beginning "Scented herbage of my
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.
SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.
O blossoms of my blood!
EARTH, MY LIKENESS.
WHAT THINK YOU I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND? WHAT think you I take my pen in hand to record?
THAT SHADOW MY LIKENESS.
SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.
O blossoms of my blood!
EARTH, MY LIKENESS.
WHAT THINK YOU I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND? WHAT think you I take my pen in hand to record?
THAT SHADOW MY LIKENESS.
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.
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
Scented Herbage of My Breast. SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.
SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I glean, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves
O blossoms of my blood!
grow up out of my breast! Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!
Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!
Scented Herbage of My Breast. SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.
SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I glean, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves
O blossoms of my blood!
grow up out of my breast! Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!
Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!
Scented Herbage of My Breast. SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.
SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves
O blossoms of my blood!
grow up out of my breast! Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!
Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!
Scented Herbage of My Breast SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST.
SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves
O blossoms of my blood!
grow up out of my breast! Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!
Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast!
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!