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And I stood before the young man face to face, and took his right hand in my left hand, and his left
hand in my right hand, And I answered for his brother, and for men, and I answered for THE POET, and
to the President at his levee, And he says, Good-day, my brother!
Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic, And the soldiers suppose him to be a captain, and the sailors
, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs
my bare-stript heart, And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet.
my Soul!
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
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?
This poem later appeared as "Calamus No. 40," Leaves of Grass (1860); as "That Shadow My Likeness," Leaves
my Soul!
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
O the real life of my senses and flesh, transcending my senses and flesh; O my body, done with materials—my
my brother or my sister! Keep on!
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
My children and grand-children—my white hair and beard, My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long
stretch of my life.
is my mind!
O the real life of my senses and flesh, transcending my senses and flesh; O my body, done with materials—my
O to have my life henceforth my poem of joys!
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.
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
Loud I call to you my love!
am, my love.
Hither, my love! Here I am! Here!
O what is my destination? O I fear it is henceforth chaos!
steadily up to my ears, Death, Death, Death, Death, Death.
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
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
distinctly I comprehend no better sphere than this earth, I comprehend no better life than the life of my
I do not know what follows the death of my body, But I know well that whatever it is, it is best for
I am not uneasy but I shall have good housing to myself, But this is my first—how can I like the rest
face the same, But this is the nipple of a breast of my mother, always near and always divine to me,
— and that the experience of this earth will prove only one out of myriads; But I believe my body and
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
home in Kanuck woods, Or wandering and hunting, my drink water, my diet meat, Or withdrawn to muse and
In the Year 80 of The States, My tongue, every atom of my blood, formed from this soil, this air, Born
Take my leaves, America!
My comrade!
steamers steaming through my poems!
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
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.
EARLY in the morning, Walking forth from the bower, refreshed with sleep, Behold me where I pass—hear my
voice—approach, Touch me—touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body.
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!
Give me the drench of my passions! Give me life coarse and rank!
dancers, and drink with the drink- ers drinkers , The echoes ring with our indecent calls, I take for my
love some prostitute—I pick out some low person for my dearest friend, He shall be lawless, rude, illiterate—he
one condemned by others for deeds done; I will play a part no longer—Why should I exile myself from my
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
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.
What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)
(I bequeath them to you, my children, I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.)
(Know, I am a man, attracting, at any time, her I but look upon, or touch with the tips of my fingers
, Or that touches my face, or leans against me.)
To rise thither with my inebriate Soul! To be lost, if it must be so!
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.
and which are my miracles?
Realism is mine—my miracles—Take freely, Take without end—I offer them to you wherever your feet can
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight
any one I love—or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at the table at dinner with my
perfect old man, or the perfect old woman, Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial, Or my
Fascinated, my eyes, reverting from the south, dropped, to follow those slender winrows, Chaff, straw
Bent to the very earth, here preceding what follows, Oppressed with myself that I have dared to open my
I take what is underfoot; What is yours is mine, my father.
I throw myself upon your breast, my father, I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me, I hold you
from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last! See—the prismatic colors, glistening and rolling!)
the still woods I loved, I will not go now on the pastures to walk, I will not strip the clothes from my
body to meet my lover the sea, I will not touch my flesh to the earth, as to other flesh, to renew me
I do not see any of it upon you to-day—or perhaps I am deceived, I will run a furrow with my plough—I
will press my spade through the sod, and turn it up un- derneath underneath , I am sure I shall expose
transparent green-wash of the sea, which is so amorous after me, That it is safe to allow it to lick 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
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
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
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.
, 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
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!
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-
beget superb children, To speak readily and clearly—to feel at home among common people, And to hold my
Let me have my own way, Let others promulge the laws—I will make no ac- count account of the laws, Let
charged against me, half as bad as the evil I really am; I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my
friends, but listen to my enemies—as I my- self myself do; I charge you, too, forever, reject those
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
SPONTANEOUS me, Nature, The loving day, the friend I am happy with, The arm of my friend hanging idly
over my shoulder, The hill-side whitened with blossoms of the mountain ash, The same, late in autumn—the
pressed and glued together with love, Earth of chaste love—life that is only life after love, The body of my
and trembling encircling fingers—the young man all colored, red, ashamed, angry; The souse upon me of my
greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to fill my
I were nothing, From what I am determined to make illustrious, even if I stand sole among men, From my
The oath of the inseparableness of two together—of the woman that loves me, and whom I love more than my
, (To talk to the perfect girl who understands me—the girl of The States, To waft to her these from my
own lips—to effuse them from my own body;) From privacy—From frequent repinings alone, From plenty of
the right person not near, From the soft sliding of hands over me, and thrusting of fingers through my
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
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
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
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
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
Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these, offering myself, Bathing myself, bathing my
songs in sex, Offspring of my loins.
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
conceived in my moth- er's mother's womb is equally wonderful; And how I was not palpable once, but
And that my Soul embraces you this hour, and we af- fect affect each other without ever seeing each other
WHAT am I, after all, but a child, pleased with the sound of my own name?
tell why it affects me so much, when I hear it from women's voices, and from men's voices, or from my
good as such-like, visible here or anywhere, stand provided for in a handful of space, which I extend my
arm and half enclose with my hand, That contains the start of each and all—the virtue, the germs of
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