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body, Unfolded only out of the inimitable poems of woman can come the poems of man, (only thence have my

WHAT am I after all but a child, pleas'd with the sound of my own name?

Who Learns My Lesson Complete? WHO LEARNS MY LESSON COMPLETE? WHO learns my lesson complete?

as every one is im- mortal immortal ; I know it is wonderful, but my eyesight is equally wonderful, and

how I was conceived in my mother's womb is equally wonderful, And pass'd from a babe in the creeping

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

ON my Northwest coast in the midst of the night a fishermen's group stands watching, Out on the lake

Dim smitten star, Orb not of France alone, pale symbol of my soul, its dearest hopes, The struggle and

IN a far-away northern county in the placid pastoral region, Lives my farmer friend, the theme of my

appears to them, (books, politics, poems, depart—all else departs,) I confess I envy only his fascination—my

WANDERING at morn, Emerging from the night from gloomy thoughts, thee in my thoughts, Yearning for thee

Thee coil'd in evil times my country, with craft and black dismay, with every meanness, treason thrust

its young, The singing thrush whose tones of joy and faith ecstatic, Fail not to certify and cheer my

If vermin so transposed, so used and bless'd may be, Then may I trust in you, your fortunes, days, my

My Picture-Gallery. MY PICTURE-GALLERY.

bugle-calls, Trooping tumultuous, filling the midnight late, bending me power- less powerless , Entering my

2 Come forward O my soul, and let the rest retire, Listen, lose not, it is toward thee they tend, Parting

the midnight, entering my slumber-chamber, For thee they sing and dance O soul.

cannot tell itself.) 3 Ah from a little child, Thou knowest soul how to me all sounds became music, My

6 Then I woke softly, And pausing, questioning awhile the music of my dream, And questioning all those

PASSAGE TO INDIA. 1 SINGING my days, Singing the great achievements of the present, Singing the strong

Struggles of many a captain, tales of many a sailor dead, Over my mood stealing and spreading they come

of you strong mountains of my land! Of you O prairies! of you gray rocks! O morning red! O clouds!

the blood burns in my veins! Away O soul! hoist instantly the anchor!

O my brave soul! O farther farther sail! O daring joy, but safe! are they not all the seas of God?

Thou knowest my years entire, my life, My long and crowded life of active work, not adoration merely;

Thou knowest the prayers and vigils of my youth, Thou knowest my manhood's solemn and visionary meditations

All my emprises have been fill'd with Thee, My speculations, plans, begun and carried on in thoughts

, I yield my ships to Thee.

My hands, my limbs grow nerveless, My brain feels rack'd, bewilder'd, Let the old timbers part, I will

THE SLEEPERS. 1 I WANDER all night in my vision, Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping

I stand in the dark with drooping eyes by the worst-suffering and the most restless, I pass my hands

He whom I call answers me and takes the place of my lover, He rises with me silently from the bed.

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

darn my grandson's stockings.

dear brothers' and sisters' sake, for the soul's sake, Wending my way through the homes of men, rich

words, mine only, Young and strong I pass knowing well I am destin'd myself to an early death; But my

charity has no death—my wisdom dies not, neither early nor late, And my sweet love bequeath'd here and

of reminiscences, brooding, with many wiles, (Though it was thought I was baffled and dispel'd, and my

side, warlike, equal with any, real as any, Nor time nor change shall ever change me or my words. 4

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

YET, yet, ye downcast hours, I know ye also, Weights of lead, how ye clog and cling at my ankles, Earth

Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me, The call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarm'd, uncertain

, The sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me, Come tell me where I am speeding, tell me my destination

And you O my soul where you stand, Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly

need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold, Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my

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

arrive, or pass'd on farther than those of the earth, I henceforth no more ignore them than I ignore my

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

thee, And royal feudal Europe sails with thee. 5 Beautiful world of new superber birth that rises to my

(Lo, where arise three peerless stars, To be thy natal stars my country, Ensemble, Evolution, Freedom

my special word to thee. Hear me illustrious!

wood edge, thy touching-distant beams enough, Or man matured, or young or old, as now to thee I launch my

launch thy subtle dazzle and thy strength for these, Prepare the later afternoon of me myself—prepare my

lengthen- ing lengthening shadows, Prepare my starry nights.

This face owes to the sexton his dismalest fee, An unceasing death-bell tolls there. 3 Features of my

I saw the face of the most smear'd and slobbering idiot they had at the asylum, And I knew for my consolation

what they knew not, I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my brother, The same wait to clear the

near the garden pickets, Come here she blushingly cries, Come nigh to me limber-hipp'd man, Stand at my

upon you, Fill me with albescent honey, bend down to me, Rub to me with your chafing beard, rub to my

refreshing night the walks of Paradise, I scent the grass, the moist air and the roses; Thy song expands my

and for my sensuous eyes, Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world.

the terrible tableaus. 7 O trumpeter, methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest, Thou melt'st my

heart, my brain—thou movest, drawest, chan- gest changest them at will; And now thy sullen notes send

soul, renew its languishing faith and hope, Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future

THEE for my recitative, Thee in the driving storm even as now, the snow, the winter-day declining, Thee

Roll through my chant with all thy lawless music, thy swinging lamps at night, Thy madly-whistled laughter

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

parrots in the woods, I see the papaw-tree and the blos- soming blossoming titi; Again, sailing in my

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

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

my city!

As I sit writing here, sick and grown old, Not my least burden is that dulness of the years, querilities

, Ungracious glooms, aches, lethargy, constipation, whimpering ennui, May filter in my daily songs.

My Canary Bird. MY CANARY BIRD.

Queries to My Seventieth Year. QUERIES TO MY SEVENTIETH YEAR.

After the dazzle of day is gone, Only the dark, dark night shows to my eyes the stars; After the clangor

of organ majestic, or chorus, or perfect band, Silent, athwart my soul, moves the symphony true.

Would you the undulation of one wave, its trick to me transfer, Or breathe one breath of yours upon my

past war, the battles, hospital sights, the wounded and the dead, Myself through every by-gone phase—my

idle youth—old age at hand, My three-score years of life summ'd up, and more, and past, By any grand

Where day and night I wend thy surf-beat shore, Imaging to my sense thy varied strange suggestions, (

These snowy hairs, my feeble arm, my frozen feet, For them thy faith, thy rule I take, and grave it to

Far back, related on my mother's side, Old Salt Kossabone, I'll tell you how he died: (Had been a sailor

destination"—these the last words— when Jenny came, he sat there dead, Dutch Kossabone, Old Salt, related on my

, Manrico's passionate call, Ernani's, sweet Gennaro's, I fold thenceforth, or seek to fold, within my

My science-friend, my noblest woman-friend, (Now buried in an English grave—and this a memory-leaf for

Small the Theme of My Chant. From the 1867 edition L. of G. SMALL THE THEME OF MY CHANT.

Small the theme of my Chant, yet the greatest—namely, One's- Self One's-Self —a simple, separate person

My Days I sing, and the Lands—with interstice I knew of hap- less hapless War.

the midday sun, the impalpable air—for life, mere life, For precious ever-lingering memories, (of you my

mother dear —you, father—you, brothers, sisters, friends,) For all my days—not those of peace alone—the

war's chosen ones, The cannoneers of song and thought—the great artillerists—the foremost leaders, captains

them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn; And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my

current songs of beauty, peace, decorum, I cast a reminiscence—(likely 'twill offend you, I heard it in my

their sense, their ears, towards his murmuring, half- caught half-caught words: "Let me return again to my

Give me my old wild battle-life again!"

than old Voltaire's, yet greater, Proof of this present time, and thee, thy broad expanse, America, To my

and tide, Some three days since on their own soil live-sprouting, Now here their sweetness through my

August now;) You pallid banner-staves—you pennants valueless—you over- stay'd overstay'd of time, Yet my

Which vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter'd, Invoking here and now I challenge for my

poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats, Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me, (For what is my

You toil of painful and choked articulations, you meannesses, You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my

Ah think not you finally triumph, my real self has yet to come forth, It shall yet march forth o'ermastering

Weave In, My Hardy Life. WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE.

WEAVE in, weave in, my hardy life, Weave yet a soldier strong and full for great campaigns to come, Weave

have communed together, Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own; Was't charged against my

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

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

soldiers South or North, As I muse retrospective murmuring a chant in thought, The war resumes, again to my

Now sound no note O trumpeters, Not at the head of my cavalry parading on spirited horses, With sabres

drawn and glistening, and carbines by their thighs, (ah my brave horsemen!

My handsome tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride, With all the perils were yours.)

Perfume therefore my chant, O love, immortal love, Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers