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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
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!
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
, are, Of this Union welded in blood, of the solemn price paid, of the unnamed lost ever present in my
SPLENDOR of ended day floating and filling me, Hour prophetic, hour resuming the past, Inflating my throat
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-color'd flesh!
To be conscious of my body, so satisfied, so large! To be this incredible God I am!
How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around! How the clouds pass silently overhead!
AS at thy portals also death, Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds, To memories of my mother
My Legacy. MY LEGACY.
But I, my life surveying, closing, With nothing to show to devise from its idle years, Nor houses nor
lands, nor tokens of gems or gold for my friends, Yet certain remembrances of the war for you, and after
you, And little souvenirs of camps and soldiers, with my love, I bind together and bequeath in this
earth, she cried, I charge you lose not my sons, lose not an atom, And you streams absorb them well,
, and you airs that swim above lightly impalpable, And all you essences of soil and growth, and you my
, And you trees down in your roots to bequeath to all future trees, My dead absorb or South or North—my
darlings, give my immortal heroes, Exhale me them centuries hence, breathe me their breath, let not
O my dead, an aroma sweet! Exhale them perennial sweet death, years, centuries hence.
AS they draw to a close, Of what underlies the precedent songs—of my aims in them, Of the seed I have
in them, Of joy, sweet joy, through many a year, in them, (For them, for them have I lived, in them my
(Pleas'd to my soul at death I cry,) Our life is closed, our life begins, The long, long anchorage we
THESE carols sung to cheer my passage through the world I see, For completion I dedicate to the Invisible
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.
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!
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?
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.
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
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
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
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!
, 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