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Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these, offering myself, Bathing myself, bathing my

songs in Sex, Offspring of my loins.

moments—when you come upon me—ah you are here now, Give me now libidinous joys only, Give me the drench of my

and drink with the drinkers, The echoes ring with our indecent calls, I pick out some low person for my

one condemn'd by others for deeds done, I will play a part no longer, why should I exile myself from my

ONCE I pass'd through a populous city imprinting my brain for future use with its shows, architecture

Italian tenor singing at the opera, I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing; Heart of my

you too I heard murmuring low through one of the wrists around my head, Heard the pulse of you when all

was still ringing little bells last night under my ear.

over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of migrations, look afar, Look off the shores of my

early in the morning, Walking forth from the bower refresh'd 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

hitherto publish'd, from the pleasures, profits, conformities, Which too long I was offering to feed my

soul, Clear to me now standards not yet publish'd, clear to me that my soul, That the soul of the man

substantial life, Bequeathing hence types of athletic love, 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

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!

Who is he that would become my follower? Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?

be abandon'd, Therefore release me now before troubling yourself any further, let go your hand from my

acquire 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

now and then in the silence, Alone I had thought, yet soon a troop gathers around me, Some walk by my

side and some behind, and some embrace my arms or neck, They the spirits of dear friends dead or alive

something for tokens, tossing toward whoever is near me, Here, lilac, with a branch of pine, Here, out of my

Not Heaving From My Ribb'd Breast Only. NOT HEAVING FROM MY RIBB'D BREAST ONLY.

NOT heaving from my ribb'd breast only, Not in sighs at night in rage dissatisfied with myself, Not in

those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs, Not in many an oath and promise broken, Not in my wilful and savage

soul's volition, Not in the subtle nourishment of the air, Not in this beating and pounding at my temples

O pulse of my life! Need I that you exist and show yourself any more than in these songs.

knows, aught of them,) May-be seeming 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 answer'd 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

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 receiv'd with plaudits in the capitol, still

it was not a happy night for me that follow'd, And else when I carous'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd

and undressing bathed, laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise, And when I thought how my

dear friend my lover was on his way coming, O then I was happy, O then each breath tasted sweeter, and

all that day my food nourish'd me more, and the beautiful day pass'd well, And the next came with equal

down-balls nor perfumes, nor the high rain-emitting clouds, are borne through the open air, Any more than my

my blue veins leaving! O drops of me!

from me falling, drip, bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd, From my

face, from my forehead and lips, From my breast, from within where I was conceal'd, press forth red

the streets, nor the bright windows with goods in them, Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my

as I pass O Manhattan, your frequent and swift flash of eyes offering me love, Offering response to my

BEHOLD this swarthy face, these gray eyes, This beard, the white wool unclipt upon my neck, My brown

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

that love me, (Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war, But soon my

fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd and I resign'd myself, To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or

2 O maidens and young men I love and that love me, What you ask of my days those the strangest and sudden

Bearing the bandages, water and sponge, Straight and swift to my wounded I go, Where they lie on the

thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen, These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my

noise of the world a rural domestic life, Give me to warble spontaneous songs recluse by myself, for my

excitement, and rack'd by the war-strife,) These to procure incessantly asking, rising in cries from my

heart, While yet incessantly asking still I adhere to my city, Day upon day and year upon year O city

enrich'd of soul, you give me forever faces; (O I see what I sought to escape, confronting, reversing my

cries, I see my own soul trampling down what it ask'd for.) 2 Keep your splendid silent sun, Keep your

O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial! What I have I also give you.

The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music, And my heart, O my soldiers, my

veterans, My heart gives you love.

WHILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long, And my head on the pillow rests

night midnight passes, And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear, the breath of my

with eager calls and orders of officers, While from some distant part of the field the wind wafts to my

far or near, (rousing even in dreams a devilish exultation and all the old mad joy in the depths of my

galloping by or on a full run, With the patter of small arms, the warning s-s-t of the rifles, (these in my

Me master years a hundred since from my parents sunder'd, A little child, they caught me as the savage

of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world; For my

look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin—I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my

glance upward out of this page studying you, dear friend, whoever you are,) How solemn the thought of my

As I Lay With My Head in Your Lap Camerado. AS I LAY WITH MY HEAD IN YOUR LAP CAMERADO.

AS I lay with my head in your lap camerado, The confession I made I resume, what I said to you and the

open air I resume, I know I am restless and make others so, I know my words are weapons full of danger

Covering all my lands—all my seashores lining! Flag of death!

Ah my silvery beauty—ah my woolly white and crimson! Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty!

My sacred one, my mother.

therefore leave my works, And go lull yourself with what you can understand, and with piano- tunes piano-tunes

Ere departing fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets; Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet

steps keep time; Spirit of hours I knew, all hectic red one day, but pale as death next day, Touch my

mouth ere you depart, press my lips close, Leave me your pulses of rage—bequeath them to me—fill me

with currents convulsive, Let them scorch and blister out of my chants when you are gone, Let them identify

TO the leaven'd soil they trod calling I sing for the last, (Forth from my tent emerging for good, loosing

vistas beyond, to the South and the North, To the leaven'd soil of the general Western world to attest my

Northern ice and rain that began me nourish me to the end, But the hot sun of the South is to fully ripen my

And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?

O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer!

voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.

While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, As to long panoramas of visions.

I cease from my song for thee, From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee

O Captain! My Captain! 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

But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, I reject none, accept all, then reproduce all in my

What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?

Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, to appear again in my strength, gait, face?

rapt verse, my call, mock me not!

You by my charm I invoke.

In you whoe'er you are my book perusing, In I myself, in all the world, these currents flowing, All,

the West joyously sounding, Your tidings old, yet ever new and untranslatable, Infinitesimals out of my

life, and many a life, (For not my life and years alone I give—all, all I give,) These waifs from the

O earth that hast no voice, confide to me a voice, O harvest of my lands—O boundless summer growths,

you dread accruing army, O you regiments so piteous, with your mortal diarrhoea, with your fever, O my

Nor do I forget you Departed, Nor in winter or summer my lost ones, But most in the open air as now when

my soul is rapt and at peace, like pleasing phantoms, Your memories rising glide silently by me. 6 I

All till'd and untill'd fields expand before me, I see the true arenas of my race, or first or last,

BY the city dead-house by the gate, As idly sauntering wending my way from the clangor, I curious pause

Fair, fearful wreck—tenement of a soul—itself a soul, Unclaim'd, avoided house—take one breath from my

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 deceiv'd, I will run a furrow with my plough,

I will press my spade through the sod and turn it up underneath, I am sure I shall expose some of the

transparent green-wash of the sea which is so amorous after me, That it is safe to allow it to lick my

COURAGE yet, my brother or my sister!

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

walk'dst thy years in barter, 'mid the haunts of brokers, Nor heroism thine, nor war, nor glory. 2 Silent, my

trod, by you Patapsco, You Hudson, you endless Mississippi—nor you alone, But to the high seas launch, my

the road or at some crevice door by chance, or open'd win- dow window , Pausing, inclining, baring my

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

you, I do not sound your name, but I understand you, I specify you with joy O my comrade to salute you

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

Me ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chain'd with iron, or my ankles with iron?

do 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

As to me I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight

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

Loud I call to you, my love!

who I am, my love.

Hither, my love! Here I am! Here!

But my love no more, no more with me!

O what is my destination?