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WHILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long, And my head on the pillow rests
vacant 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
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
Death and Night, inces- santly incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world: …For my
where he lies, white-faced and still, in the coffin —I draw near; I bend down, and touch lightly with my
Ere, departing, fade from my eyes your forests of bayo- nets bayonets ; Spirit of gloomiest fears and
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!
Let them scorch and blister out of my chants, when you are gone; Let them identify you to the future,
glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend, whoever you are;) How solemn the thought of my
trod, calling, I sing, for the last; (Not cities, nor man alone, nor war, nor the dead, But forth from my
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 ripen my
Features of my equals, would you trick me with your creas'd and cadaverous march?
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
pickets, Come here, she blushingly cries—Come nigh to me, lim-ber-hipp'dlimber-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
That, O my brethren—that is the mission of Poets.
What is this you bring my America? Is it uniform with my country?
I swear I will have each quality of my race in my- self myself , (Talk as you like, he only suits These
rapt verse, my call—mock me not!
You, by my charm, I invoke!
1 COME, my tan-faced children, Follow well in order, get your weapons ready; Have you your pistols?
2 For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful
O my breast aches with tender love for all!
12 See, my children, resolute children, By those swarms upon our rear, we must never yield or falter,
18 I too with my soul and body, We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way, Through these shores
and let one line of my poems contra- dict contradict another!
tain-high mountain-high ; Brazen effrontery, scheming, rolling like ocean's waves around and upon you, O my
my lands!
Let him who is without my poems be assassinated!
Then my realities; What else is so real as mine?
done and gone, we remain; There is no final reliance but upon us; Democracy rests finally upon us, (I, my
Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life. WEAVE IN, WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE. WEAVE in!
weave in, my hardy life!
O the sun of the world will ascend, dazzling, and take his height—and you too, O my Ideal, will surely
O lips of my soul, already becoming powerless! O ample and grand Presidentiads!
(I must not venture—the ground under my feet men- aces menaces me—it will not support me: O future too
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
and meat; 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 under- neath underneath ; I am sure I shall
transparent green-wash of the sea, which is so amorous after me, That it is safe to allow it to lick my
that was not the end of those nations, or any person of them, any more than this shall be the end of 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! The city of such women, I am mad to be with them!
—at last I accept your terms; Bringing to practical, vulgar tests, of all my ideal dreams, And of me,
Covering all my lands! all my sea-shores lining! Flag of death!
Ah my silvery beauty! ah my woolly white and crim- son crimson !
Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty! My sacred one, my mother.
O my father, It is so broad, it covers the whole sky! FATHER.
now the halyards have rais'd it, Side of my banner broad and blue—side of my starry banner, Discarding
eastern shore, and my western shore the same; And all between those shores, and my ever-running Mississippi
, with bends and chutes; And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my fields of Missouri; The
My limbs, my veins dilate; The blood of the world has fill'd me full—my theme is clear at last: —Banner
to me, As, under doughty Sherman, I march toward the sea.) 3 Me, master, years a hundred, since from my
such-like, visible here or any- where 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
my brother or my sister! Keep on!
I walk'd the shores of my Eastern Sea, Heard over the waves the little voice, Saw the divine infant,
maintain the be- queath'd bequeath'd cause, as for all lands, And I send these words to Paris with 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 blabb'd
paint myriads of heads, but paint no head with- out without its nimbus of gold-color'd light; From my
States awhile—but I cannot tell whither or how long; Perhaps soon, some day or night while I am singing, my
Of This Union, soak'd, welded in blood—of the solemn price paid—of the unnamed lost, ever present in my
passing, departing—of the growth of completer men than any yet, Of myself, soon, perhaps, closing up my
Inflating my throat—you, divine average! You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing.
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 rose-color'd flesh; To be conscious of my body
How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around! How the clouds pass silently overhead!
sail'd down the Mississippi, As I wander'd over the prairies, As I have lived—As I have look'd through my
cheerfully accept, A little sustenance, a hut and garden, a little money— these, as I rendezvous with my
I remember I said, before my leaves sprang at all, I would raise my voice jocund and strong, with reference
I have press'd through in my own right, I have sung the Body and the Soul—War and Peace have I sung,
And the songs of Life and of Birth—and shown that there are many births: I have offer'd my style to every
one—I have journey'd with confident step; While my pleasure is yet at the full, I whisper, So long!
4 My songs cease—I abandon them; From behind the screen where I hid, I advance person- ally personally
What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)
Give me the drench of my passions! Give me life coarse and rank!
self myself from my companions?
songs in Sex, Offspring of my loins.
voice—approach, Touch me—touch the palm of your hand to my Body as I pass; Be not afraid of my Body.
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.
I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my friends, but listen to my enemies—as I myself do;
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
And that my Soul embraces you this hour, and we affect each other without ever seeing each other, and
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem; I whisper with my lips close to your
O lips of my soul, already becoming powerless! O ample and grand Presidentiads! New history!
(I must not venture—the ground under my feet men- aces menaces me—it will not support me;) O present!
it harm'd 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
only out of the inimitable poem of the wo- man woman , can come the poems of man—(only thence have my
arrive, or pass'd on farther than those of the earth, I henceforth no more ignore them, than I ignore 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
WHAT am I, after all, but a child, pleased with the sound of my own name?
sake, Of departing—of the growth of a mightier race than any yet, Of myself, soon, perhaps, closing up my
My Days I sing, and the Lands—with interstice I knew of hapless War.
Features of my equals, would you trick me with your creased and cadaverous march?
I saw the face of the most smeared 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
Come nigh to me limber-hip'd man and give me your finger and thumb, Stand at my side till I lean as high
Fill me with albescent honey . . . . bend down to me, Rub to me with your chafing beard . . rub to my
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, to Cudge that hoes in the sugarfield;
Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic, And the soldiers suppose him to be a captain . . . . and
Leaves of Grass, "Who Learns My Lesson Complete?" WHO learns my lesson complete?
as every one is 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 how I was not palpable once but
thirty-six years old in 1855 . . . . and that I am here anyhow—are all equally wonderful; And that my
New Jersey—U S America Evn'g M'ch 3 '91 Snow storm & east wind the last twenty hours—have just eaten my
call the Ship Yard nearly a mile off & am feeling fairly—Nothing very new—I am sitting here alone in my
Feb: 14 '91 Fine sun shining out as I look—have been kept in now six weeks & over by bad weather & my
and his brother Harry were the sons of Henry Whireman Fritzinger (about 1828–1881), a former sea captain
Davis, Whitman's housekeeper, who had also taken care of the sea captain and who inherited part of his
Camden N J—U S America Feb: 26—Evn'g—'91 Ab't same—have just had my supper, rice & tea—Suppose you have
absolute power —J W W[allace] is here—to go down with the Staffords to-morrow—shall presently make my
and his brother Harry were the sons of Henry Whireman Fritzinger (about 1828–1881), a former sea captain
Davis, Whitman's housekeeper, who had also taken care of the sea captain and who inherited part of his
breaths away both of you)—W has gone over to Phila. to give word to Dr Thomas, the oculist & to take my
little book the three opinions (Sarrazin's, the Irishman, & Ingersolls) —Had a fair night—relish'd my
and his brother Harry were the sons of Henry Whireman Fritzinger (about 1828–1881), a former sea captain
Davis, Whitman's housekeeper, who had also taken care of the sea captain and who inherited part of his
At this time, Whitman was planning to include an appendix to his Good-bye My Fancy that would include
(choice persons,) one third women (Proceeds to me $869.45)—I went over, was wheeled on the stage in my
and his brother Harry were the sons of Henry Whireman Fritzinger (about 1828–1881), a former sea captain
Davis, Whitman's housekeeper, who had also taken care of the sea captain and who inherited part of his
lately—to-day have been out f'm two to three hours—start at 11 abt—Stopt at Harleigh Cemetery to look again at my
Give my love to all—I most envy the S W salt air that must be breezing in there to day— Walt Whitman