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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

O longings for my dear home! O soft and sunny airs! O pensive!

O my Soul! O lips becoming tremulous, powerless! O centuries, centuries yet ahead!

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

Have you studied out MY LAND, its idioms and men?

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

Will it absorb into me as I absorb food, air, nobility, meanness—to appear again in my strength, gait

own Soul or defiled my body, I have claimed nothing to myself which I have not carefully claimed for

untrodden and mouldy—I see no longer any axe upon it, I see the mighty and friendly emblem of the power of my

I do not vaunt my love for you, I have what I have. The axe leaps!

response, Take what I have then, (saying fain,) take the pay you approached for, Take the white tears of my

COME closer to me, Push closer, my lovers, and take the best I possess, Yield closer and closer, and

Neither a servant nor a master am I, I take no sooner a large price than a small price— I will have my

become so for your sake, If you remember your foolish and outlawed deeds, do you think I cannot remember my

are, I am this day just as much in love with them as you, Then I am in love with you, and with all my

friendly companions, I intend to reach them my hand, and make as much of them as I do of men and women

New Orleans, San Francisco, The departing ships, when the sailors heave at the capstan; Evening—me in my

room—the setting sun, The setting summer sun shining in my open window, showing me flies, suspended,

, futurity, In space, the sporades, the scattered islands, the stars —on the firm earth, the lands, my

less in myself than the whole of the Manna- hatta Mannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my

ever united lands —my body no more inevitably united, part to part, and made one identity, any more

and let one line of my poems contradict another! Let the people sprawl with yearning aimless hands!

Let him who is without my poems be assassinated!

WITH antecedents, With my fathers and mothers, and the accumulations of past ages, With all which, had

In the name of These States, and in your and my name, the Past, And in the name of These States, and

in your and my name, the Present time.

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

sake, Of departing—of the growth of a mightier race than any yet, Of myself, soon, perhaps, closing up my

all—aplomb in the midst of irrational things, Imbued as they—passive, receptive, silent as they, Finding my

woods, or of any farm- life of These States, or of the coast, or the lakes, or Kanada, Me, wherever my

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

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!)

I am de- termined determined to press my way toward you, Sound your voice!

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

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

ALL day I have walked the city, and talked with my friends, and thought of prudence, Of time, space,

do not doubt there is more in myself than I have supposed—and more in all men and women— and more in my

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

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