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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
over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of migrations, look afar, Look off the shores of my
Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these, offering myself, Bathing myself, bathing my
songs in Sex, Offspring of my loins.
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.
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.
MY spirit to yours, dear brother; Do not mind because many, sounding your name, do not understand you
I do not sound your name, but I understand you, (there are others also;) I specify you with joy, O my
divisions, jealousies, recriminations on every side, They close peremptorily upon us, to surround us, my
publish'd—from the pleasures, profits, eruditions, 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 yield, 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?
don'd abandon'd ; Therefore release me now, before troubling yourself any further—Let go your hand from my
those know me best who admire me, and vaunt- ingly 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
stopping 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 em- brace embrace my arms or neck, They, the spirits of dear friends
lilac, with a branch of pine, Here, out of my pocket, some moss which I pull'd off a live-oak in Florida
from the water by the pond-side, that I reserve, I will give of it—but only to them that love, as I 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
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
changed points of view; —To me, these, and the like of these, are curiously an- swer'd 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 fol- low'd follow'd ; And else, when I carous'd, or when my plans
ing undressing , bathed, laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise, And when I thought how my
all that day my food nourish'd me more—and the beautiful day pass'd well, And the next came with equal
joy—and with the next, at evening, came my friend; And that night, while all was still, I heard the
perfumes, nor the high, rain- emitting 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 drops—confession
nor the bright win- dows windows , with goods in them; Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my
your frequent and swift flash of eyes offering me love, Offering response to my own—these repay me; Lovers
BEHOLD this swarthy face—these gray eyes, This beard—the white wool, unclipt upon my neck, My brown hands
leaves 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
with me, I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has be- come 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,
; And it seems to me if I could know those men, I should become attached to them, as I do to men in my
HERE the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest- lasting strongest-lasting : Here I shade and hide
my thoughts—I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.
What Think You I Take My Pen in Hand? 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! EARTH! my likeness!
—Then separate, as disembodied, or another born, Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation;
I ascend—I float in the regions of your love, O man, O sharer of my roving life.
no unreturn'd love—the pay is certain, one way or another; (I loved a certain person ardently, and my
That Shadow, My Likeness. That Shadow, my Likeness.
THAT shadow, my likeness, that goes to and fro, seek- ing seeking a livelihood, chattering, chaffering
where it flits; How often I question and doubt whether that is really me; —But in these, and among my
lovers, and caroling my songs, O I never doubt whether that is really me.
I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections; And I, when I meet you, mean to discover
you read these, I, that was visible, am become invisible; Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my
1 O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman! Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!
change of the light and shade, I see distant lands, as real and near to the inhabitants of them, as my
see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-beloved, saying to the people, Do not weep for me, This is not my
race; I see the results of the perseverance and industry of my race; I see ranks, colors, barbarisms
I have run through what any river or strait of the globe has run through; I have taken my stand on the
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