poems walt whitman

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POEMS BY WALT

WHITMAN

WALT WHITMAN∗

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SELECTED AND EDITED BY WILLIAMMICHAEL ROSSETTI

A NEW EDITION”Or si sa il nome, o per tristo o per

buono, E si sa pure al mondo ch’io ci sono.”–MICHELANGELO.

”That Angels are human forms, or men,

∗PDF created by pdfbooks.co.za

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I have seen a thousand times. I have alsofrequently told them that men in the Chris-tian world are in such gross ignorance re-specting Angels and Spirits as to supposethem to be minds without a form, or merethoughts, of which they have no other ideathan as something ethereal possessing a vi-tal principle. To the first or ultimate heavenalso correspond the forms of man’s body,

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called its members, organs, and viscera. Thusthe corporeal part of man is that in whichheaven ultimately closes, and upon which,as on its base, it rests.” –SWEDENBORG.

”Yes, truly, it is a great thing for a na-tion that it get an articulate voice–that itproduce a man who will speak forth melodi-ously what the heart of it means.” –CARLYLE.

”Les efforts de vos ennemis contre vous,4



leurs cris, leur rage impuissante, et leurs pe-tits succes, ne doivent pas vous effrayer; cene sont que des egratignures sur les epaulesd’Hercule.” –ROBESPIERRE.

TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT.DEAR SCOTT,–Among various gifts which

I have received from you, tangible and in-tangible, was a copy of the original quartoedition of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass , which

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you presented to me soon after its first ap-pearance in 1855. At a time when few peo-ple on this side of the Atlantic had lookedinto the book, and still fewer had found in itanything save matter for ridicule, you hadappraised it, and seen that its value wasreal and great. A true poet and a strongthinker like yourself was indeed likely to seethat. I read the book eagerly, and perceived

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that its substantiality and power were stillahead of any eulogium with which it mighthave come commended to me–and, in fact,ahead of most attempts that could be madeat verbal definition of them.

Some years afterwards, getting to knowour friend Swinburne, I found with muchsatisfaction that he also was an ardent (notof course a blind ) admirer of Whitman.

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Satisfaction, and a degree almost of sur-prise; for his intense sense of poetic refine-ment of form in his own works and his ex-acting acuteness as a critic might have seemedlikely to carry him away from Whitman insympathy at least, if not in actual latitudeof perception. Those who find the Amer-ican poet ”utterly formless,” ”intolerablyrough and floundering,” ”destitute of the A

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B C of art,” and the like, might not unprof-itably ponder this very different estimate of him by the author of Atalanta in Calydon .

May we hope that now, twelve years af-ter the first appearance of Leaves of Grass ,the English reading public may be preparedfor a selection of Whitman’s poems, andsoon hereafter for a complete edition of them?I trust this may prove to be the case. At any

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rate, it has been a great gratification to meto be concerned in the experiment; and thisis enhanced by my being enabled to asso-ciate with it your name, as that of an earlyand well-qualified appreciator of Whitman,and no less as that of a dear friend.

Yours affectionately, W. M. ROSSETTI.October 1867.

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CONTENTS.

PREFATORY NOTICEPREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

OF LEAVES OF GRASSCHANTS DEMOCRATIC: STARTING

FROM PAUMANOK AMERICAN FEUIL-LAGE THE PAST-PRESENT YEARS OFTHE UNPERFORMED FLUX TO WORK-

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ING MEN SONG OF THE BROAD-AXEANTECEDENTS SALUT AU MONDE ABROADWAY PAGEANT OLD IRELANDBOSTON TOWN FRANCE, THE EIGH-TEENTH YEAR OF THESE STATES EU-ROPE, THE SEVENTY-SECOND AND SEVENTY-THIRD YEARS OF THESE STATES TOA FOILED REVOLTER OR REVOLTRESS

DRUM TAPS: MANHATTAN ARMING12



1861 THE UPRISING BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAYBREAKTHE BIVOUAC’S FLAME BIVOUAC ONA MOUNTAIN SIDE CITY OF SHIPS VIGILON THE FIELD THE FLAG THE WOUNDEDA SIGHT IN CAMP A GRAVE THE DRESSERA LETTER FROM CAMP WAR DREAMSTHE VETERAN’S VISION O TAN-FACEDPRAIRIE BOY MANHATTAN FACES OVER

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THE CARNAGE THE MOTHER OF ALLCAMPS OF GREEN DIRGE FOR TWOVETERANS SURVIVORS HYMN OF DEADSOLDIERS SPIRIT WHOSE WORK IS DONERECONCILIATION AFTER THE WAR

WALT WHITMAN: ASSIMILATIONSA WORD OUT OF THE SEA CROSSINGBROOKLYN FERRY NIGHT AND DEATHELEMENTAL DRIFTS WONDERS MIR-

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COLN’S FUNERAL HYMN O CAPTAIN!MY CAPTAIN! (FOR THE DEATH OFLINCOLN) PIONEERS! O PIONEERS TOTHE SAYERS OF WORDS VOICES WHOSO-EVER BEGINNERS TO A PUPIL LINKSTHE WATERS TO THE STATES TEARSA SHIP GREATNESSES THE POET BURIALTHIS COMPOST DESPAIRING CRIES THECITY DEAD-HOUSE TO ONE SHORTLY

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TO DIE UNNAMED LANDS SIMILITUDETHE SQUARE DEIFIC

SONGS OF PARTING: SINGERS ANDPOETS TO A HISTORIAN FIT AUDI-ENCE SINGING IN SPRING LOVE OFCOMRADES PULSE OF MY LIFE AUX-ILIARIES REALITIES NEARING DEPAR-TURE POETS TO COME CENTURIESHENCE SO LONG!

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POSTSCRIPTPREFATORY NOTICE.During the summer of 1867 I had the

opportunity (which I had often wished for)of expressing in print my estimate and ad-miration of the works of the American poetWalt Whitman.[1] Like a stone dropped intoa pond, an article of that sort may spreadout its concentric circles of consequences.

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One of these is the invitation which I havereceived to edit a selection from Whitman’swritings; virtually the first sample of hiswork ever published in England, and offer-ing the first tolerably fair chance he has hadof making his way with English readers onhis own showing. Hitherto, such readers–except the small percentage of them to whomit has happened to come across the poems

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in some one of their American editions–havepicked acquaintance with them only throughthe medium of newspaper extracts and crit-icisms, mostly short-sighted, sneering, anddepreciatory, and rather intercepting thanforwarding the candid construction whichpeople might be willing to put upon the po-ems, alike in their beauties and their aber-rations. Some English critics, no doubt,

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have been more discerning–as W. J. Fox,of old, in the Dispatch , the writer of thenotice in the Leader , and of late two inthe Pall Mall Gazette and the LondonReview ;[2] but these have been the excep-tions among us, the great majority of thereviewers presenting that happy and famil-iar critical combination– scurrility and su-perciliousness.

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[Footnote 1: See The Chronicle for 6thJuly 1867, article Walt Whitman’s Poems .]

[Footnote 2: Since this Prefatory Noticewas written [in 1868], another eulogistic re-view of Whitman has appeared–that by Mr.Robert Buchanan, in the Broadway .]

As it was my lot to set down so recentlyseveral of the considerations which seem tome most essential and most obvious in re-

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gard to Whitman’s writings, I can scarcelynow recur to the subject without either re-peating something of what I then said, orelse leaving unstated some points of princi-pal importance. I shall therefore adopt thesimplest course–that of summarising the crit-ical remarks in my former article; after which,I shall leave without further development(ample as is the amount of development

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most of them would claim) the particulartopics there glanced at, and shall proceedto some other phases of the subject.

Whitman republished in 1867 his com-plete poetical works in one moderate- sizedvolume, consisting of the whole Leaves of Grass , with a sort of supplement theretonamed Songs before Parting ,[3] and of theDrum Taps , with its Sequel . It has been

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intimated that he does not expect to writeany more poems, unless it might be in ex-pression of the religious side of man’s na-ture. However, one poem on the last Amer-ican harvest sown and reaped by those whohad been soldiers in the great war, has al-ready appeared since the volume in ques-tion, and has been republished in England.

[Footnote 3: In a copy of the book re-25



vised by Whitman himself, which we haveseen, this title is modified into Songs of Parting .]

Whitman’s poems present no trace of rhyme, save in a couple or so of chance in-stances. Parts of them, indeed, may be re-garded as a warp of prose amid the weft of poetry, such as Shakespeare furnishes theprecedent for in drama. Still there is a very

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powerful and majestic rhythmical sense through-out.

Lavish and persistent has been the abusepoured forth upon Whitman by his owncountrymen; the tricklings of the Britishpress give but a moderate idea of it. Thepoet is known to repay scorn with scorn.Emerson can, however, from the first beclaimed as on Whitman’s side; nor, it is un-

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derstood after some inquiry, has that greatthinker since then retreated from this posi-tion in fundamentals, although his admira-tion may have entailed some worry uponhim, and reports of his recantation havebeen rife. Of other writers on Whitman’sside, expressing themselves with no mea-sured enthusiasm, one may cite Mr. M. D.Conway; Mr. W. D. O’Connor, who wrote

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a pamphlet named The Good Grey Poet ;and Mr. John Burroughs, author of WaltWhitman as Poet and Person , publishedquite recently in New York. His thorough-paced admirers declare Whitman to be be-yond rivalry the poet of the epoch; an es-timate which, startling as it will sound atthe first, may nevertheless be upheld, onthe grounds that Whitman is beyond all his

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competitors a man of the period, one of au-dacious personal ascendant, incapable of allcompromise, and an initiator in the schemeand form of his works.

Certain faults are charged against him,and, as far as they are true, shall franklystand confessed–some of them as very seri-ous faults. Firstly, he speaks on occasionof gross things in gross, crude, and plain

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terms. Secondly, he uses some words ab-surd or ill-constructed, others which pro-duce a jarring effect in poetry, or indeed inany lofty literature. Thirdly, he sins fromtime to time by being obscure, fragmen-tary, and agglomerative–giving long stringsof successive and detached items, not, how-ever, devoid of a certain primitive effective-ness. Fourthly, his self- assertion is bound-

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less; yet not always to be understood asstrictly or merely personal to himself, butsometimes as vicarious, the poet speakingon behalf of all men, and every man andwoman. These and any other faults appearmost harshly on a cursory reading; Whit-man is a poet who bears and needs to beread as a whole, and then the volume andtorrent of his power carry the disfigurements

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along with it, and away.The subject-matter of Whitman’s po-

ems, taken individually, is absolutely mis-cellaneous: he touches upon any and ev-ery subject. But he has prefixed to hislast edition an ”Inscription” in the followingterms, showing that the key-words of thewhole book are two–”One’s-self” and ”EnMasse:”–

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Small is the theme of the following chant,yet the greatest.–namely, ONE’S-SELF; thatwondrous thing, a simple separate person.That, for the use of the New World, I sing.Man’s physiology complete, from top to toe,I sing. Not physiognomy alone, nor brainalone, is worthy for the Muse: I say theform complete is worthier far. The femaleequally with the male I sing. Nor cease at

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the theme of One’s-self. I speak the wordof the modern, the word EN MASSE. Mydays I sing, and the lands–with interstice Iknew of hapless war. O friend, whoe’er youare, at last arriving hither to commence, Ifeel through every leaf the pressure of yourhand, which I return. And thus upon ourjourney linked together let us go.

The book, then, taken as a whole, is the35



poem both of Personality and of Democ-racy; and, it may be added, of Americannationalism. It is par excellence the mod-ern poem. It is distinguished also by thispeculiarity– that in it the most literal viewof things is continually merging into themost rhapsodic or passionately abstract. Pic-turesqueness it has, but mostly of a some-what patriarchal kind, not deriving from

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the ”word-painting” of the litterateur ; acertain echo of the old Hebrew poetry mayeven be caught in it, extra-modern thoughit is. Another most prominent and pervad-ing quality of the book is the exuberantphysique of the author. The conceptionsare throughout those of a man in robusthealth, and might alter much under differ-ent conditions.

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Further, there is a strong tone of para-dox in Whitman’s writings. He is both arealist and an optimist in extreme measure:he contemplates evil as in some sense notexisting, or, if existing, then as being of as much importance as anything else. Notthat he is a materialist; on the contrary, heis a most strenuous assertor of the soul, and,with the soul, of the body as its infallible

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associate and vehicle in the present frame of things. Neither does he drift into fatalismor indifferentism; the energy of his temper-ament, and ever-fresh sympathy with na-tional and other developments, being an ef-fectual bar to this. The paradoxical elementof the poems is such that one may some-times find them in conflict with what haspreceded, and would not be much surprised

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if they said at any moment the reverse of whatever they do say. This is mainly due tothe multiplicity of the aspects of things, andto the immense width of relation in whichWhitman stands to all sorts and all aspectsof them.

But the greatest of this poet’s distinc-tions is his absolute and entire originality.He may be termed formless by those who,

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not without much reason to show for them-selves, are wedded to the established formsand ratified refinements of poetic art; butit seems reasonable to enlarge the canontill it includes so great and startling a ge-nius, rather than to draw it close and ex-clude him. His work is practically certain tostand as archetypal for many future poeticefforts–so great is his power as an origina-

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tor, so fervid his initiative. It forms incom-parably the largest performance of our pe-riod in poetry. Victor Hugo’s Legende desSiecles alone might be named with it forlargeness, and even that with much less of anew starting-point in conception and treat-ment. Whitman breaks with all precedent.To what he himself perceives and knows hehas a personal relation of the intensest kind:

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to anything in the way of prescription, norelation at all. But he is saved from isola-tion by the depth of his Americanism; withthe movement of his predominant nation heis moved. His comprehension, energy, andtenderness are all extreme, and all inspiredby actualities. And, as for poetic genius,those who, without being ready to concedethat faculty to Whitman, confess his icon-

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oclastic boldness and his Titanic power of temperament, working in the sphere of po-etry, do in effect confess his genius as well.

Such, still further condensed, was thecritical summary which I gave of Whitman’sposition among poets. It remains to saysomething a little more precise of the par-ticular qualities of his works. And first, notto slur over defects, I shall extract some sen-

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tences from a letter which a friend, mosthighly entitled to form and express an opin-ion on any poetic question–one, too, whoabundantly upholds the greatness of Whit-man as a poet–has addressed to me with re-gard to the criticism above condensed. Hisobservations, though severe on this individ-ual point, appear to me not other than cor-rect. ”I don’t think that you quite put

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strength enough into your blame on oneside, while you make at least enough of mi-nor faults or eccentricities. To me it seemsalways that Whitman’s great flaw is a faultof debility, not an excess of strength–I meanhis bluster. His own personal and nationalself-reliance and arrogance, I need not tellyou, I applaud, and sympathise and rejoicein; but the blatant ebullience of feeling and

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speech, at times, is feeble for so great apoet of so great a people. He is in partcertainly the poet of democracy; but notwholly, because he tries so openly to be,and asserts so violently that he is– always asif he was fighting the case out on a platform.This is the only thing I really or greatly dis-like or revolt from. On the whole” (adds mycorrespondent), ”my admiration and enjoy-

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ment of his greatness grow keener and warmerevery time I think of him”–a feeling, I maybe permitted to observe, which is fully sharedby myself, and, I suppose, by all who con-sent in any adequate measure to recogniseWhitman, and to yield themselves to hisinfluence.

To continue. Besides originality and dar-ing, which have been already insisted upon,

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width and intensity are leading characteris-tics of his writings–width both of subject-matter and of comprehension, intensity of self-absorption into what the poet contem-plates and expresses. He scans and presentsan enormous panorama, unrolled before himas from a mountain-top; and yet, whatevermost large or most minute or casual thinghis eye glances upon, that he enters into

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with a depth of affection which identifieshim with it for a time, be the object whatit may. There is a singular interchange alsoof actuality and of ideal substratum andsuggestion. While he sees men, with evenabnormal exactness and sympathy, as men,he sees them also ”as trees walking,” andadmits us to perceive that the whole showis in a measure spectral and unsubstantial,

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and the mask of a larger and profounderreality beneath it, of which it is giving per-petual intimations and auguries. He is thepoet indeed of literality, but of passionateand significant literality, full of indirectionsas well as directness, and of readings be-tween the lines. If he is the ’cutest of Yan-kees, he is also as truly an enthusiast asany the most typical poet. All his facul-

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ties and performance glow into a white heatof brotherliness; and there is a poignancyboth of tenderness and of beauty about hisfiner works which discriminates them quiteas much as their modernness, audacity, orany other exceptional point. If the readerwishes to see the great and more intimatepowers of Whitman in their fullest expres-sion, he may consult the Nocturn for the

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Death of Lincoln ; than which it would bedifficult to find anywhere a purer, more el-evated, more poetic, more ideally abstract,or at the same time more pathetically per-sonal, threnody–uniting the thrilling chordsof grief, of beauty, of triumph, and of finalunfathomed satisfaction. With all his sin-gularities, Whitman is a master of wordsand of sounds: he has them at his command–

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made for, and instinct with, his purpose–messengers of unsurpassable sympathy andintelligence between himself and his read-ers. The entire book may be called thepaean of the natural man–not of the merelyphysical, still less of the disjunctively intel-lectual or spiritual man, but of him who,being a man first and foremost, is thereinalso a spirit and an intellect.

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There is a singular and impressive in-tuition or revelation of Swedenborg’s: thatthe whole of heaven is in the form of oneman, and the separate societies of heavenin the forms of the several parts of man.In a large sense, the general drift of Whit-man’s writings, even down to the passageswhich read as most bluntly physical, bear astriking correspondence or analogy to this

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dogma. He takes man, and every organ-ism and faculty of man, as the unit–thedatum–from which all that we know, dis-cern, and speculate, of abstract and super-sensual, as well as of concrete and sensual,has to be computed. He knows of nothingnobler than that unit man; but, knowingthat, he can use it for any multiple, and forany dynamical extension or recast.

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Let us next obtain some idea of whatthis most remarkable poet–the founder of American poetry rightly to be so called,

and the most sonorous poetic voice of thetangibilities of actual and prospective democracy–is in his proper life and person.

Walt Whitman was born at the farm-village of West Hills, Long Island, in theState of New York, and about thirty miles

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distant from the capital, on the 31st of May1819. His father’s family, English by origin,had already been settled in this locality forfive generations. His mother, named Louisavan Velsor, was of Dutch extraction, andcame from Cold Spring, Queen’s County,about three miles from West Hills. ”A fine-looking old lady” she has been termed inher advanced age. A large family ensued

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from the marriage. The father was a farmer,and afterwards a carpenter and builder; bothparents adhered in religion to ”the greatQuaker iconoclast, Elias Hicks.” Walt wasschooled at Brooklyn, a suburb of New York,and began life at the age of thirteen, work-ing as a printer, later on as a country teacher,and then as a miscellaneous press-writer inNew York. From 1837 to 1848 he had, as

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Mr. Burroughs too promiscuously expressesit, ”sounded all experiences of life, with alltheir passions, pleasures, and abandonments.”In 1849 he began travelling, and becameat New Orleans a newspaper editor, and atBrooklyn, two years afterwards, a printer.He next followed his father’s business of car-penter and builder. In 1862, after the breaking-out of the great Civil War, in which his en-

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thusiastic unionism and also his anti-slaveryfeelings attached him inseparably thoughnot rancorously to the good cause of theNorth, he undertook the nursing of the sickand wounded in the field, writing also a cor-respondence in the New York Times . I aminformed that it was through Emerson’s in-tervention that he obtained the sanction of President Lincoln for this purpose of char-

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ity, with authority to draw the ordinaryarmy rations; Whitman stipulating at thesame time that he would not receive anyremuneration for his services. The first im-mediate occasion of his going down to campwas on behalf of his brother, Lieutenant-Colonel George W. Whitman, of the 51stNew York Veterans, who had been struckin the face by a piece of shell at Fredericks-

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burg. From the spring of 1863 this nursing,both in the field and more especially in hos-pital at Washington, became his ”one dailyand nightly occupation;” and the strongesttestimony is borne to his measureless self-devotion and kindliness in the work, and tothe unbounded fascination, a kind of mag-netic attraction and ascendency, which heexercised over the patients, often with the

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happiest sanitary results. Northerner or South-erner, the belligerents received the same tend-ing from him. It is said that by the endof the war he had personally ministered toupwards of 100,000 sick and wounded. In aWashington hospital he caught, in the sum-mer of 1864, the first illness he had everknown, caused by poison absorbed into thesystem in attending some of the worst cases

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of gangrene. It disabled him for six months.He returned to the hospitals towards the be-ginning of 1865, and obtained also a clerk-ship in the Department of the Interior. Itshould be added that, though he never ac-tually joined the army as a combatant, hemade a point of putting down his name onthe enrolment- lists for the draft, to takehis chance as it might happen for serving

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the country in arms. The reward of his de-votedness came at the end of June 1865, inthe form of dismissal from his clerkship bythe minister, Mr. Harlan, who learned thatWhitman was the author of the Leaves of Grass ; a book whose outspokenness, or (asthe official chief considered it) immorality,raised a holy horror in the ministerial breast.The poet, however, soon obtained another

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modest but creditable post in the office of the Attorney-General. He still visits thehospitals on Sundays, and often on otherdays as well.

The portrait of Mr. Whitman repro-duced in the present volume is taken froman engraving after a daguerreotype givenin the original Leaves of Grass . He ismuch above the average size, and notice-

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ably well-proportioned–a model of physiqueand of health, and, by natural consequence,as fully and finely related to all physicalfacts by his bodily constitution as to allmental and spiritual facts by his mind andhis consciousness. He is now, however, old-looking for his years, and might even (ac-cording to the statement of one of his en-thusiasts, Mr. O’Connor) have passed for

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being beyond the age for the draft whenthe war was going on. The same gentle-man, in confutation of any inferences whichmight be drawn from the Leaves of Grassby a Harlan or other Holy Willie, affirmsthat ”one more irreproachable in his rela-tions to the other sex lives not upon thisearth”–an assertion which one must takeas one finds it, having neither confirmatory

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nor traversing evidence at hand. Whitmanhas light blue eyes, a florid complexion, afleecy beard now grey, and a quite pecu-liar sort of magnetism about him in relationto those with whom he comes in contact.His ordinary appearance is masculine andcheerful: he never shows depression of spir-its, and is sufficiently undemonstrative, andeven somewhat silent in company. He has

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always been carried by predilection towardsthe society of the common people; but is notthe less for that open to refined and artis-tic impressions–fond of operatic and othergood music, and discerning in works of art.As to either praise or blame of what hewrites, he is totally indifferent, not to sayscornful–having in fact a very decisive opin-ion of his own concerning its calibre and

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destinies. Thoreau, a very congenial spirit,said of Whitman, ”He is Democracy;” andagain, ”After all, he suggests something alittle more than human.” Lincoln broke outinto the exclamation, ”Well, he looks likea man!” Whitman responded to the instinc-tive appreciation of the President, consider-ing him (it is said by Mr. Burroughs) ”byfar the noblest and purest of the political

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characters of the time;” and, if anything cancast, in the eyes of posterity, an added haloof brightness round the unsullied personalqualities and the great doings of Lincoln,it will assuredly be the written monumentreared to him by Whitman.

The best sketch that I know of Whit-man as an accessible human individual isthat given by Mr. Conway.[4] I borrow from

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it the following few details. ”Having occa-sion to visit New York soon after the ap-pearance of Walt Whitman’s book, I wasurged by some friends to search him out....The day was excessively hot, the thermome-ter at nearly 100, and the sun blazed downas only on sandy Long Island can the sunblaze.... I saw stretched upon his back, andgazing up straight at the terrible sun, the

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man I was seeking. With his grey cloth-ing, his blue-grey shirt, his iron-grey hair,his swart sunburnt face and bare neck, helay upon the brown-and-white grass–for thesun had burnt away its greenness–and wasso like the earth upon which he rested thathe seemed almost enough a part of it forone to pass by without recognition. I ap-proached him, gave my name and reason

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for searching him out, and asked him if hedid not find the sun rather hot. ’Not at alltoo hot,’ was his reply; and he confided tome that this was one of his favourite placesand attitudes for composing ’poems.’ Hethen walked with me to his home, and tookme along its narrow ways to his room. Asmall room of about fifteen feet square, witha single window looking out on the bar-

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ren solitudes of the island; a small cot; awash-stand with a little looking-glass hungover it from a tack in the wall; a pine ta-ble with pen, ink, and paper on it; an oldline-engraving representing Bacchus, hungon the wall, and opposite a similar one of Silenus: these constituted the visible envi-ronments of Walt Whitman. There was not,apparently, a single book in the room....

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The books he seemed to know and love bestwere the Bible, Homer, and Shakespeare:these he owned, and probably had in hispockets while we were talking. He had twostudies where he read; one was the top of an omnibus, and the other a small mass of sand, then entirely uninhabited, far out inthe ocean, called Coney Island.... The onlydistinguished contemporary he had ever met

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was the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, of Brook-lyn, who had visited him.... He confessedto having no talent for industry, and thathis forte was ’loafing and writing poems:’he was poor, but had discovered that hecould, on the whole, live magnificently onbread and water.... On no occasion did helaugh, nor indeed did I ever see him smile.”

[Footnote 4: In the Fortnightly Review ,79



15th October 1866.]The first trace of Whitman as a writer

is in the pages of the Democratic Reviewin or about 1841. Here he wrote some prosetales and sketches–poor stuff mostly, so faras I have seen of them, yet not to be whollyconfounded with the commonplace. Oneof them is a tragic school-incident, whichmay be surmised to have fallen under his

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personal observation in his early experienceas a teacher. His first poem of any sortwas named Blood Money , in denuncia-tion of the Fugitive Slave Law, which sev-ered him from the Democratic party. Hisfirst considerable work was the Leaves of Grass . He began it in 1853, and it un-derwent two or three complete rewritingsprior to its publication at Brooklyn in 1855,

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in a quarto volume–peculiar-looking, butwith something perceptibly artistic aboutit. The type of that edition was set up en-tirely by himself. He was moved to under-take this formidable poetic work (as indi-cated in a private letter of Whitman’s, fromwhich Mr. Conway has given a sentenceor two) by his sense of the great materi-als which America could offer for a really

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American poetry, and by his contempt forthe current work of his compatriots–”eitherthe poetry of an elegantly weak sentimen-talism, at bottom nothing but maudlin pueril-ities or more or less musical verbiage, aris-ing out of a life of depression and enervationas their result; or else that class of poetry,plays, &c., of which the foundation is feu-dalism, with its ideas of lords and ladies,

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its imported standard of gentility, and themanners of European high-life-below-stairsin every line and verse.” Thus incited topoetic self-expression, Whitman (adds Mr.Conway) ”wrote on a sheet of paper, inlarge letters, these words, ’Make the Work,’and fixed it above his table, where he couldalways see it whilst writing. Thenceforthevery cloud that flitted over him, every dis-

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tant sail, every face and form encountered,wrote a line in his book.”

The Leaves of Grass excited no sortof notice until a letter from Emerson[5] ap-peared, expressing a deep sense of its powerand magnitude. He termed it ”the most ex-traordinary piece of wit and wisdom thatAmerica has yet contributed.”

[Footnote 5: Mr. Burroughs (to whom85



I have recourse for most biographical factsconcerning Whitman) is careful to note, inorder that no misapprehension may ariseon the subject, that, up to the time of hispublishing the Leaves of Grass , the authorhad not read either the essays or the poemsof Emerson.]

The edition of about a thousand copiessold off in less than a year. Towards the end

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of 1856 a second edition in 16mo appeared,printed in New York, also of about a thou-sand copies. Its chief feature was an addi-tional poem beginning ”A Woman waits forme.” It excited a considerable storm. An-other edition, of about four to five thousandcopies, duodecimo, came out at Boston in1860-61, including a number of new pieces.The Drum Taps , consequent upon the war,

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with their Sequel , which comprises the poemon Lincoln, followed in 1865; and in 1867,as I have already noted, a complete editionof all the poems, including a supplementnamed Songs before

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Parting . The first of all

the Leaves of Grass , in

point of date, was the

long and powerful composition entitled Walt

Whitman –perhaps the most typical and mem-orable of all of his productions, but shut outfrom the present selection for reasons given

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further on. The final edition shows numer-ous and considerable variations from all itsprecursors; evidencing once again that Whit-man is by no means the rough-and-readywriter, panoplied in rude art and egotis-tic self-sufficiency, that many people sup-pose him to be. Even since this issue, thebook has been slightly revised by its au-thor’s own hand, with a special view to

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possible English circulation. The copy sorevised has reached me (through the liberaland friendly hands of Mr. Conway) aftermy selection had already been decided on;and the few departures from the last printedtext which might on comparison be foundin the present volume are due to my havinghad the advantage of following this revisedcopy. In all other respects I have felt bound

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to reproduce the last edition, without somuch as considering whether here and thereI might personally prefer the readings of theearlier issues.

The selection here offered to the Englishreader contains a little less than half the en-tire bulk of Whitman’s poetry. My choicehas proceeded upon two simple rules: first,to omit entirely every poem which could

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with any tolerable fairness be deemed of-fensive to the feelings of morals or proprietyin this peculiarly nervous age; and, second,to include every remaining poem which ap-peared to me of conspicuous beauty or in-terest. I have also inserted the very remark-able prose preface which Whitman printedin the original edition of Leaves of Grass ,an edition that has become a literary rar-

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ity. This preface has not been reproducedin any later publication, although its mate-rials have to some extent been worked upinto poems of a subsequent date.[6] Fromthis prose composition, contrary to whathas been my rule with any of the poems,it has appeared to me permissible to omittwo or three short phrases which would haveshocked ordinary readers, and the retention

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of which, had I held it obligatory, wouldhave entailed the exclusion of the prefaceitself as a whole.

[Footnote 6: Compare, for instance, thePreface, pp. 38, 39, with the poem To aFoiled Revolter or Revoltress , p. 133.]

A few words must be added as to the in-decencies scattered through Whitman’s writ-ings. Indecencies or improprieties–or, still

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better, deforming crudities–they may rightlybe termed; to call them immoralities wouldbe going too far. Whitman finds himself,and other men and women, to be a com-pound of soul and body; he finds that bodyplays an extremely prominent and deter-mining part in whatever he and other mun-dane dwellers have cognisance of; he per-ceives this to be the necessary condition

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of things, and therefore, as he fully andopenly accepts it, the right condition; andhe knows of no reason why what is univer-sally seen and known, necessary and right,should not also be allowed and proclaimedin speech. That such a view of the matteris entitled to a great deal of weight, and atany rate to candid consideration and con-struction, appears to me not to admit of a

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doubt: neither is it dubious that the con-trary view, the only view which a mealy-mouthed British nineteenth century admitsas endurable, amounts to the condemnationof nearly every great or eminent literarywork of past time, whatever the century itbelongs to, the country it comes from, thedepartment of writing it illustrates, or thedegree or sort of merit it possesses. Tenth,

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second, or first century before Christ–first,eighth, fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, sev-enteenth, or even eighteenth century A.D.–it is still the same: no book whose subject-matter admits as possible of an impropri-ety according to current notions can be de-pended upon to fail of containing such impropriety,–can, if those notions are accepted as thecanon, be placed with a sense of security

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in the hands of girls and youths, or readaloud to women; and this holds good justas much of severely moral or plainly descrip-tive as of avowedly playful, knowing, or li-centious books. For my part, I am far fromthinking that earlier state of literature, andthe public feeling from which it sprang, thewrong ones– and our present condition theonly right one. Equally far, therefore, am I

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from indignantly condemning Whitman forevery startling allusion or expression whichhe has admitted into his book, and which I,from motives of policy, have excluded fromthis selection; except, indeed, that I thinkmany of his tabooed passages are extremelyraw and ugly on the ground of poetic or lit-erary art, whatever aspect they may bear inmorals. I have been rigid in exclusion, be-

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cause it appears to me highly desirable thata fair verdict on Whitman should now bepronounced in England on poetic groundsalone; and because it was clearly impossiblethat the book, with its audacities of topicand of expression included, should run thesame chance of justice, and of circulationthrough refined minds and hands, which maypossibly be accorded to it after the rejection

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of all such peccant poems. As already in-timated, I have not in a single instance ex-cised any parts of poems: to do so wouldhave been, I conceive, no less wrongful to-wards the illustrious American than repug-nant, and indeed unendurable, to myself,who aspire to no Bowdlerian honours. Theconsequence is, that the reader loses in totoseveral important poems, and some extremely

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fine ones–notably the one previously alludedto, of quite exceptional value and excellence,entitled Walt Whitman . I sacrifice themgrudgingly; and yet willingly, because I be-lieve this to be the only thing to do with dueregard to the one reasonable object whicha selection can subserve–that of paving theway towards the issue and unprejudiced re-ception of a complete edition of the poems

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in England. For the benefit of misconstruc-tionists, let me add in distinct terms that,in respect of morals and propriety, I nei-ther admire nor approve the incriminatedpassages in Whitman’s poems, but, on thecontrary, consider that most of them wouldbe much better away; and, in respect of art,I doubt whether even one of them deservesto be retained in the exact phraseology it at

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present exhibits. This, however, does notamount to saying that Whitman is a vileman, or a corrupt or corrupting writer; heis none of these.

The only division of his poems into sec-tions, made by Whitman himself, has beennoted above: Leaves of Grass , Songs be-fore Parting , supplementary to the preced-ing, and Drum Taps , with their Sequel .

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The peculiar title, Leaves of Grass , hasbecome almost inseparable from the nameof Whitman; it seems to express with someaptness the simplicity, universality, and spon-taneity of the poems to which it is applied.Songs before Parting may indicate that

these compositions close Whitman’s poeticroll. Drum Taps are, of course, songs of the Civil War, and their Sequel is mainly

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on the same theme: the chief poem in thislast section being the one on the death of Lincoln. These titles all apply to fully ar-ranged series of compositions. The presentvolume is not in the same sense a fully ar-ranged series, but a selection: and the re-lation of the poems inter se appears tome to depend on altered conditions, which,however narrowed they are, it may be as

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well frankly to recognise in practice. I havetherefore redistributed the poems (a lati-tude of action which I trust the author maynot object to), bringing together those whosesubject-matter seems to warrant it, how-ever far separated they may possibly be inthe original volume. At the same time, Ihave retained some characteristic terms usedby Whitman himself, and have named my

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sections respectively–1. Chants Democratic (poems of democ-

racy). 2. Drum Taps (war songs). 3. WaltWhitman (personal poems). 4. Leaves of Grass (unclassified poems). 5. Songs of Parting (missives).

The first three designations explain them-selves. The fourth, Leaves of Grass , isnot so specially applicable to the particu-

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lar poems of that section here as I shouldhave liked it to be; but I could not consentto drop this typical name. The Songs of Parting , my fifth section, are compositionsin which the poet expresses his own senti-ment regarding his works, in which he fore-casts their future, or consigns them to thereader’s consideration. It deserves mentionthat, in the copy of Whitman’s last Ameri-

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can edition revised by his own hand, as pre-viously noticed, the series termed Songs of Parting has been recast, and made to con-sist of poems of the same character as thoseincluded in my section No. 5.

Comparatively few of Whitman’s poemshave been endowed by himself with titlesproperly so called. Most of them are merelyheaded with the opening words of the po-

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ems themselves–as ”I was looking a longwhile;” ”To get betimes in Boston Town;””When lilacs last in the door-yard bloomed;”and so on. It seems to me that in a selec-tion such a lengthy and circuitous methodof identifying the poems is not desirable:I should wish them to be remembered bybrief, repeatable, and significant titles. Ihave therefore supplied titles of my own to

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such pieces as bear none in the original edi-tion: wherever a real title appears in thatedition, I have retained it.

With these remarks I commend to theEnglish reader the ensuing selection from awriter whom I sincerely believe to be, what-ever his faults, of the order of great po-ets, and by no means of pretty good ones.I would urge the reader not to ask him-

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self, and not to return any answer to thequestions, whether or not this poet is likeother poets–whether or not the particularapplication of rules of art which is foundto hold good in the works of those oth-ers, and to constitute a part of their ex-cellence, can be traced also in Whitman.Let the questions rather be–Is he powerful?Is he American? Is he new? Is he rous-

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ing? Does he feel and make me feel? I en-tertain no doubt as to the response whichin due course of time will be returned tothese questions and such as these, in Amer-ica, in England, and elsewhere–or to thefurther question, ”Is Whitman then indeeda true and a great poet?” Lincoln’s verdictbespeaks the ultimate decision upon him, inhis books as in his habit as he lives–”Well,

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he looks like a man.”Walt Whitman occupies at the present

moment a unique position on the globe, andone which, even in past time, can have beenoccupied by only an infinitesimally smallnumber of men. He is the one man whoentertains and professes respecting himself the grave conviction that he is the actualand prospective founder of a new poetic lit-

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erature, and a great one–a literature pro-portional to the material vastness and theunmeasured destinies of America: he be-lieves that the Columbus of the continent orthe Washington of the States was not moretruly than himself in the future a founderand upbuilder of this America. Surely asublime conviction, and expressed more thanonce in magnificent words–none more so than

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the lines beginning”Come, I will make this continent indissoluble.”[7][Footnote 7: See the poem headed Love

of Comrades , p. 308.]Were the idea untrue, it would still be

a glorious dream, which a man of geniusmight be content to live in and die for: butis it untrue? Is it not, on the contrary,true, if not absolutely, yet with a most gen-

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uine and substantial approximation? I be-lieve it is thus true. I believe that Whit-man is one of the huge, as yet mainly un-recognised, forces of our time; privileged toevoke, in a country hitherto still asking forits poet, a fresh, athletic, and American po-etry, and predestined to be traced up to bygeneration after generation of believing andardent–let us hope not servile–disciples.

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”Poets are the unacknowledged legisla-tors of the world.” Shelley, who knew whathe was talking about when poetry was thesubject, has said it, and with a profundityof truth Whitman seems in a peculiar de-gree marked out for ”legislation” of the kindreferred to. His voice will one day b e po-tential or magisterial wherever the Englishlanguage is spoken–that is to say, in the four

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corners of the earth; and in his own Amer-ican hemisphere, the uttermost avatars of democracy will confess him not more theirannouncer than their inspirer.

1868. W. M. ROSSETTI.N.B. –The above prefatory notice was

written in 1868, and is reproduced practi-cally unaltered. Were it to be brought upto the present date, 1886, I should have to

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mention Whitman’s books Two Rivuletsand Specimen-days and Collect , and thefact that for several years past he has beenpartially disabled by a paralytic attack. Henow lives at Camden, New Jersey.

1886. W. M. R.PREFACE TO LEAVES OF GRASS.America does not repel the past, or what

it has produced under its forms, or amid123



other politics, or the idea of castes, or theold religions; accepts the lesson with calm-ness; is not so impatient as has been sup-posed that the slough still sticks to opinionsand manners and literature while the lifewhich served its requirements has passedinto the new life of the new forms; per-ceives that the corpse is slowly borne fromthe eating and sleeping rooms of the house;

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perceives that it waits a little while in thedoor, that it was fittest for its days, thatits action has descended to the stalwart andwell-shaped heir who approaches, and thathe shall be fittest for his days.

The Americans, of all nations at anytime upon the earth, have probably the fullestpoetical Nature. The United States them-selves are essentially the greatest poem. In

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the history of the earth hitherto the largestand most stirring appear tame and orderlyto their ampler largeness and stir. Hereat last is something in the doings of manthat corresponds with the broadcast doingsof the day and night. Here is not merelya nation, but a teeming nation of nations.Here is action untied from strings, necessar-ily blind to particulars and details, magnif-

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icently moving in vast masses.Here is the hospitality which for ever in-

dicates heroes. Here are the roughs andbeards and space and ruggedness and non-chalance that the soul loves. Here the per-formance, disdaining the trivial, unapproachedin the tremendous audacity of its crowdsand groupings and the push of its perspec-tive, spreads with crampless and flowing breadth,

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and showers its prolific and splendid extrav-agance. One sees it must indeed own theriches of the summer and winter, and neednever be bankrupt while corn grows fromthe ground, or the orchards drop apples, orthe bays contain fish, or men beget children.

Other states indicate themselves in theirdeputies: but the genius of the United Statesis not best or most in its executives or legis-

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latures, nor in its ambassadors or authors orcolleges, or churches, or parlours, nor evenin its newspapers or inventors, but alwaysmost in the common people. Their man-ners, speech, dress, friendships,–the fresh-ness and candour of their physiognomy–thepicturesque looseness of their carriage–theirdeathless attachment to freedom–their aver-sion to anything indecorous or soft or mean–

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the practical acknowledgment of the citi-zens of one state by the citizens of all otherstates–the fierceness of their roused resentment–their curiosity and welcome of novelty–theirself-esteem and wonderful sympathy–theirsusceptibility to a slight–the air they haveof persons who never knew how it felt tostand in the presence of superiors–the flu-ency of their speech–their delight in music,

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the sure symptom of manly tenderness andnative elegance of soul–their good temperand open- handedness–the terrible signifi-cance of their elections, the President’s tak-ing off his hat to them, not they to him–these too are unrhymed poetry. It awaitsthe gigantic and generous treatment wor-thy of it.

The largeness of nature or the nation131



were monstrous without a corresponding large-ness and generosity of the spirit of the cit-izen. Not nature, nor swarming states, norstreets and steamships, nor prosperous busi-ness, nor farms nor capital nor learning,may suffice for the ideal of man, nor suf-fice the poet. No reminiscences may sufficeeither. A live nation can always cut a deepmark, and can have the best authority the

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cheapest–namely, from its own soul. Thisis the sum of the profitable uses of indi-viduals or states, and of present action andgrandeur, and of the subjects of poets.–Asif it were necessary to trot back generationafter generation to the eastern records! Asif the beauty and sacredness of the demon-strable must fall behind that of the myth-ical! As if men do not make their mark

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out of any times! As if the opening of thewestern continent by discovery, and whathas transpired since in North and SouthAmerica, were less than the small theatreof the antique, or the aimless sleep-walkingof the Middle Ages! The pride of the UnitedStates leaves the wealth and finesse of thecities, and all returns of commerce and agri-culture, and all the magnitude or geogra-

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phy or shows of exterior victory, to enjoythe breed of full-sized men, or one full-sizedman unconquerable and simple.

The American poets are to enclose oldand new; for America is the race of races.Of them a bard is to be commensurate witha people. To him the other continents ar-rive as contributions: he gives them recep-tion for their sake and his own sake. His

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spirit responds to his country’s spirit: he in-carnates its geography and natural life andrivers and lakes. Mississippi with annualfreshets and changing chutes, Missouri andColumbia and Ohio and Saint Lawrence withthe Falls and beautiful masculine Hudson,do not embouchure where they spend them-selves more than they embouchure into him.The blue breadth over the inland sea of Vir-

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ginia and Maryland, and the sea off Mas-sachusetts and Maine, and over Manhat-tan Bay, and over Champlain and Erie, andover Ontario and Huron and Michigan andSuperior, and over the Texan and Mexicanand Floridian and Cuban seas, and over theseas off California and Oregon, is not tal-lied by the blue breadth of the waters be-low more than the breadth of above and

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below is tallied by him. When the long At-lantic coast stretches longer, and the Pacificcoast stretches longer, he easily stretcheswith them north or south. He spans be-tween them also from east to west, and re-flects what is between them. On him risesolid growths that offset the growths of pineand cedar and hemlock and live-oak and lo-cust and chestnut and cypress and hickory

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and lime-tree and cottonwood and tulip-tree and cactus and wild-vine and tamarindand persimmon, and tangles as tangled asany cane-brake or swamp, and forests coatedwith transparent ice and icicles, hangingfrom the boughs and crackling in the wind,and sides and peaks of mountains, and pas-turage sweet and free as savannah or up-land or prairie,–with flights and songs and

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screams that answer those of the wild-pigeonand high-hold and orchard- oriole and cootand surf-duck and red-shouldered-bawk andfish-hawk and white-ibis and Indian-hen andcat-owl and water-pheasant and qua-birdand pied-sheldrake and blackbird and mocking-bird and buzzard and condor and night-heron and eagle. To him the hereditarycountenance descends, both mother’s and

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father’s. To him enter the essences of thereal things and past and present events–of the enormous diversity of temperatureand agriculture and mines–the tribes of redaborigines–the weather-beaten vessels en-tering new ports, or making landings onrocky coasts–the first settlements north orsouth–the rapid stature and muscle–the haughtydefiance of ’76, and the war and peace and

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formation of the constitution– the union al-ways surrounded by blatherers, and alwayscalm and impregnable–the perpetual com-ing of immigrants–the wharf-hemmed citiesand superior marine–the unsurveyed interior–the loghouses and clearings and wild ani-mals and hunters and trappers–the free commerce–the fisheries and whaling and gold-digging–the endless gestations of new states–the con-

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vening of Congress every December, the mem-bers duly coming up from all climates andthe uttermost parts–the noble character of the young mechanics and of all free Amer-ican workmen and workwomen–the generalardour and friendliness and enterprise–theperfect equality of the female with the male–the large amativeness–the fluid movementof the population–the factories and mercan-

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tile life and labour-saving machinery– theYankee swap–the New York firemen and thetarget excursion–the Southern plantation life–the character of the north-east and of thenorth- west and south-west-slavery, and thetremulous spreading of hands to protect it,and the stern opposition to it which shallnever cease till it ceases, or the speaking of tongues and the moving of lips cease. For

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such the expression of the American poetis to be transcendent and new. It is tobe indirect, and not direct or descriptive orepic. Its quality goes through these to muchmore. Let the age and wars of other nationsbe chanted, and their eras and characters beillustrated, and that finish the verse. Notso the great psalm of the republic. Herethe theme is creative, and has vista. Here

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comes one among the well-beloved stone-cutters, and plans with decision and sci-ence, and sees the solid and beautiful formsof the future where there are now no solidforms.

Of all nations, the United States, withveins full of poetical stuff, most needs po-ets, and will doubtless have the greatest,and use them the greatest. Their Presidents

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shall not be their common referee so muchas their poets shall. Of all mankind, thegreat poet is the equable man. Not in him,but off from him, things are grotesque oreccentric, or fail of their sanity. Nothingout of its place is good, and nothing in itsplace is bad. He bestows on every objector quality its fit proportions, neither morenor less. He is the arbiter of the diverse,

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and he is the key. He is the equaliser of hisage and land: he supplies what wants sup-plying, and checks what wants checking. If peace is the routine, out of him speaks thespirit of peace, large, rich, thrifty, buildingvast and populous cities, encouraging agri-culture and the arts and commerce–lightingthe study of man, the soul, immortality–federal, state or municipal government, mar-

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riage, health, free-trade, intertravel by landand sea–nothing too close, nothing too faroff,–the stars not too far off. In war, he isthe most deadly force of the war. Who re-cruits him recruits horse and foot: he fetchesparks of artillery, the best that engineerever knew. If the time becomes slothfuland heavy, he knows how to arouse it: hecan make every word he speaks draw blood.

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Whatever stagnates in the flat of customor obedience or legislation, he never stag-nates. Obedience does not master him, hemasters it. High up out of reach, he standsturning a concentrated light; he turns thepivot with his finger; he baffles the swiftestrunners as he stands, and easily overtakesand envelops them. The time straying to-ward infidelity and confections and persi-

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flage he withholds by his steady faith; hespreads out his dishes; he offers the sweetfirm-fibred meat that grows men and women.His brain is the ultimate brain. He is no ar-guer, he is judgment. He judges not as thejudge judges, but as the sun falling arounda helpless thing. As he sees the farthest,he has the most faith. His thoughts are thehymns of the praise of things. In the talk

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on the soul and eternity and God, off of his equal plane, he is silent. He sees eter-nity less like a play with a prologue anddenouement: he sees eternity in men andwomen,–he does not see men and womenas dreams or dots. Faith is the antisepticof the soul,–it pervades the common peopleand preserves them: they never give up be-lieving and expecting and trusting. There

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is that indescribable freshness and uncon-sciousness about an illiterate person thathumbles and mocks the power of the no-blest expressive genius. The poet sees fora certainty how one not a great artist maybe just as sacred and perfect as the greatestartist. The power to destroy or remould isfreely used by him, but never the power of attack. What is past is past. If he does not

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expose superior models, and prove himself by every step he takes, he is not what iswanted. The presence of the greatest poetconquers; not parleying or struggling or anyprepared attempts. Now he has passed thatway, see after him! there is not left any ves-tige of despair or misanthropy or cunning orexclusiveness, or the ignominy of a nativityor colour, or delusion of hell or the necessity

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of hell; and no man thenceforward shall bedegraded for ignorance or weakness or sin.

The greatest poet hardly knows petti-ness or triviality. If he breathes into any-thing that was before thought small, it di-lates with the grandeur and life of the uni-verse. He is a seer–he is individual–he iscomplete in himself: the others are as goodas he; only he sees it, and they do not. He

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is not one of the chorus–he does not stop forany regulation–he is the President of regu-lation. What the eyesight does to the resthe does to the rest. Who knows the cu-rious mystery of the eyesight? The othersenses corroborate themselves, but this isremoved from any proof but its own, andforeruns the identities of the spiritual world.A single glance of it mocks all the investi-

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gations of man, and all the instruments andbooks of the earth, and all reasoning. Whatis marvellous? what is unlikely? what isimpossible or baseless or vague? after youhave once just opened the space of a peach-pit, and given audience to far and near andto the sunset, and had all things enter withelectric swiftness, softly and duly, withoutconfusion or jostling or jam.

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The land and sea, the animals, fishes,and birds, the sky of heaven and the orbs,the forests, mountains, and rivers, are notsmall themes: but folks expect of the poetto indicate more than the beauty and dig-nity which always attach to dumb real objects,–they expect him to indicate the path be-tween reality and their souls. Men and womenperceive the beauty well enough–probably

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as well as he. The passionate tenacity of hunters, woodmen, early risers, cultivatorsof gardens and orchards and fields, the loveof healthy women for the manly form, sea-faring persons, drivers of horses, the pas-sion for light and the open air, all is anold varied sign of the unfailing perceptionof beauty, and of a residence of the poetic,in outdoor people. They can never be as-

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sisted by poets to perceive: some may, butthey never can. The poetic quality is notmarshalled in rhyme or uniformity, or ab-stract addresses to things, nor in melan-choly complaints or good precepts, but isthe life of these and much else, and is inthe soul. The profit of rhyme is that itdrops seeds of a sweeter and more luxuriantrhyme; and of uniformity, that it conveys

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itself into its own roots in the ground outof sight. The rhyme and uniformity of per-fect poems show the free growth of metricallaws, and bud from them as unerringly andloosely as lilacs or roses on a bush, and takeshapes as compact as the shapes of chest-nuts and oranges and melons and pears, andshed the perfume impalpable to form. Thefluency and ornaments of the finest poems

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you shall do: love the earth and sun and theanimals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid andcrazy, devote your income and labour toothers, hate tyrants, argue not concerningGod, have patience and indulgence towardsthe people, take off your hat to nothingknown or unknown or to any man or num-ber of men, go freely with powerful unedu-

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cated persons and with the young and withthe mothers of families, read these leaves inthe open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been toldat school or church or in any book, dismisswhatever insults your own soul; and yourvery flesh shall be a great poem, and havethe richest fluency, not only in its words,but in the silent lines of its lips and face,

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and between the lashes of your eyes, and inevery motion and joint of your body. Thepoet shall not spend his time in unneededwork. He shall know that the ground is al-ways ready ploughed and manured: othersmay not know it, but he shall. He shallgo directly to the creation. His trust shallmaster the trust of everything he touches,and shall master all attachment.

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The known universe has one completelover, and that is the greatest poet. Heconsumes an eternal passion, and is indiffer-ent which chance happens, and which pos-sible contingency of fortune or misfortune,and persuades daily and hourly his deli-cious pay. What balks or breaks others isfuel for his burning progress to contact andamorous joy. Other proportions of the re-

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ception of pleasure dwindle to nothing tohis proportions. All expected from heavenor from the highest he is rapport with inthe sight of the daybreak, or a scene of thewinter woods, or the presence of childrenplaying, or with his arm round the neck of aman or woman. His love, above all love, hasleisure and expanse–he leaves room aheadof himself. He is no irresolute or suspicious

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lover–he is sure–he scorns intervals. His ex-perience and the showers and thrills are notfor nothing. Nothing can jar him: sufferingand darkness cannot–death and fear can-not. To him complaint and jealousy andenvy are corpses buried and rotten in theearth–he saw them buried. The sea is notsurer of the shore, or the shore of the sea,than he is of the fruition of his love, and of

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all perfection and beauty.The fruition of beauty is no chance of

hit or miss–it is inevitable as life–it is exactand plumb as gravitation. From the eye-sight proceeds another eyesight, and fromthe hearing proceeds another hearing, andfrom the voice proceeds another voice, eter-nally curious of the harmony of things withman. To these respond perfections, not only

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in the committees that were supposed tostand for the rest, but in the rest themselvesjust the same. These understand the lawof perfection in masses and floods–that itsfinish is to each for itself and onward fromitself–that it is profuse and impartial–thatthere is not a minute of the light or dark,nor an acre of the earth or sea, without it–nor any direction of the sky, nor any trade

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or employment, nor any turn of events. Thisis the reason that about the proper expres-sion of beauty there is precision and balance,–one part does not need to be thrust aboveanother. The best singer is not the one whohas the most lithe and powerful organ: thepleasure of poems is not in them that takethe handsomest measure and similes andsound.

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Without effort, and without exposingin the least how it is done, the greatestpoet brings the spirit of any or all eventsand passions and scenes and persons, somemore and some less, to bear on your indi-vidual character, as you hear or read. To dothis well is to compete with the laws thatpursue and follow time. What is the pur-pose must surely be there, and the clue of

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it must be there; and the faintest indica-tion is the indication of the best, and thenbecomes the clearest indication. Past andpresent and future are not disjoined, butjoined. The greatest poet forms the con-sistence of what is to be from what hasbeen and is. He drags the dead out of theircoffins, and stands them again on their feet:he says to the past, Rise and walk before

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me that I may realise you. He learns thelesson–he places himself where the futurebecomes present. The greatest poet doesnot only dazzle his rays over character andscenes and passions,–he finally ascends andfinishes all: he exhibits the pinnacles thatno man can tell what they are for or whatis beyond–he glows a moment on the ex-tremest verge. He is most wonderful in his

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last half-hidden smile or frown: by thatflash of the moment of parting the one thatsees it shall be encouraged or terrified af-terward for many years. The greatest poetdoes not moralise or make applications of morals,–he knows the soul. The soul hasthat measureless pride which consists in neveracknowledging any lessons but its own. Butit has sympathy as measureless as its pride,

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and the one balances the other, and neithercan stretch too far while it stretches in com-pany with the other. The inmost secrets of art sleep with the twain. The greatest poethas lain close betwixt both, and they arevital in his style and thoughts.

The art of art, the glory of expressionand the sunshine of the light of letters, issimplicity. Nothing is better than simplicity,–

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nothing can make up for excess or for thelack of definiteness. To carry on the heaveof impulse, and pierce intellectual depths,and give all subjects their articulations, arepowers neither common nor very uncom-mon. But to speak in literature with theperfect rectitude and insousiance of the move-ments of animals, and the unimpeachable-ness of the sentiment of trees in the woods

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and grass by the roadside, is the flawlesstriumph of art. If you, have looked on himwho has achieved it, you have looked onone of the masters of the artists of all na-tions and times. You shall not contemplatethe flight of the grey-gull over the bay, orthe mettlesome action of the blood-horse,or the tall leaning of sunflowers on theirstalk, or the appearance of the sun jour-

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neying through heaven, or the appearanceof the moon afterward, with any more sat-isfaction than you shall contemplate him.The greatest poet has less a marked style,and is more the channel of thoughts andthings without increase or diminution, andis the free channel of himself. He swearsto his art,–I will not be meddlesome, I willnot have in my writing any elegance or ef-

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fect or originality to hang in the way be-tween me and the rest like curtains. I willhave nothing hang in the way, not the rich-est curtains. What I tell I tell for preciselywhat it is. Let who may exalt or startle orfascinate or soothe, I will have purposes ashealth or heat or snow has, and be as re-gardless of observation. What I experienceor pourtray shall go from my composition

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without a shred of my composition. Youshall stand by my side, and look in the mir-ror with me.

The old red blood and stainless gentilityof great poets will be proved by their uncon-straint. A heroic person walks at his easethrough and out of that custom or prece-dent or authority that suits him not. Of thetraits of the brotherhood of writers, savans,

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musicians, inventors, and artists, nothingis finer than silent defiance advancing fromnew free forms. In the need of poems, phi-losophy, politics, mechanism, science, be-haviour, the craft of art, an appropriatenative grand opera, shipcraft or any craft,he is greatest for ever and for ever whocontributes the greatest original practicalexample. The cleanest expression is that

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which finds no sphere worthy of itself, andmakes one.

The messages of great poets to each manand woman are,–Come to us on equal terms,only then can you understand us. We areno better than you; what we enclose youenclose, what we enjoy you may enjoy. Didyou suppose there could be only one Supreme?We affirm there can be unnumbered Supremes,

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and that one does not countervail anotherany more than one eyesight countervails another–and that men can be good or grand only of the consciousness of their supremacy withinthem. What do you think is the grandeur of storms and dismemberments, and the dead-liest battles and wrecks, and the wildestfury of the elements, and the power of thesea, and the motion of nature, and of the

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throes of human desires, and dignity andhate and love? It is that something in thesoul which says,–Rage on, whirl on, I treadmaster here and everywhere; master of thespasms of the sky and of the shatter of thesea, master of nature and passion and death,and of all terror and all pain.

The American bards shall be markedfor generosity and affection and for encour-

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aging competitors: they shall be kosmos–without monopoly or secrecy–glad to passanything to any one–hungry for equals nightand day. They shall not be careful of richesand privilege,–they shall be riches and priv-ilege: they shall perceive who the most af-fluent man is. The most affluent man ishe that confronts all the shows he sees byequivalents out of the stronger wealth of

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himself. The American bard shall delineateno class of persons, nor one or two out of thestrata of interests, nor love most nor truthmost, nor the soul most nor the body most;and not be for the eastern states more thanthe western, or the northern states morethan the southern.

Exact science and its practical move-ments are no checks on the greatest poet,

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but always his encouragement and support.The outset and remembrance are there–therethe arms that lifted him first and brace himbest–there he returns after all his goingsand comings. The sailor and traveller, theanatomist, chemist, astronomer, geologist,phrenologist, spiritualist, mathematician, his-torian, and lexicographer, are not poets;but they are the lawgivers of poets, and

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their construction underlies the structure of every perfect poem. No matter what risesor is uttered, they send the seed of the con-ception of it: of them and by them standthe visible proofs of souls. If there shall belove and content between the father and theson, and if the greatness of the son is theexuding of the greatness of the father, thereshall be love between the poet and the man

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of demonstrable science. In the beauty of poems are the tuft and final applause of sci-ence.

Great is the faith of the flush of knowl-edge, and of the investigation of the depthsof qualities and things. Cleaving and cir-cling here swells the soul of the poet: yet ispresident of itself always. The depths arefathomless, and therefore calm. The inno-

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cence and nakedness are resumed– they areneither modest nor immodest. The wholetheory of the special and supernatural, andall that was twined with it or educed out of it, departs as a dream. What has ever hap-pened, what happens, and whatever may orshall happen, the vital laws enclose all: theyare sufficient for any case and for all cases–none to be hurried or retarded–any miracle

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of affairs or persons inadmissible in the vastclear scheme where every motion, and everyspear of grass, and the frames and spiritsof men and women, and all that concernsthem, are unspeakably perfect miracles, allreferring to all, and each distinct and in itsplace. It is also not consistent with thereality of the soul to admit that there isanything in the known universe more divine

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than men and women.Men and women, and the earth and all

upon it, are simply to be taken as theyare, and the investigation of their past andpresent and future shall be unintermitted,and shall be done with perfect candour. Uponthis basis philosophy speculates, ever look-ing toward the poet, ever regarding the eter-nal tendencies of all toward happiness, never

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inconsistent with what is clear to the sensesand to the soul. For the eternal tendenciesof all toward happiness make the only pointof sane philosophy. Whatever comprehendsless than that–whatever is less than the lawsof light and of astronomical motion–or lessthan the laws that follow the thief, the liar,the glutton, and the drunkard, through thislife, and doubtless afterward– or less than

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vast stretches of time, or the slow forma-tion of density, or the patient upheaving of strata–is of no account. Whatever wouldput God in a poem or system of philosophyas contending against some being or influ-ence is also of no account. Sanity and en-semble characterise the great master:–spoiltin one principle, all is spoilt. The greatmaster has nothing to do with miracles. He

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sees health for himself in being one of themass–he sees the hiatus in singular emi-nence. To the perfect shape comes com-mon ground. To be under the general lawis great, for that is to correspond with it.The master knows that he is unspeakablygreat, and that all are unspeakably great–that nothing, for instance, is greater than toconceive children, and bring them up well–

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that to be is just as great as to perceive ortell.

In the make of the great masters theidea of political liberty is indispensable. Lib-erty takes the adherence of heroes wherevermen and women exist; but never takes anyadherence or welcome from the rest morethan from poets. They are the voice andexposition of liberty. They out of ages are

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worthy the grand idea,–to them it is con-fided, and they must sustain it. Nothinghas precedence of it, and nothing can warpor degrade it. The attitude of great poets isto cheer up slaves and horrify despots. Theturn of their necks, the sound of their feet,the motions of their wrists, are full of haz-ard to the one and hope to the other. Comenigh them a while, and, though they neither

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speak nor advise, you shall learn the faithfulAmerican lesson. Liberty is poorly servedby men whose good intent is quelled fromone failure or two failures or any number of failures, or from the casual indifference oringratitude of the people, or from the sharpshow of the tushes of power, or the bring-ing to bear soldiers and cannon or any pe-nal statutes. Liberty relies upon itself, in-

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vites no one, promises nothing, sits in calm-ness and light, is positive and composed,and knows no discouragement. The battlerages with many a loud alarm and frequentadvance and retreat–the enemy triumphs–the prison, the handcuffs, the iron necklaceand anklet, the scaffold, garrote, and lead-balls, do their work–the cause is asleep–the strong throats are choked with their

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own blood–the young men drop their eye-lashes toward the ground when they passeach other ... and is liberty gone out of that place? No, never. When liberty goes,it is not the first to go, nor the second orthird to go: it waits for all the rest to go–itis the last. When the memories of the oldmartyrs are faded utterly away–when thelarge names of patriots are laughed at in

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the public halls from the lips of the orators–when the boys are no more christened afterthe same, but christened after tyrants andtraitors instead–when the laws of the freeare grudgingly permitted, and laws for in-formers and blood-money are sweet to thetaste of the people– when I and you walkabroad upon the earth, stung with com-passion at the sight of numberless broth-

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ers answering our equal friendship, and call-ing no man master–and when we are elatedwith noble joy at the sight of slaves– whenthe soul retires in the cool communion of the night, and surveys its experience, andhas much ecstasy over the word and deedthat put back a helpless innocent personinto the gripe of the gripers or into anycruel inferiority–when those in all parts of

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these states who could easier realise the trueAmerican character, but do not yet[1]–whenthe swarms of cringers, suckers, doughfaces,lice of politics, planners of sly involutionsfor their own preferment to city offices orstate legislatures or the judiciary or Congressor the Presidency, obtain a response of loveand natural deference from the people, whetherthey get the offices or no– when it is bet-

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ter to be a bound booby and rogue in of-fice at a high salary than the poorest freemechanic or farmer, with his hat unmovedfrom his head, and firm eyes, and a can-did and generous heart–and when servil-ity by town or state or the federal govern-ment, or any oppression on a large scaleor small scale, can be tried on without itsown punishment following duly after in ex-

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act proportion, against the smallest chanceof escape–or rather when all life and allthe souls of men and women are dischargedfrom any part of the earth–then only shallthe instinct of liberty be discharged fromthat part of the earth.

[Footnote 1: This clause is obviously im-perfect in some respect: it is here repro-duced verbatim from the American edition.]

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As the attributes of the poets of the kos-mos concentre in the real body and souland in the pleasure of things, they possessthe superiority of genuineness over all fic-tion and romance. As they emit themselves,facts are showered over with light–the day-light is lit with more volatile light–also thedeep between the setting and rising sun goesdeeper many- fold. Each precise object or

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condition or combination or process exhibitsa beauty: the multiplication-table its–oldage its–the carpenter’s trade its–the grandopera its: the huge-hulled clean-shaped NewYork clipper at sea under steam or full sailgleams with unmatched beauty–the Amer-ican circles and large harmonies of govern-ment gleam with theirs, and the commonestdefinite intentions and actions with theirs.

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The poets of the kosmos advance throughall interpositions and coverings and turmoilsand stratagems to first principles. They areof use–they dissolve poverty from its need,and riches from its conceit. You large pro-prietor, they say, shall not realise or per-ceive more than any one else. The ownerof the library is not he who holds a legaltitle to it, having bought and paid for it.

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Any one and every one is owner of the li-brary who can read the same through allthe varieties of tongues and subjects andstyles, and in whom they enter with ease,and take residence and force toward pater-nity and maternity, and make supple andpowerful and rich and large. These Ameri-can states, strong and healthy and accom-plished, shall receive no pleasure from vi-

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olations of natural models, and must notpermit them. In paintings or mouldings orcarvings in mineral or wood, or in the il-lustrations of books or newspapers, or inany comic or tragic prints, or in the pat-terns of woven stuffs, or anything to beau-tify rooms or furniture or costumes, or toput upon cornices or monuments or on theprows or sterns of ships, or to put anywhere

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before the human eye indoors or out, thatwhich distorts honest shapes, or which cre-ates unearthly beings or places or contin-gencies, is a nuisance and revolt. Of thehuman form especially, it is so great it mustnever be made ridiculous. Of ornaments toa work, nothing outre can be allowed; butthose ornaments can be allowed that con-form to the perfect facts of the open air,

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and that flow out of the nature of the work,and come irrepressibly from it, and are nec-essary to the completion of the work. Mostworks are most beautiful without ornament.Exaggerations will be revenged in humanphysiology. Clean and vigorous children areconceived only in those communities wherethe models of natural forms are public ev-ery day. Great genius and the people of

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these states must never be demeaned to ro-mances. As soon as histories are properlytold, there is no more need of romances.

The great poets are also to be knownby the absence in them of tricks, and by thejustification of perfect personal candour. Thenfolks echo a new cheap joy and a divinevoice leaping from their brains. How beau-tiful is candour! All faults may be forgiven

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of him who has perfect candour. Hence-forth let no man of us lie, for we have seenthat openness wins the inner and outer world,and that there is no single exception, andthat never since our earth gathered itself ina mass has deceit or subterfuge or prevari-cation attracted its smallest particle or thefaintest tinge of a shade–and that throughthe enveloping wealth and rank of a state

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or the whole republic of states a sneak orsly person shall be discovered and despised–and that the soul has never been once fooledand never can be fooled–and thrift withoutthe loving nod of the soul is only a foetidpuff–and there never grew up in any of thecontinents of the globe, nor upon any planetor satellite or star, nor upon the asteroids,nor in any part of ethereal space, nor in the

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midst of density, nor under the fluid wet of the sea, nor in that condition which pre-cedes the birth of babes, nor at any timeduring the changes of life, nor in that con-dition that follows what we term death, norin any stretch of abeyance or action after-ward of vitality, nor in any process of for-mation or reformation anywhere, a beingwhose instinct hated the truth.

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Extreme caution or prudence, the sound-est organic health, large hope and compar-ison and fondness for women and children,large alimentiveness and destructiveness andcausality, with a perfect sense of the onenessof nature, and the propriety of the samespirit applied to human affairs– these arecalled up of the float of the brain of theworld to be parts of the greatest poet from

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his birth. Caution seldom goes far enough.It has been thought that the prudent citi-zen was the citizen who applied himself tosolid gains, and did well for himself and hisfamily, and completed a lawful life with-out debt or crime. The greatest poet seesand admits these economies as he sees theeconomies of food and sleep, but has highernotions of prudence than to think he gives

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much when he gives a few slight attentionsat the latch of the gate. The premises of the prudence of life are not the hospitalityof it, or the ripeness and harvest of it. Be-yond the independence of a little sum laidaside for burial-money, and of a few clap-boards around and shingles overhead on alot of American soil owned, and the easydollars that supply the year’s plain cloth-

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ing and meals, the melancholy prudence of the abandonment of such a great being asa man is to the toss and pallor of yearsof money-making, with all their scorchingdays and icy nights, and all their stiflingdeceits and underhanded dodgings, or in-finitesimals of parlours, or shameless stuff-ing while others starve,–and all the loss of the bloom and odour of the earth, and of

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the flowers and atmosphere, and of the sea,and of the true taste of the women and menyou pass or have to do with in youth or mid-dle age, and the issuing sickness and des-perate revolt at the close of a life withoutelevation or naıvete, and the ghastly chat-ter of a death without serenity or majesty,–is the great fraud upon modern civilisationand forethought; blotching the surface and

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system which civilisation undeniably drafts,and moistening with tears the immense fea-tures it spreads and spreads with such ve-locity before the reached kisses of the soul.Still the right explanation remains to bemade about prudence. The prudence of themere wealth and respectability of the mostesteemed life appears too faint for the eyeto observe at all when little and large alike

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drop quietly aside at the thought of theprudence suitable for immortality. What iswisdom that fills the thinness of a year orseventy or eighty years, to wisdom spacedout by ages, and coming back at a certaintime with strong reinforcements and richpresents and the clear faces of wedding-guestsas far as you can look in every direction run-ning gaily toward you? Only the soul is of

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itself–all else has reference to what ensues.All that a person does or thinks is of conse-quence. Not a move can a man or womanmake that affects him or her in a day ora month, or any part of the direct lifetimeor the hour of death, but the same affectshim or her onward afterward through theindirect lifetime. The indirect is always asgreat and real as the direct. The spirit

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receives from the body just as much as itgives to the body. Not one name of wordor deed–not of the putrid veins of gluttonsor rum-drinkers– not peculation or cunningor betrayal or murder–no serpentine poisonof those that seduce women–not the foolishyielding of women–not of the attainment of gain by discreditable means–not any nasti-ness of appetite– not any harshness of offi-

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cers to men, or judges to prisoners, or fa-thers to sons, or sons to fathers, or of hus-bands to wives, or bosses to their boys–not of greedy looks or malignant wishes–norany of the wiles practised by people uponthemselves–ever is or ever can be stampedon the programme, but it is duly realisedand returned, and that returned in furtherperformances, and they returned again. Nor

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can the push of charity or personal forceever be anything else than the profoundestreason, whether it bring arguments to handor no. No specification is necessary–to addor subtract or divide is in vain. Little or big,learned or unlearned, white or black, legalor illegal, sick or well, from the first inspira-tion down the windpipe to the last expira-tion out of it, all that a male or female does

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that is vigorous and benevolent and clean isso much sure profit to him or her in the un-shakable order of the universe and throughthe whole scope of it for ever. If the sav-age or felon is wise, it is well–if the greatestpoet or savant is wise, it is simply the same–if the President or chief justice is wise, it isthe same–if the young mechanic or farmeris wise, it is no more or less. The inter-

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est will come round–all will come round.All the best actions of war and peace–allhelp given to relatives and strangers, andthe poor and old and sorrowful, and youngchildren and widows and the sick, and to allshunned persons–all furtherance of fugitivesand of the escape of slaves–all the self-denialthat stood steady and aloof on wrecks, andsaw others take the seats of the boats–all

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offering of substance or life for the goodold cause, or for a friend’s sake or opin-ion’s sake–all pains of enthusiasts scoffedat by their neighbours–all the vast sweetlove and precious suffering of mothers–allhonest men baffled in strifes recorded orunrecorded–all the grandeur and good of the few ancient nations whose fragments of annals we inherit–and all the good of the

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hundreds of far mightier and more ancientnations unknown to us by name or dateor location–all that was ever manfully be-gun, whether it succeeded or no–all thathas at any time been well suggested outof the divine heart of man, or by the di-vinity of his mouth, or by the shaping of his great hands–and all that is well thoughtor done this day on any part of the sur-

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face of the globe, or on any of the wander-ing stars or fixed stars by those there aswe are here–or that is henceforth to be wellthought or done by you, whoever you are,or by any one–these singly and wholly in-ured at their time, and inured now, and willinure always, to the identities from whichthey sprung or shall spring. Did you guessany of them lived only its moment? The

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world does not so exist– no parts, palpa-ble or impalpable, so exist–no result existsnow without being from its long antecedentresult, and that from its antecedent, andso backward without the farthest mention-able spot coining a bit nearer the begin-ning than any other spot.... Whatever sat-isfies the soul is truth. The prudence of thegreatest poet answers at last the craving

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and glut of the soul, is not contemptuousof less ways of prudence if they conform toits ways, puts off nothing, permits no let-upfor its own case or any case, has no partic-ular Sabbath or judgment-day, divides notthe living from the dead or the righteousfrom the unrighteous, is satisfied with thepresent, matches every thought or act byits correlative, knows no possible forgive-

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ness or deputed atonement–knows that theyoung man who composedly perilled his lifeand lost it has done exceeding well for him-self, while the man who has not perilled hislife, and retains it to old age in riches andease, has perhaps achieved nothing for him-self worth mentioning–and that only thatperson has no great prudence to learn whohas learnt to prefer long-lived things, and

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favours body and soul the same, and per-ceives

the indirect assuredly following the di-rect, and what evil or good he does leapingonward and waiting to meet him again–andwho in his spirit in any emergency whateverneither hurries nor avoids death.

The direct trial of him who would be thegreatest poet is to-day. If he does not flood

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himself with the immediate age as with vastoceanic tides– and if he does not attracthis own land body and soul to himself, andhang on its neck with incomparable love–and if he be not himself the age transfigured–and if to him is not opened the eternitywhich gives similitude to all periods andlocations and processes and animate andinanimate forms, and which is the bond of

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time, and rises up from its inconceivablevagueness and infiniteness in the swimmingshape of to-day, and is held by the ductileanchors of life, and makes the present spotthe passage from what was to what shall be,and commits itself to the representation of this wave of an hour, and this one of thesixty beautiful children of the wave–let himmerge in the general run and wait his de-

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velopment.... Still, the final test of poemsor any character or work remains. The pre-scient poet projects himself centuries ahead,and judges performer or performance afterthe changes of time. Does it live throughthem? Does it still hold on untired? Willthe same style, and the direction of geniusto similar points, be satisfactory now? Hasno new discovery in science, or arrival at

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superior planes of thought and judgmentand behaviour, fixed him or his so that ei-ther can be looked down upon? Have themarches of tens and hundreds and thou-sands of years made willing detours to theright hand and the left hand for his sake? Ishe beloved long and long after he is buried?Does the young man think often of him?and the young woman think often of him?

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and do the middle-aged and the old thinkof him?

A great poem is for ages and ages, incommon, and for all degrees and complex-ions, and all departments and sects, and fora woman as much as a man, and a man asmuch as a woman. A great poem is no finishto a man or woman, but rather a beginning.Has any one fancied he could sit at last un-

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der some due authority, and rest satisfiedwith explanations, and realise and be con-tent and full? To no such terminus does thegreatest poet bring– he brings neither ces-sation nor sheltered fatness and ease. Thetouch of him tells in action. Whom he takeshe takes with firm sure grasp into live re-gions previously unattained. Thenceforwardis no rest: they see the space and ineffable

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sheen that turn the old spots and lights intodead vacuums. The companion of him be-holds the birth and progress of stars, andlearns one of the meanings. Now there shallbe a man cohered out of tumult and chaos.The elder encourages the younger, and showshim how: they two shall launch off fear-lessly together till the new world fits an or-bit for itself, and looks unabashed on the

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lesser orbits of the stars, and sweeps throughthe ceaseless rings, and shall never be quietagain.

There will soon be no more priests. Theirwork is done. They may wait a while–perhapsa generation or two,–dropping off by de-grees. A superior breed shall take theirplace–the gangs of kosmos and prophets enmasse shall take their place. A new or-

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der shall arise; and they shall be the priestsof man, and every man shall be his ownpriest. The churches built under their um-brage shall be the churches of men and women.Through the divinity of themselves shall thekosmos and the new breed of poets be inter-preters of men and women and of all eventsand things. They shall find their inspirationin real objects to-day, symptoms of the past

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and future. They shall not deign to defendimmortality, or God, or the perfection of things, or liberty, or the exquisite beautyand reality of the soul. They shall arise inAmerica, and be responded to from the re-mainder of the earth.

The English language befriends the grandAmerican expression–it is brawny enough,and limber and full enough. On the tough

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stock of a race who, through all change of circumstance, was never without the idea of political liberty, which is the animus of allliberty, it has attracted the terms of dain-tier and gayer and subtler and more ele-gant tongues. It is the powerful language of resistance–it is the dialect of common sense.It is the speech of the proud and melancholyraces, and of all who aspire. It is the chosen

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tongue to express growth, faith, self-esteem,freedom, justice, equality, friendliness, am-plitude, prudence, decision, and courage. Itis the medium that shall well nigh expressthe inexpressible.

No great literature, nor any like style of behaviour or oratory or social intercourseor household arrangements or public insti-tutions, or the treatment by bosses of em-

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ployed people, nor executive detail, or de-tail of the army or navy, nor spirit of legis-lation, or courts or police, or tuition or ar-chitecture, or songs or amusements, or thecostumes of young men, can long elude thejealous and passionate instinct of Americanstandards. Whether or no the sign appearsfrom the mouths of the people, it throbsa live interrogation in every freeman’s and

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freewoman’s heart after that which passesby, or this built to remain. Is it uniformwith my country? Are its disposals withoutignominious distinctions? Is it for the ever-growing communes of brothers and lovers,large, well united, proud beyond the oldmodels, generous beyond all models? Isit something grown fresh out of the fields,or drawn from the sea, for use to me, to-

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day, here? I know that what answers forme, an American, must answer for any in-dividual or nation that serves for a part of my materials. Does this answer? or is itwithout reference to universal needs? orsprung of the needs of the less developed so-ciety of special ranks? or old needs of plea-sure overlaid by modern science and forms?Does this acknowledge liberty with audi-

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ble and absolute acknowledgment, and setslavery at nought, for life and death? Willit help breed one good-shaped man, and awoman to be his perfect and independentmate? Does it improve manners? Is it forthe nursing of the young of the republic?Does it solve readily with the sweet milk of the breasts of the mother of many children?Has it too the old, ever-fresh forbearance

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and impartiality? Does it look with thesame love on the last-born and on thosehardening toward stature, and on the er-rant, and on those who disdain all strengthof assault outside of their own?

The poems distilled from other poemswill probably pass away. The coward willsurely pass away. The expectation of the vi-tal and great can only be satisfied by the de-

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meanour of the vital and great. The swarmsof the polished, deprecating, and reflectors,and the polite, float off and leave no re-membrance. America prepares with com-posure and goodwill for the visitors thathave sent word. It is not intellect that isto be their warrant and welcome. The tal-ented, the artist, the ingenious, the edi-tor, the statesman, the erudite–they are not

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unappreciated–they fall in their place anddo their work. The soul of the nation alsodoes its work. No disguise can pass on it–no disguise can conceal from it. It rejectsnone, it permits all. Only toward as goodas itself and toward the like of itself will itadvance half-way. An individual is as su-perb as a nation when he has the qualitieswhich make a superb nation. The soul of

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the largest and wealthiest and proudest na-tion may well go half-way to meet that of its poets. The signs are effectual. There isno fear of mistake. If the one is true, theother is true. The proof of a poet is thathis country absorbs him as affectionately ashe has absorbed it.

[Script: Meantime, dear friend, Farewell,Walt Whitman.]

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CHANTS DEMOCRATIC.STARTING FROM PAUMANOK.

1.Starting from fish-shape Paumanok,[1]

where I was born, Well-begotten, and raisedby a perfect mother; After roaming manylands–lover of populous pavements; Dwellerin Mannahatta,[2] city of ships, my city,–oron southern savannas; Or a soldier camped,

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or carrying my knapsack and gun–or a minerin California; Or rude in my home in Dako-tah’s woods, my diet meat, my drink fromthe spring; Or withdrawn to muse and med-itate in some deep recess, Far from the clankof crowds, intervals passing, rapt and happy;Aware of the fresh free giver, the flowingMissouri–aware of mighty Niagara Awareof the buffalo herds, grazing the plains–the

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hirsute and strong- breasted bull; Of earths,rocks, fifth-month flowers, experienced–stars,rain, snow, my amaze; Having studied themocking-bird’s tones, and the mountain hawk’s,And heard at dusk the unrivalled one, thehermit thrush, from the swamp-cedars, Soli-tary, singing in the West, I strike up for aNew World.

2.260



Victory, union, faith, identity, time, Your-self, the present and future lands, the indis-soluble compacts, riches, mystery, Eternalprogress, the kosmos, and the modern re-ports.

This, then, is life; Here is what has cometo the surface after so many throes and con-vulsions.

How curious! how real! Under foot the261



divine soil–over head the sun.See, revolving, the globe; The ancestor-

continents, away, grouped together; The presentand future continents, north and south, withthe isthmus between.

See, vast trackless spaces; As in a dream,they change, they swiftly fill; Countless massesdebouch upon them; They are now coveredwith the foremost people, arts, institutions,

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known.See, projected through time, For me an

audience interminable.With firm and regular step they wend–

they never stop, Successions of men, Amer-icanos, a hundred millions; One generationplaying its part, and passing on, Anothergeneration playing its part, and passing onin its turn, With faces turned sideways or

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backward towards me, to listen, With eyesretrospective towards me.

3.Americanos! conquerors! marches hu-

manitarian; Foremost! century marches! Lib-ertad! masses! For you a programme of chants.

Chants of the prairies; Chants of thelong-running Mississippi, and down to the

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Mexican Sea; Chants of Ohio, Indiana, Illi-nois, Iowa, Wisconsin, and Minnesota; Chantsgoing forth from the centre, from Kansas,and thence, equidistant, Shooting in pulsesof fire, ceaseless, to vivify all.

4.In the Year 80 of the States,[3] My tongue,

every atom of my blood, formed from thissoil, this air, Born here of parents born here,

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from parents the same, and their parentsthe same, I, now thirty-six years old, in per-fect health begin, Hoping to cease not tilldeath.

Creeds and schools in abeyance, (Retir-ing back a while, sufficed at what they are,but never forgotten.)

I harbour, for good or bad–I permit tospeak, at every hazard– Nature now with-

266



out check, with original energy.5.Take my leaves, America! take them

South, and take them North! Make wel-come for them everywhere, for they are yourown offspring; Surround them, East andWest! for they would surround you; Andyou precedents! connect lovingly with them,for they connect lovingly with you.

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I conned old times; I sat studying at thefeet of the great masters: Now, if eligible,O that the great masters might return andstudy me!

In the name of these States, shall I scornthe antique? Why, these are the children of the antique, to justify it.

6.Dead poets, philosophs, priests, Mar-

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tyrs, artists, inventors, governments longsince, Language-shapers on other shores, Na-tions once powerful, now reduced, withdrawn,or desolate, I dare not proceed till I re-spectfully credit what you have left, waftedhither: I have perused it–own it is admirable,(moving awhile among it;) Think nothingcan ever be greater–nothing can ever de-serve more than it deserves; Regarding it

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all intently a long while, then dismissing it,I stand in my place, with my own day, here.

Here lands female and male; Here theheirship and heiress-ship of the world–herethe flame of materials; Here spirituality, thetranslatress, the openly-avowed, The ever-tending, the finale of visible forms; The sat-isfier, after due long-waiting, now advanc-ing, Yes, here comes my mistress, the Soul.

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7.The SOUL! For ever and for ever–longer

than soil is brown and solid–longer than wa-ter ebbs and flows.

I will make the poems of materials, forI think they are to be the most spiritualpoems; And I will make the poems of mybody and of mortality, For I think I shallthen supply myself with the poems of my

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soul, and of immortality.I will make a song for these States, that

no one State may under any circumstancesbe subjected to another State; And I willmake a song that there shall be comity byday and by night between all the States,and between any two of them; And I willmake a song for the ears of the President,full of weapons with menacing points, And

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behind the weapons countless dissatisfiedfaces: And a song make I, of the One formedout of all; The fanged and glittering onewhose head is over all; Resolute, warlikeone, including and over all; However highthe head of any else, that head is over all.

I will acknowledge contemporary lands;I will trail the whole geography of the globe,and salute courteously every city large and

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small; And employments! I will put in mypoems, that with you is heroism, upon landand sea–And I will report all heroism froman American point of view; And sexual or-gans and acts! do you concentrate in me–forI am determined to tell you with courageousclear voice, to prove you illustrious.

I will sing the song of companionship;I will show what alone must finally com-

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all its sorrow and joy? And who but I shouldbe the poet of comrades?

8.I am the credulous man of qualities, ages,

races; I advance from the people en massein their own spirit; Here is what sings un-restricted faith. Omnes! Omnes! let othersignore what they may; I make the poem of evil also–I commemorate that part also; I

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am myself just as much evil as good, andmy nation is–And I say there is in fact noevil, Or if there is, I say it is just as im-portant to you, to the land, or to me, asanything else.

I too, following many, and followed bymany, inaugurate a Religion–I too go to thewars; It may be I am destined to utter theloudest cries thereof, the winner’s pealing

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certain the future is.I say that the real and permanent grandeur

of these States must be their religion; Oth-erwise there is no real and permanent grandeur;Nor character, nor life worthy the name,without religion; Nor land, nor man or woman,without religion.

9.What are you doing, young man? Are

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you so earnest–so given up to literature,science, art, amours? These ostensible re-alities, politics, points? Your ambition orbusiness, whatever it may be?

It is well–Against such I say not a word–I am their poet also; But behold! suchswiftly subside–burnt up for religion’s sake;For not all matter is fuel to heat, impalpa-ble flame, the essential life of the earth, Any

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more than such are to religion.10.What do you seek, so pensive and silent?

What do you need, Camerado? Dear son!do you think it is love?

Listen, dear son–listen, America, daugh-ter or son! It is a painful thing to love a manor woman to excess–and yet it satisfies–itis great; But there is something else very

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inclusive and more resplendent, The great-ness of Love and Democracy–and the great-ness of Religion.

Melange mine own! the unseen and theseen; Mysterious ocean where the streamsempty; Prophetic spirit of materials shift-ing and flickering around me; Living be-ings, identities, now doubtless near us inthe air, that we know not of; Contact daily

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and hourly that will not release me; Theseselecting–these, in hints, demanded of me.

Not he with a daily kiss onward fromchildhood kissing me Has winded and twistedaround me that which holds me to him,Any more than I am held to the heavens,to the spiritual world, And to the identitiesof the Gods, my lovers, faithful and true,After what they have done to me, suggest-

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ing themes.O such themes! Equalities! O amaze-

ment of things! O divine average! O war-blings under the sun–ushered, as now, or atnoon, or setting! O strain, musical, flowingthrough ages–now reaching hither, I take toyour reckless and composite chords–I add tothem, and cheerfully pass them forward.

12.285



As I have walked in Alabama my morn-ing walk, I have seen where the she-bird, themocking-bird, sat on her nest in the briars,hatching her brood. I have seen the he-bird also; I have paused to hear him, nearat hand, inflating his throat, and joyfullysinging.

And while I paused, it came to me thatwhat he really sang for was not there only,

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Nor for his mate nor himself only, nor allsent back by the echoes; But subtle, clan-destine, away beyond, A charge transmit-ted, and gift occult, for those being born.

13.Democracy! Near at hand to you a throat

is now inflating itself and joyfully singing.Ma femme! For the brood beyond us and of us, For those who belong here, and those to

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come, I, exultant, to be ready for them, willnow shake out carols stronger and haughtierthan have ever yet been heard upon earth.

I will make the songs of passion, to givethem their way, And your songs, outlawedoffenders–for I scan you with kindred eyes,and carry you with me the same as any.

I will make the true poem of riches,–To earn for the body and the mind what-

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ever adheres, and goes forward, and is notdropped by death.

I will effuse egotism, and show it under-lying all–and I will be the bard of person-ality; And I will show of male and femalethat either is but the equal of the other;And I will show that there is no imper-fection in the present–and can be none inthe future; And I will show that, whatever

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happens to anybody, it may be turned tobeautiful results–and I will show that noth-ing can happen more beautiful than death;And I will thread a thread through my po-ems that time and events are compact, Andthat all the things of the universe are per-fect miracles, each as profound as any.

I will not make poems with reference toparts; But I will make leaves, poems, po-

290



emets, songs, says, thoughts, with referenceto ensemble: And I will not sing with ref-erence to a day, but with reference to alldays; And I will not make a poem, nor theleast part of a poem, but has reference tothe soul; Because, having looked at the ob-jects of the universe, I find there is no one,nor any particle of one, but has reference tothe soul.

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14.Was somebody asking to see the Soul?

See! your own shape and countenance–persons,substances, beasts, the trees, the runningrivers, the rocks and sands.

All hold spiritual joys, and afterwardsloosen them: How can the real body everdie, and be buried?

Of your real body, and any man’s or292



return in the body and the soul, Indiffer-ently before death and after death.

Behold! the body includes and is themeaning, the main concern–and includes andis the soul; Whoever you are! how superband how divine is your body, or any part of it.

15.Whoever you are! to you endless an-

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nouncements.Daughter of the lands, did you wait for

your poet? Did you wait for one with aflowing mouth and indicative hand?

Toward the male of the States, and to-ward the female of the States, Live words–words to the lands. O the lands! inter-linked, food-yielding lands! Land of coaland iron! Land of gold! Lands of cotton,

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sugar, rice! Land of wheat, beef, pork! Landof wool and hemp! Land of the apple andgrape! Land of the pastoral plains, the grass-fields of the world! Land of those sweet-aired interminable plateaus! Land of theherd, the garden, the healthy house of ado-bie! Lands where the north-west Columbiawinds, and where the south-west Coloradowinds! Land of the eastern Chesapeake!

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Land of the Delaware! Land of Ontario,Erie, Huron, Michigan! Land of the OldThirteen! Massachusetts land! Land of Ver-mont and Connecticut! Land of the oceanshores! Land of sierras and peaks! Land of boatmen and sailors! Fishermen’s land! In-extricable lands! the clutched together! thepassionate ones! The side by side! the el-der and younger brothers! the bony-limbed!

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The great women’s land! the feminine! theexperienced sisters and the inexperiencedsisters! Far-breathed land! Arctic-braced!Mexican-breezed! the diverse! the com-pact! The Pennsylvanian! the Virginian!the double Carolinian! O all and each well-loved by me! my intrepid nations! O I atany rate include you all with perfect love!I cannot be discharged from you–not from

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one, any sooner than another!O Death! O!–for all that, I am yet of you

unseen, this hour, with irrepressible love,Walking New England, a friend, a traveller,Splashing my bare feet in the edge of thesummer ripples, on Paumanok’s sands, Cross-ing the prairies–dwelling again in Chicago–dwelling in every town, Observing shows,births, improvements, structures, arts, Lis-

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tening to the orators and the oratresses inpublic halls, Of and through the States, asduring life[4]–each man and woman my neigh-bour, The Louisianian, the Georgian, as nearto me, and I as near to him and her, TheMississippian and Arkansian yet with me–and I yet with any of them; Yet upon theplains west of the spinal river–yet in myhouse of adobie, Yet returning eastward–yet

300



in the Sea-Side State, or in Maryland, YetCanadian cheerily braving the winter–thesnow and ice welcome to me, or mountingthe Northern Pacific, to Sitka, to Aliaska;Yet a true son either of Maine, or of theGranite State,[5] or of the Narragansett BayState, or of the Empire State;[6] Yet sailingto other shores to annex the same–yet wel-coming every new brother; Hereby apply-

301



ing these leaves to the new ones, from thehour they unite with the old ones; Com-ing among the new ones myself, to be theircompanion and equal–coming personally toyou now; Enjoining you to acts, characters,spectacles, with me.

16.With me, with firm holding–yet haste,

haste on. For your life, adhere to me; Of 302



all the men of the earth, I only can unlooseyou and toughen you; I may have to be per-suaded many times before I consent to givemyself to you–but what of that?

Must not Nature be persuaded manytimes? No dainty dolce affettuoso I; Bearded,sunburnt, gray-necked, forbidding, I havearrived, To be wrestled with as I pass, forthe solid prizes of the universe; For such I

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afford whoever can persevere to win them.17.On my way a moment I pause; Here for

you! and here for America! Still the PresentI raise aloft–still the Future of the StatesI harbinge, glad and sublime; And for thePast, I pronounce what the air holds of thered aborigines.

The red aborigines! Leaving natural breaths,304



sounds of rain and winds, calls as of birdsand animals in the woods, syllabled to usfor names; Okonee, Koosa, Ottawa, Monon-gahela, Sauk, Natchez, Chattahoochee, Ka-queta, Oronoco, Wabash, Miami, Saginaw,Chippewa, Oshkosh, Walla-Walla; Leavingsuch to the States, they melt, they depart,charging the water and the land with names.

18.305



O expanding and swift! O henceforth,Elements, breeds, adjustments, turbulent,quick, and audacious; A world primal again–vistas of glory, incessant and branching; Anew race, dominating previous ones, andgrander far, with new contests, New poli-tics, new literatures and religions, new in-ventions and arts.

These my voice announcing–I will sleep306



no more, but arise; You oceans that havebeen calm within me! how I feel you, fath-omless, stirring, preparing unprecedentedwaves and storms.

19.See! steamers steaming through my po-

ems! See in my poems immigrants continu-ally coming and landing; See in arriere, thewigwam, the trail, the hunter’s hut, the flat-

307



boat, the maize-leaf, the claim, the rudefence, and the backwoods village; See, onthe one side the Western Sea, and on theother the Eastern Sea, how they advanceand retreat upon my poems, as upon theirown shores; See pastures and forests in mypoems–See animals, wild and tame–See, be-yond the Kanzas, countless herds of buf-falo, feeding on short curly grass; See, in

308



my poems, cities, solid, vast, inland, withpaved streets, with iron and stone edifices,ceaseless vehicles, and commerce; See themany-cylindered steam printing-press–Seethe electric telegraph, stretching across theContinent, from the Western Sea to Man-hattan; See, through Atlantica’s depths, pulsesAmerican, Europe reaching–pulses of Eu-rope, duly returned; See the strong and quick

309



locomotive, as it departs, panting, blowingthe steam-whistle; See ploughmen, plough-ing farms–See miners, digging mines–See thenumberless factories; See mechanics, busyat their benches, with tools–See, from amongthem, superior judges, philosophs, Presidents,emerge, dressed in working dresses; See, loung-ing through the shops and fields of the States,me, well-beloved, close-held by day and night;

310



Hear the loud echoes of my songs there!Read the hints come at last.

20.O Camerado close! O you and me at

last–and us two only. O a word to clearone’s path ahead endlessly! O somethingecstatic and undemonstrable! O music wild!O now I triumph–and you shall also; O handin hand–O wholesome pleasure–O one more

311



desirer and lover! O to haste, firm holding–to haste, haste on, with me.

[Footnote 1: Paumanok is the nativename of Long Island, State of New York.It presents a fish-like shape on the map.]

[Footnote 2: Mannahatta, or Manhat-tan, is (as many readers will know) NewYork.]

[Footnote 3: 1856.]312



[Footnote 4: The poet here contemplateshimself as yet living spiritually and in hispoems after the death of the body, still afriend and brother to all present and futureAmerican lands and persons.]

[Footnote 5: New Hampshire.][Footnote 6: New York State.]AMERICAN FEUILLAGE.

AMERICA always! Always our own feuil-313



lage! Always Florida’s green peninsula! Al-ways the priceless delta of Louisiana! Al-ways the cotton-fields of Alabama and Texas!Always California’s golden hills and hollows–and the silver mountains of New Mexico!Always soft-breathed Cuba! Always the vastslope drained by the Southern Sea–inseparablewith the slopes drained by the Eastern andWestern Seas! The area the eighty-third

314



year of these States[1]–the three and a half millions of square miles; The eighteen thou-sand miles of sea-coast and bay-coast onthe main–the thirty thousand miles of rivernavigation, The seven millions of distinctfamilies, and the same number of dwellings–Always these, and more, branching forthinto numberless branches; Always the freerange and diversity! Always the continent

315



done at all times, All characters, movements,growths–a few noticed, myriads unnoticed.Through Mannahatta’s streets I walking,these things gathering. On interior rivers,by night, in the glare of pine knots, steam-boats wooding up: Sunlight by day on thevalley of the Susquehanna, and on the val-leys of the Potomac and Rappahannock, andthe valleys of the Roanoke and Delaware; In

317



their northerly wilds beasts of prey haunt-ing the Adirondacks the hills–or lapping theSaginaw waters to drink;

In a lonesome inlet, a sheldrake, lostfrom the flock, sitting on the water, rock-ing silently; In farmers’ barns, oxen in thestable, their harvest labour done–they reststanding–they are too tired; Afar on arcticice, the she-walrus lying drowsily, while her

318



cubs play around; The hawk sailing wheremen have not yet sailed–the farthest polarsea, ripply, crystalline, open, beyond thefloes; White drift spooning ahead, wherethe ship in the tempest dashes. On solidland, what is done in cities, as the bellsall strike midnight together; In primitivewoods, the sounds there also sounding–thehowl of the wolf, the scream of the panther,

319



and the hoarse bellow of the elk; In win-ter beneath the hard blue ice of MooseheadLake, in summer visible through the clearwaters, the great trout swimming; In lowerlatitudes, in warmer air, in the Carolinas,the large black buzzard floating slowly, highbeyond the tree-tops, Below, the red cedar,festooned with tylandria–the pines and cy-presses, growing out of the white sand that

320



spreads far and flat; Rude boats descendingthe big Pedee–climbing plants, parasites, withcoloured flowers and berries, enveloping hugetrees, The waving drapery on the live oak,trailing long and low, noiselessly waved bythe wind; The camp of Georgia waggoners,just after dark–the supper-fires, and the cook-ing and eating by whites and negroes, Thirtyor forty great waggons–the mules, cattle,

321



horses, feeding from troughs, The shadows,gleams, up under the leaves of the old sycamore-trees–the flames–also the black smoke fromthe pitch-pine, curling and rising; South-ern fishermen fishing–the sounds and inletsof North Carolina’s coast–the shad-fisheryand the herring-fishery–the large sweep- seines–the windlasses on shore worked by horses–the clearing, curing, and packing houses;

322



Deep in the forest, in piney woods, tur-pentine dropping from the incisions in thetrees–There are the turpentine works, Thereare the negroes at work, in good health–theground in all directions is covered with pinestraw. –In Tennessee and Kentucky, slavesbusy in the coalings, at the forge, by thefurnace-blaze, or at the corn-shucking; InVirginia, the planter’s son returning after a

323



long absence, joyfully welcomed and kissedby the aged mulatto nurse. On rivers, boat-men safely moored at nightfall, in their boats,under shelter of high banks, Some of theyounger men dance to the sound of the banjoor fiddle–others sit on the gunwale, smok-ing and talking; Late in the afternoon themocking-bird, the American mimic, singingin the Great Dismal Swamp-there are the

324



greenish waters, the resinous odour, the plen-teous moss, the cypress-tree, and the juniper-tree. –Northward, young men of Mannahatta–the target company from an excursion re-turning home at evening–the musket-muzzlesall bear bunches of flowers presented by women;Children at play–or on his father’s lap ayoung boy fallen asleep, (how his lips move!how he smiles in his sleep!) The scout rid-

325



ing on horseback over the plains west of theMississippi–he ascends a knoll and sweepshis eye around. California life–the miner,bearded, dressed in his rude costume–thestaunch California friendship–the sweet air–the graves one, in passing, meets, solitary,just aside the horse-path; Down in Texas,the cotton-field, the negro-cabins–drivers driv-ing mules or oxen before rude carts–cotton-

326



bales piled on banks and wharves. Encir-cling all, vast-darting, up and wide, the Amer-ican Soul, with equal hemispheres–one Love,one Dilation or Pride. –In arriere, the peace-talk with the Iroquois, the aborigines–thecalumet, the pipe of good-will, arbitration,and endorsement, The sachem blowing thesmoke first toward the sun and then towardthe earth, The drama of the scalp-dance en-

327



acted with painted faces and guttural excla-mations, The setting-out of the war-party–the long and stealthy march, The single-file–the swinging hatchets–the surprise andslaughter of enemies. –All the acts, scenes,ways, persons, attitudes, of these States–reminiscences, all institutions, All these States,compact–Every square mile of these States,without excepting a particle–you also–me

328



also. Me pleased, rambling in lanes andcountry fields, Paumanok’s fields, Me, ob-serving the spiral flight of two little yellowbutterflies, shuffling between each other, as-cending high in the air; The darting swal-low, the destroyer of insects–the fall-travellersouthward, but returning northward earlyin the spring; The country boy at the closeof the day, driving the herd of cows, and

329



shouting to them as they loiter to browseby the roadside; The city wharf–Boston,Philadelphia, Baltimore, Charleston, NewOrleans, San Francisco, The departing ships,when the sailors heave at the capstan; Evening–me in my room–the setting sun, The set-ting summer sun shining in my open win-dow, showing the swarm of flies, suspended,balancing in the air in the centre of the

330



room, darting athwart, up and down, cast-ing swift shadows in specks on the oppositewall, where the shine is. The athletic Amer-ican matron speaking in public to crowds of listeners; Males, females, immigrants, combinations–the copiousness–the individuality of the States,each for itself–the money-makers; Factories,machinery, the mechanical forces–the wind-lass, lever, pulley– All certainties, The cer-

331



tainty of space, increase, freedom, futurity;In space, the sporades, the scattered islands,the stars–on the firm earth, the lands, mylands! O lands! O all so dear to me–whatyou are (whatever it is), I become a part of that, whatever it is.

Southward there, I screaming, with wingsslow-flapping, with the myriads of gulls win-tering along the coasts of Florida–or in Louisiana,

332



with pelicans breeding, Otherways, there,atwixt the banks of the Arkansaw, the RioGrande, the Nueces, the Brazos, the Tombig-bee, the Red River, the Saskatchewan, orthe Osage, I with the spring waters laugh-ing and skipping and running; Northward,on the sands, on some shallow bay of Pau-manok, I, with parties of snowy herons wad-ing in the wet to seek worms and aquatic

333



plants; Retreating, triumphantly twittering,the king-bird, from piercing the crow withits bill, for amusement–And I triumphantlytwittering; The migrating flock of wild geesealighting in autumn to refresh themselves–the body of the flock feed–the sentinels out-side move around with erect heads watch-ing, and are from time to time relieved byother sentinels–And I feeding and taking

334



turns with the rest; In Canadian forests, themoose, large as an ox, cornered by hunters,rising desperately on his hind-feet, and plung-ing with his fore-feet, the hoofs as sharp asknives–And I plunging at the hunters, cor-nered and desperate; In the Mannahatta,streets, piers, shipping, store-houses, andthe countless workmen working in the shops,And I too of the Mannahatta, singing thereof–

335



and no less in myself than the whole of theMannahatta in itself, Singing the song of These, my ever-united lands–my body nomore inevitably united part to part, andmade one identity, any more than my landsare inevitably united, and made ONE IDEN-TITY; Nativities, climates, the grass of thegreat pastoral plains, Cities, labours, death,animals, products, good and evil–these me,–

336



These affording, in all their particulars, end-less feuillage to me and to America, how canI do less than pass the clue of the unionof them, to afford the like to you? Who-ever you are! how can I but offer you di-vine leaves, that you also be eligible as Iam? How can I but, as here, chanting, in-vite you for yourself to collect bouquets of the incomparable feuillage of these States?

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[Footnote 1: 1858-59.]THE PAST-PRESENT.

I was looking a long while for the historyof the past for myself, and for these chants–and now I have found it. It is not in thosepaged fables in the libraries, (them I neitheraccept nor reject;) It is no more in the leg-ends than in all else; It is in the present–itis this earth to-day; It is in Democracy–in

338



this America–the Old World also; It is thelife of one man or one woman to-day, the av-erage man of to-day; It is languages, socialcustoms, literatures, arts; It is the broadshow of artificial things, ships, machinery,politics, creeds, modern improvements, andthe interchange of nations, All for the aver-age man of to-day.

YEARS OF THE UNPERFORMED.339



Years of the unperformed! your horizonrises–I see it part away for more august dra-mas; I see not America only–I see not onlyLiberty’s nation but other nations embat-tling; I see tremendous entrances and exits–I see new combinations–I see the solidarityof races; I see that force advancing with ir-resistible power on the world’s stage; Havethe old forces played their parts? are the

340



acts suitable to them closed? I see Freedom,completely armed, and victorious, and veryhaughty, with Law by her side, both issuingforth against the idea of caste; –What his-toric denouements are these we so rapidlyapproach? I see men marching and coun-termarching by swift millions! I see thefrontiers and boundaries of the old aristoc-racies broken; I see the landmarks of Eu-

341



ropean kings removed; I see this day thePeople beginning their landmarks, all oth-ers give way; Never were such sharp ques-tions asked as this day; Never was averageman, his soul, more energetic, more like aGod. Lo! how he urges and urges, leavingthe masses no rest; His daring foot is onland and sea everywhere–he colonises thePacific, the archipelagoes; With the steam-

342



ship, the electric telegraph, the newspaper,the wholesale engines of war, With these,and the world-spreading factories, he inter-links all geography, all lands; –What whis-pers are these, O lands, running ahead of you, passing under the seas? Are all nationscommuning? is there going to be but oneheart to the globe? Is humanity formingen masse ?–for lo! tyrants tremble, crowns

343



grow dim; The earth, restive, confronts anew era, perhaps a general divine war; Noone knows what will happen next–such por-tents fill the days and nights. Years prophet-ical! the space ahead as I walk, as I vainlytry to pierce it, is full of phantoms; Un-born deeds, things soon to be, project theirshapes around me; This incredible rush andheat–this strange ecstatic fever of dreams,

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O years! Your dreams, O years, how theypenetrate through me! (I know not whetherI sleep or wake!) The performed Americaand Europe grow dim, retiring in shadowbehind me, The unperformed, more gigan-tic than ever, advance, advance upon me.

FLUX.Of these years I sing, How they pass

through convulsed pains, as through partu-345



ritions; How America illustrates birth, gi-gantic youth, the promise, the sure fulfil-ment, despite of people–Illustrates evil aswell as good; How many hold despairinglyyet to the models departed, caste, myths,obedience, compulsion, and to infidelity; Howfew see the arrived models, the athletes,the States–or see freedom or spirituality–or hold any faith in results. But I see the

346



athletes–and I see the results glorious andinevitable–and they again leading to otherresults; How the great cities appear–Howthe Democratic masses, turbulent, wilful,as I love them, How the whirl, the contest,the wrestle of evil with good, the soundingand resounding, keep on and on; How soci-ety waits unformed, and is between thingsended and things begun; How America is

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the continent of glories, and of the triumphof freedom, and of the Democracies, and of the fruits of society, and of all that is be-gun; And how the States are complete inthemselves–And how all triumphs and glo-ries are complete in themselves, to lead on-ward, And how these of mine, and of theStates, will in their turn be convulsed, andserve other parturitions and transitions. And

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how all people, sights, combinations, theDemocratic masses, too, serve–and how ev-ery fact serves, And how now, or at anytime, each serves the exquisite transition of Death.

TO WORKING MEN.1.Come closer to me; Push close, my lovers,

and take the best I possess; Yield closer and349



closer, and give me the best you possess.This is unfinished business with me–How

is it with you? (I was chilled with the coldtypes, cylinder, wet paper between us.)

Male and Female! I pass so poorly withpaper and types, I must pass with the con-tact of bodies and souls.

American masses! I do not thank youfor liking me as I am, and liking the touch

350



of me–I know that it is good for you to doso.

2.This is the poem of occupations; In the

labour of engines and trades, and the labourof fields, I find the developments, And findthe eternal meanings. Workmen and Work-women! Were all educations, practical andornamental, well displayed out of me, what

351



would it amount to? Were I as the headteacher, charitable proprietor, wise states-man, what would it amount to? Were I toyou as the boss employing and paying you,would that satisfy you?

The learned, virtuous, benevolent, andthe usual terms; A man like me, and neverthe usual terms.

Neither a servant nor a master am I; I352



take no sooner a large price than a smallprice–I will have my own, whoever enjoysme; I will be even with you, and you shallbe even with me.

If you stand at work in a shop, I standas nigh as the nighest in the same shop; If you bestow gifts on your brother or dearestfriend, I demand as good as your brotheror dearest friend; If your lover, husband,

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wife, is welcome by day or night, I mustbe personally as welcome; If you becomedegraded, criminal, ill, then I become sofor your sake; If you remember your fool-ish and outlawed deeds, do you think I can-not remember my own foolish and outlaweddeeds? If you carouse at the table, I carouseat the opposite side of the table; If you meetsome stranger in the streets, and love him

354



or her–why I often meet strangers in thestreet, and love them.

Why, what have you thought of your-self? Is it you then that thought yourself less? Is it you that thought the Presidentgreater than you? Or the rich better off than you? or the educated wiser than you?

Because you are greasy or pimpled, orthat you was once drunk, or a thief, Or dis-

355



eased, or rheumatic, or a prostitute, or areso now; Or from frivolity or impotence, orthat you are no scholar, and never saw yourname in print, Do you give in that you areany less immortal?

3.Souls of men and women! it is not you I

call unseen, unheard, untouchable and un-touching; It is not you I go argue pro and

356



con about, and to settle whether you arealive or no; I own publicly who you are, if nobody else owns.

Grown, half-grown, and babe, of thiscountry and every country, indoors and out-doors, one just as much as the other, I see,And all else behind or through them.

The wife–and she is not one jot less thanthe husband; The daughter–and she is just

357



as good as the son; The mother–and she isevery bit as much as the father.

Offspring of ignorant and poor, boys ap-prenticed to trades, Young fellows workingon farms, and old fellows working on farms,Sailor-men, merchant-men, coasters, immi-grants, All these I see–but nigher and far-ther the same I see; None shall escape me,and none shall wish to escape me. I bring

358



what you much need, yet always have, Notmoney, amours, dress, eating, but as good;I send no agent or medium, offer no repre-sentative of value, but offer the value itself.

There is something that comes home toone now and perpetually; It is not what isprinted, preached, discussed–it eludes dis-cussion and print; It is not to be put in abook–it is not in this book; It is for you,

359



whoever you are–it is no farther from youthan your hearing and sight are from you; Itis hinted by nearest, commonest, readiest–it is ever provoked by them.

You may read in many languages, yetread nothing about it; You may read thePresident’s Message, and read nothing aboutit there; Nothing in the reports from theState department or Treasury department,

360



or in the daily papers or the weekly papers,Or in the census or revenue returns, pricescurrent, or any accounts of stock.

4.The sun and stars that float in the open

air; The apple-shaped earth, and we uponit–surely the drift of them is something grand!I do not know what it is, except that it isgrand, and that it is happiness, And that

361



the enclosing purport of us here is not aspeculation, or bon-mot, or reconnoissance,And that it is not something which by luckmay turn out well for us, and without luckmust be a failure for us, And not somethingwhich may yet be retracted in a certain con-tingency.

The light and shade, the curious senseof body and identity, the greed that with

362



or to fill a gentleman’s leisure, or a lady’sleisure?

Have you reckoned the landscape tooksubstance and form that it might be paintedin a picture? Or men and women that theymight be written of, and songs sung? Orthe attraction of gravity, and the great lawsand harmonious combinations, and the flu-ids of the air, as subjects for the savans?

364



Or the brown land and the blue sea formaps and charts? Or the stars to be putin constellations and named fancy names?Or that the growth of seeds is for agricul-tural tables, or agriculture itself?

Old institutions–these arts, libraries, leg-ends, collections, and the practice handedalong in manufactures–will we rate them sohigh? Will we rate our cash and business

365



high?–I have no objection; I rate them ashigh as the highest–then a child born of awoman and man I rate beyond all rate.

We thought our Union grand, and ourConstitution grand; I do not say they arenot grand and good, for they are; I am thisday just as much in love with them as you;Then I am in love with you, and with allmy fellows upon the earth.

366



We consider Bibles and religions divine–I do not say they are not divine; I say theyhave all grown out of you, and may growout of you still; It is not they who give thelife–it is you who give the life; Leaves arenot more shed from the trees, or trees fromthe earth, than they are shed out of you.

5.When the psalm sings, instead of the

367



singer; When the script preaches, insteadof the preacher; When the pulpit descendsand goes, instead of the carver that carvedthe supporting desk; When I can touch thebody of books, by night or by day, and whenthey touch my body back again; When auniversity course convinces, like a slumber-ing woman and child convince; When theminted gold in the vault smiles like the night-

368



watchman’s daughter; When warrantee deedsloafe in chairs opposite, and are my friendlycompanions; I intend to reach them my hand,and make as much of them as I do of menand women like you. The sum of all knownreverence I add up in you, whoever youare; The President is there in the WhiteHouse for you–it is not you who are herefor him; The Secretaries act in their bu-

369



reaus for you–not you here for them; TheCongress convenes every twelfth month foryou; Laws, courts, the forming of States,the charters of cities, the going and comingof commerce and mails, are all for you.

List close, my scholars dear! All doc-trines, all politics and civilisation, exsurgefrom you; All sculpture and monuments,and anything inscribed anywhere, are tal-

370



lied in you; The gist of histories and statis-tics, as far back as the records reach, isin you this hour, and myths and tales thesame; If you were not breathing and walk-ing here, where would they all be? Themost renowned poems would be ashes, ora-tions and plays would be vacuums.

All architecture is what you do to itwhen you look upon it; Did you think it

371



was in the white or grey stone? or the linesof the arches and cornices?

All music is what awakes from you, whenyou are reminded by the instruments; Itis not the violins and the cornets–it is notthe oboe nor the beating drums, nor thescore of the baritone singer singing his sweetromanza–nor that of the men’s chorus, northat of the women’s chorus, It is nearer and

372



farther than they.6.Will the whole come back then? Can

each see signs of the best by a look in thelooking-glass? is there nothing greater ormore? Does all sit there with you, with themystic, unseen soul?

Strange and hard that paradox true Igive; Objects gross and the unseen Soul are

373



one.House-building, measuring, sawing the

boards; Blacksmithing, glass-blowing, nail-making, coopering, tin-roofing, shingle- dress-ing, Ship-joining, dock-building, fish-curing,ferrying, flagging of side-walks by flaggers,The pump, the pile-driver, the great der-rick, the coal-kiln and brick-kiln, Coal-mines,and all that is down there,–the lamps in the

374



darkness, echoes, songs, what meditations,what vast native thoughts looking throughsmutched faces, Ironworks, forge-fires in themountains, or by the river-banks–men aroundfeeling the melt with huge crowbars–lumpsof ore, the due combining of ore, limestone,coal–the blast-furnace and the puddling-furnace,the loup-lump at the bottom of the melt atlast– the rolling-mill, the stumpy bars of

375



pig-iron, the strong, clean shaped T-rail forrailroads; Oilworks, silkworks, white-lead-works, the sugar-house, steam-saws, the greatmills and factories; Stone-cutting, shapelytrimmings for facades, or window or doorlintels– the mallet, the tooth-chisel, the jibto protect the thumb, Oakum, the oakum-chisel, the caulking-iron–the kettle of boil-ing vault- cement, and the fire under the

376



kettle, The cotton-bale, the stevedore’s hook,the saw and buck of the sawyer, the mouldof the moulder, the working knife of thebutcher, the ice- saw, and all the work withice, The implements for daguerreotyping–the tools of the rigger, grappler, sail-maker,block-maker, Goods of gutta-percha, papier-mache, colours, brushes, brush-making, glaziers’implements, The veneer and glue-pot, the

377



confectioner’s ornaments, the decanter andglasses, the shears and flat-iron, The awland knee-strap, the pint measure and quartmeasure, the counter and stool, the writing-pen of quill or metal–the making of all sortsof edged tools, The brewery, brewing, themalt, the vats, everything that is done bybrewers, also by wine-makers, also vinegar-makers, Leather-dressing, coach-making, boiler-

378



making, rope-twisting, distilling, sign-painting,lime-burning, cotton-picking–electro-plating,electrotyping, stereotyping, Stave-machines,planing-machines, reaping-machines, ploughing-machines, thrashing-machines, steam wag-gons, The cart of the carman, the omnibus,the ponderous dray; Pyrotechny, letting off coloured fireworks at night, fancy figuresand jets, Beef on the butcher’s stall, the

379



work of the men, on railroads, coasters, fish-boats, canals; The daily routine of your ownor any man’s life–the shop, yard, store, orfactory; These shows all near you by dayand night-workmen! whoever you are, yourdaily life! In that and them the heft of theheaviest–in them far more than you esti-mated, and far less also; In them realitiesfor you and me–in them poems for you and

381



me; In them, not yourself–you and your soulenclose all things, regardless of estimation;In them the development good–in them, allthemes and hints.

I do not affirm what you see beyondis futile–I do not advise you to stop; I donot say leadings you thought great are notgreat; But I say that none lead to greaterthan those lead to.

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7.Will you seek afar off? You surely come

back at last, In things best known to youfinding the best, or as good as the best, Infolks nearest to you finding the sweetest,strongest, lovingest; Happiness, knowledge,not in another place, but this place–not foranother hour, but this hour; Man in the firstyou see or touch–always in friend, brother,

383



Weapon, shapely, naked, wan; Head fromthe mother’s bowels drawn! Wooded fleshand metal bone! limb only one, and liponly one! Grey-blue leaf by red-heat grown!helve produced from a little seed sown! Rest-ing the grass amid and upon, To be leaned,and to lean on.

Strong shapes, and attributes of strongshapes–masculine trades, sights and sounds;

385



Long varied train of an emblem, dabs of mu-sic; Fingers of the organist skipping stac-cato over the keys of the great organ.

2.Welcome are all earth’s lands, each for

its kind; Welcome are lands of pine andoak; Welcome are lands of the lemon andfig; Welcome are lands of gold; Welcome arelands of wheat and maize–welcome those of

386



the grape; Welcome are lands of sugar andrice; Welcome are cotton-lands–welcome thoseof the white potato and sweet potato; Wel-come are mountains, flats, sands, forests,prairies; Welcome the rich borders of rivers,table-lands, openings, Welcome the mea-sureless grazing-lands–welcome the teemingsoil of orchards, flax, honey, hemp; Wel-come just as much the other more hard-

387



faced lands; Lands rich as lands of gold,or wheat and fruit lands; Lands of mines,lands of the manly and rugged ores; Landsof coal, copper, lead, tin, zinc; LANDS OFIRON! lands of the make of the axe!

3.The log at the wood-pile, the axe sup-

ported by it; The sylvan hut, the vine overthe doorway, the space cleared for a garden,

388



The irregular tapping of rain down on theleaves, after the storm is lulled, The wail-ing and moaning at intervals, the thoughtof the sea, The thought of ships struck inthe storm, and put on their beam-ends, andthe cutting away of masts; The sentimentof the huge timbers of old-fashioned housesand barns; The remembered print or narra-tive, the voyage at a venture of men, fami-

389



lies, goods, The disembarkation, the found-ing of a new city, The voyage of those whosought a New England and found it–theoutset anywhere, The settlements of the Arkansas,Colorado, Ottawa, Willamette, The slowprogress, the scant fare, the axe, rifle, saddle-bags; The beauty of all adventurous anddaring persons, The beauty of wood-boysand wood-men, with their clear untrimmed

390



faces, The beauty of independence, depar-ture, actions that rely on themselves, TheAmerican contempt for statutes and cer-emonies, the boundless impatience of re-straint, The loose drift of character, theinkling through random types, the solidifi-cation; The butcher in the slaughter-house,the hands aboard schooners and sloops, theraftsman, the pioneer, Lumbermen in their

391



winter camp, daybreak in the woods, stripesof snow on the limbs of trees, the occasionalsnapping, The glad clear sound of one’s ownvoice, the merry song, the natural life of the woods, the strong day’s work, The blaz-ing fire at night, the sweet taste of supper,the talk, the bed of hemlock boughs, andthe bearskin; –The house-builder at work incities or anywhere, The preparatory joint-

392



ing, squaring, sawing, mortising, The hoist-up of beams, the push of them in their places,laying them regular, Setting the studs bytheir tenons in the mortises, according asthey were prepared, The blows of malletsand hammers, the attitudes of the men, theircurved limbs, Bending, standing, astride thebeams, driving in pins, holding on by postsand braces, The hooked arm over the plate,

393



the other arm wielding the axe, The floor-men forcing the planks close, to be nailed,Their postures bringing their weapons down-ward on the bearers, The echoes resound-ing through the vacant building; The hugestore-house carried up in the city, well un-der way, The six framing men, two in themiddle, and two at each end, carefully bear-ing on their shoulders a heavy stick for a

394



cross-beam, The crowded line of masons withtrowels in their right hands, rapidly layingthe long side-wall, two hundred feet fromfront to rear, The flexible rise and fall of backs, the continual click of the trowels strik-ing the bricks, The bricks, one after an-other, each laid so workmanlike in its place,and set with a knock of the trowel-handle,The piles of materials, the mortar on the

395



mortar-boards, and the steady replenishingby the hod-men; –Spar-makers in the spar-yard, the swarming row of well-grown ap-prentices, The swing of their axes on thesquare-hewed log, shaping it toward the shapeof a mast, The brisk short crackle of thesteel driven slantingly into the pine, Thebutter-coloured chips flying off in great flakesand slivers, The limber motion of brawny

396



young arms and hips in easy costumes; Theconstructor of wharves, bridges, piers, bulk-heads, floats, stays against the sea; –Thecity fireman–the fire that suddenly burstsforth in the close-packed square, The ar-riving engines, the hoarse shouts, the nim-ble stepping and daring, The strong com-mand through the fire-trumpets, the fallingin line, the rise and fall of the arms forc-

397



ing the water, The slender, spasmic blue-white jets–the bringing to bear of the hooksand ladders, and their execution, The crashand cut-away of connecting woodwork, orthrough floors, if the fire smoulders underthem, The crowd with their lit faces, watching–the glare and dense shadows; –The forgerat his forge-furnace, and the user of ironafter him, The maker of the axe large and

398



small, and the welder and temperer, Thechooser breathing his breath on the coldsteel, and trying the edge with his thumb,The one who clean-shapes the handle andsets it firmly in the socket; The shadowyprocessions of the portraits of the past usersalso, The primal patient mechanics, the ar-chitects and engineers, The far-off Assyrianedifice and Mizra edifice, The Roman lictors

399



preceding the consuls, The antique Euro-pean warrior with his axe in combat, Theuplifted arm, the clatter of blows on the hel-meted head, The death-howl, the limpseytumbling body, the rush of friend and foethither, The siege of revolted lieges deter-mined for liberty, The summons to surren-der, the battering at castle-gates, the truceand parley; The sack of an old city in its

400



time, The bursting in of mercenaries andbigots tumultuously and disorderly, Roar,flames, blood, drunkenness, madness, Goodsfreely rifled from houses and temples, screamsof women in the gripe of brigands, Craftand thievery of camp-followers, men run-ning, old persons despairing, The hell of war, the cruelties of creeds, The list of allexecutive deeds and words, just or unjust,

401



The power of personality, just or unjust.4.Muscle and pluck for ever! What invig-

orates life invigorates death, And the deadadvance as much as the living advance, Andthe future is no more uncertain than thepresent, And the roughness of the earth andof man encloses as much as the delicatesseof the earth and of man, And nothing en-

402



dures but personal qualities.What do you think endures? Do you

think the great city endures? Or a teemingmanufacturing state? or a prepared consti-tution? or the best- built steamships? Orhotels of granite and iron? or any chefs-d’oeuvre of engineering, forts, armaments?

Away! These are not to be cherished forthemselves; They fill their hour, the dancers

403



dance, the musicians play for them; Theshow passes, all does well enough of course,All does very well till one flash of defiance.

The great city is that which has the great-est man or woman; If it be a few raggedhuts, it is still the greatest city in the wholeworld.

5.The place where the great city stands is

404



not the place of stretched wharves, docks,manufactures, deposits of produce, Nor theplace of ceaseless salutes of new-comers, orthe anchor-lifters of the departing, Nor theplace of the tallest and costliest buildings,or shops selling goods from the rest of theearth, Nor the place of the best libraries andschools–nor the place where money is plen-tiest, Nor the place of the most numerous

405



population.Where the city stands with the brawni-

est breed of orators and bards; Where thecity stands that is beloved by these, andloves them in return, and understands them;Where no monuments exist to heroes but inthe common words and deeds; Where thriftis in its place, and prudence is in its place;Where the men and women think lightly of

406



the laws; Where the slave ceases, and themaster of slaves ceases; Where the p opu-lace rise at once against the never-endingaudacity of elected persons; Where fiercemen and women pour forth, as the sea tothe whistle of death pours its sweeping andunripped waves; Where outside authorityenters always after the precedence of insideauthority; Where the citizen is always the

407



head and ideal–and President, Mayor, Gov-ernor, and what not, are agents for pay;Where children are taught to be laws tothemselves, and to depend on themselves;Where equanimity is illustrated in affairs;Where speculations on the Soul are encour-aged; Where women walk in public proces-sions in the streets, the same as the men;Where they enter the public assembly and

408



take places the same as the men; Where thecity of the faithfullest friends stands; Wherethe city of the cleanliness of the sexes stands;Where the city of the healthiest fathers stands;Where the city of the best-bodied mothersstands,– There the great city stands.

6.How beggarly appear arguments before

a defiant deed! How the floridness of the409



materials of cities shrivels before a man’sor woman’s look!

All waits, or goes by default, till a strongbeing appears; A strong being is the proof of the race, and of the ability of the uni-verse; When he or she appears, materialsare overawed, The dispute on the Soul stops,The old customs and phrases are confronted,turned back, or laid away.

410



What is your money-making now? Whatcan it do now? What is your respectabilitynow? What are your theology, tuition, soci-ety, traditions, statute-books, now? Whereare your jibes of being now? Where areyour cavils about the Soul now?

Was that your best? Were those yourvast and solid? Riches, opinions, politics,institutions, to part obediently from the path

411



of one man or woman! The centuries, andall authority, to be trod under the foot-solesof one man or woman!

7.A sterile landscape covers the ore–there

is as good as the best, for all the forbid-ding appearance; There is the mine, thereare the miners; The forge-furnace is there,the melt is accomplished; the hammersmen

412



are at hand with their tongs and hammers;What always served and always serves is athand.

Than this nothing has better served–ithas served all: Served the fluent-tonguedand subtle-sensed Greek, and long ere theGreek; Served in building the buildings thatlast longer than any; Served the Hebrew,the Persian, the most ancient Hindostanee;

413



Served the mound-raiser on the Mississippi–served those whose relics remain in CentralAmerica; Served Albic temples in woodsor on plains, with unhewn pillars, and thedruids; Served the artificial clefts, vast, high,silent, on the snow-covered hills of Scandi-navia; Served those who, time out of mind,made on the granite walls rough sketchesof the sun, moon, stars, ships, ocean-waves;

414



Served the paths of the irruptions of theGoths–served the pastoral tribes and no-mads; Served the long long distant Kelt–served the hardy pirates of the Baltic; Served,before any of those, the venerable and harm-less men of Ethiopia; Served the making of helms for the galleys of pleasure, and themaking of those for war; Served all greatworks on land, and all great works on the

415



sea; For the mediaeval ages, and before themediaeval ages; Served not the living only,then as now, but served the dead.

8.I see the European headsman; He stands

masked, clothed in red, with huge legs andstrong naked arms, And leans on a ponder-ous axe.

Whom have you slaughtered lately, Eu-416



ropean headsman? Whose is that bloodupon you, so wet and sticky?

I see the clear sunsets of the martyrs; Isee from the scaffolds the descending ghosts,Ghosts of dead lords, uncrowned ladies, im-peached ministers, rejected kings, Rivals,traitors, poisoners, disgraced chieftains, andthe rest.

I see those who in any land have died for417



the good cause; The seed is spare, never-theless the crop shall never run out; (Mindyou, O foreign kings, O priests, the cropshall never run out.)

I see the blood washed entirely awayfrom the axe; Both blade and helve are clean;They spirt no more the blood of Europeannobles–they clasp no more the necks of queens.

I see the headsman withdraw and be-418



come useless; I see the scaffold untroddenand mouldy–I see no longer any axe uponit; I see the mighty and friendly emblemof the power of my own race–the newest,largest race.

9.America! I do not vaunt my love for

you; I have what I have.The axe leaps! The solid forest gives

419



fluid utterances; They tumble forth, theyrise and form, Hut, tent, landing, survey,Flail, plough, pick, crowbar, spade, Shin-gle, rail, prop, wainscot, jamb, lath, panel,gable, Citadel, ceiling, saloon, academy, or-gan, exhibition house, library, Cornice, trel-lis, pilaster, balcony, window, shutter, tur-ret, porch, Hoe, rake, pitchfork, pencil, wag-gon, staff, saw, jack-plane, mallet, wedge,

420



rounce, Chair, tub, hoop, table, wicket, vane,sash, floor, Work-box, chest, stringed in-strument, boat, frame, and what not, Capi-tols of States, and capitol of the nation of States, Long stately rows in avenues, hos-pitals for orphans, or for the poor or sick,Manhattan steamboats and clippers, takingthe measure of all seas.

The shapes arise! Shapes of the using421



of axes anyhow, and the users, and all thatneighbours them, Cutters-down of wood, andhaulers of it to the Penobscot or Kennebec,Dwellers in cabins among the Californianmountains, or by the little lakes, or on theColumbia, Dwellers south on the banks of the Gila or Rio Grande–friendly gatherings,the characters and fun, Dwellers up northin Minnesota and by the Yellowstone river–

422



dwellers on coasts and off coasts, Seal-fishers,whalers, arctic seamen breaking passagesthrough the ice.

The shapes arise! Shapes of factories,arsenals, foundries, markets; Shapes of thetwo-threaded tracks of railroads; Shapes of the sleepers of bridges, vast frameworks, gird-ers, arches; Shapes of the fleets of barges,tows, lake craft, river craft.

423



The shapes arise! Shipyards and dry-docks along the Eastern and Western Seas,and in many a bay and by-place, The live-oak kelsons, the pine-planks, the spars, thehackmatack-roots for knees, The ships them-selves on their ways, the tiers of scaffolds,the workmen busy outside and inside, Thetools lying around, the great auger and lit-tle auger, the adze, bolt, line, square, gouge,

424



and bead-plane.10.The shapes arise! The shape measured,

sawed, jacked, joined, stained, The coffin-shape for the dead to lie within in his shroud;The shape got out in posts, in the bedsteadposts, in the posts of the bride’s bed; Theshape of the little trough, the shape of therockers beneath, the shape of the babe’s

425



cradle; The shape of the floor-planks, thefloor-planks for dancers’ feet; The shape of the planks of the family home, the homeof the friendly parents and children, Theshape of the roof of the home of the happyyoung man and woman, the roof over thewell-married young man and woman, Theroof over the supper joyously cooked by thechaste wife, and joyously eaten by the chaste

426



husband, content after his day’s work.The shapes arise! The shape of the pris-

oner’s place in the court-room, and of himor her seated in the place; The shape of theliquor-bar leaned against by the young rum-drinker and the old rum-drinker; The shapeof the shamed and angry stairs, trod, bysneaking footsteps; The shape of the sly set-tee, and the adulterous unwholesome cou-

427



ple; The shape of the gambling-board withits devilish winnings and losings; The shapeof the step-ladder for the convicted and sen-tenced murderer, the murderer with hag-gard face and pinioned arms, The sheriff at hand with his deputies, the silent andwhite-lipped crowd, the sickening danglingof the rope.

The shapes arise! Shapes of doors giving428



many exits and entrances; The door passingthe dissevered friend, flushed and in haste;The door that admits good news and badnews; The door whence the son left home,confident and puffed up; The door he en-tered again from a long and scandalous ab-sence, diseased, broken down, without in-nocence, without means.

11.429



Her shape arises, She less guarded thanever, yet more guarded than ever; The grossand soiled she moves among do not makeher gross and soiled; She knows the thoughtsas she passes–nothing is concealed from her;She is none the less considerate or friendlytherefor; She is the best beloved–it is with-out exception–she has no reason to fear,and she does not fear; Oaths, quarrels, hic-

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cupped songs, smutty expressions, are idleto her as she passes; She is silent–she ispossessed of herself–they do not offend her;She receives them as the laws of nature re-ceive them–she is strong, She too is a lawof nature–there is no law stronger than sheis.

12.The main shapes arise! Shapes of Democ-

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racy, total result of centuries; Shapes, everprojecting other shapes; Shapes of a hun-dred Free States, begetting another hun-dred; Shapes of turbulent manly cities; Shapesof the women fit for these States, Shapesof the friends and home-givers of the wholeearth, Shapes bracing the earth, and bracedwith the whole earth.

ANTECEDENTS.432



1.With antecedents; With my fathers and

mothers, and the accumulations of past ages:With all which, had it not been, I wouldnot now be here, as I am; With Egypt, In-dia, Phoenicia, Greece, and Rome; Withthe Kelt, the Scandinavian, the Alb, andthe Saxon; With antique maritime ventures,–with laws, artisanship, wars, and journeys;

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With the poet, the skald, the saga, the myth,and the oracle; With the sale of slaves–withenthusiasts–with the troubadour, the cru-sader, and the monk; With those old con-tinents whence we have come to this newcontinent; With the fading kingdoms andkings over there; With the fading religionsand priests; With the small shores we lookback to from our own large and present

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shores; With countless years drawing them-selves onward, and arrived at these years;You and Me arrived–America arrived, andmaking this year; This year! sending itself ahead countless years to come.

2.O but it is not the years–it is I–it is You;

We touch all laws, and tally all antecedents;We are the skald, the oracle, the monk,

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and the knight–we easily include them, andmore; We stand amid time, beginninglessand endless–we stand amid evil and good;All swings around us–there is as much dark-ness as light; The very sun swings itself andits system of planets around us: Its sun, andits again, all swing around us.

3.As for me, (torn, stormy, even as I, amid

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these vehement days;) I have the idea of all,and am all, and believe in all; I believe ma-terialism is true, and spiritualism is true–Ireject no part.

Have I forgotten any part? Come to me,whoever and whatever, till I give you recog-nition.

I respect Assyria, China, Teutonia, andthe Hebrews; I adopt each theory, myth,

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god, and demi-god; I see that the old ac-counts, bibles, genealogies, are true, with-out exception; I assert that all past dayswere what they should have been; And thatthey could nohow have been better thanthey were, And that to-day is what it shouldbe–and that America is, And that to-dayand America could nohow be better thanthey are.

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4.In the name of these States, and in your

and my name, the Past, And in the nameof these States, and in your and my name,the Present time.

I know that the past was great, and thefuture will be great, And I know that bothcuriously conjoint in the present time, Forthe sake of him I typify–for the common

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average man’s sake–your sake, if you arehe; And that where I am, or you are, thispresent day, there is the centre of all days,all races, And there is the meaning, to us,of all that has ever come of races and days,or ever will come.

SALUT AU MONDE!1.O take my hand, Walt Whitman! Such

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gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!Such joined unended links, each hooked tothe next! Each answering all–each sharingthe earth with all.

What widens within you, Walt Whit-man? What waves and soils exuding? Whatclimes? what persons and lands are here?Who are the infants? some playing, someslumbering? Who are the girls? who are

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the married women? Who are the threeold men going slowly with their arms abouteach others’ necks? What rivers are these?what forests and fruits are these? What arethe mountains called that rise so high in themists? What myriads of dwellings are they,filled with dwellers?

2.Within me latitude widens, longitude length-

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ens; Asia, Africa, Europe, are to the east–America is provided for in the west; Band-ing the bulge of the earth winds the hotequator, Curiously north and south turnthe axis-ends; Within me is the longest day–the sun wheels in slanting rings–it does notset for months. Stretched in due time withinme the midnight sun just rises above thehorizon, and sinks again; Within me zones,

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seas, cataracts, plants, volcanoes, groups,Malaysia, Polynesia, and the great West In-dian islands.

3.What do you hear, Walt Whitman?I hear the workman singing, and the

farmer’s wife singing; I hear in the distancethe sounds of children, and of animals earlyin the day; I hear quick rifle-cracks from the

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riflemen of East Tennessee and Kentucky,hunting on hills; I hear emulous shouts of Australians, pursuing the wild horse; I hearthe Spanish dance, with castanets, in thechestnut shade, to the rebeck and guitar; Ihear continual echoes from the Thames; Ihear fierce French liberty songs; I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recita-tive of old poems; I hear the Virginian plan-

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tation chorus of negroes, of a harvest night,in the glare of pine-knots; I hear the strongbarytone of the ’long-shore-men of Manna-hatta; I hear the stevedores unlading thecargoes, and singing; I hear the screams of the water-fowl of solitary north-west lakes;I hear the rustling pattering of locusts, asthey strike the grain and grass with theshowers of their terrible clouds; I hear the

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Coptic refrain, toward sundown, pensivelyfalling on the breast of the black venera-ble vast mother, the Nile; I hear the buglesof raft-tenders on the streams of Canada;I hear the chirp of the Mexican muleteer,and the bells of the mule; I hear the Arabmuezzin, calling from the top of the mosque;I hear the Christian priests at the altarsof their churches–I hear the responsive bass

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and soprano; I hear the wail of utter despairof the white-haired Irish grandparents, whenthey learn the death of their grandson; Ihear the cry of the Cossack, and the sailor’svoice, putting to sea at Okotsk; I hear thewheeze of the slave-coffle, as the slaves marchon–as the husky gangs pass on by twos andthrees, fastened together with wrist- chainsand ankle-chains; I hear the entreaties of

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women tied up for punishment–I hear thesibilant whisk of thongs through the air; Ihear the Hebrew reading his records andpsalms; I hear the rhythmic myths of theGreeks, and the strong legends of the Ro-mans; I hear the tale of the divine life andbloody death of the beautiful God, the Christ;I hear the Hindoo teaching his favourite pupilthe loves, wars, adages, transmitted safely

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to this day from poets who wrote three thou-sand years ago.

4.What do you see, Walt Whitman? Who

are they you salute, and that one after an-other salute you?

I see a great round wonder rolling throughthe air: I see diminute farms, hamlets, ru-ins, grave-yards, jails, factories, palaces, hov-

450



els, huts of barbarians, tents of nomads,upon the surface; I see the shaded part onone side, where the sleepers are sleeping–and the sun-lit part on the other side; I seethe curious silent change of the light andshade; I see distant lands, as real and nearto the inhabitants of them as my land is tome.

I see plenteous waters; I see mountain-451



peaks–I see the sierras of Andes and Al-leghanies, where they range; I see plainlythe Himalayas, Chian Shahs, Altays, Ghauts;I see the Rocky Mountains, and the Peakof Winds; I see the Styrian Alps, and theKarnac Alps; I see the Pyrenees, Balks, Carpathians–and to the north the Dofrafields, and off atsea Mount Hecla; I see Vesuvius and Etna–I see the Anahuacs; I see the Mountains of

452



the Moon, and the Snow Mountains, andthe Red Mountains of Madagascar; I seethe Vermont hills, and the long string of Cordilleras; I see the vast deserts of West-ern America; I see the Libyan, Arabian, andAsiatic deserts; I see huge dreadful Arcticand Anarctic icebergs; I see the superioroceans and the inferior ones–the Atlanticand Pacific, the sea of Mexico, the Brazilian

453



sea, and the sea of Peru, The Japan waters,those of Hindostan, the China Sea, and theGulf of Guinea, The spread of the Baltic,Caspian, Bothnia, the British shores, andthe Bay of Biscay, The clear-sunned Mediter-ranean, and from one to another of its is-lands, The inland fresh-tasted seas of NorthAmerica, The White Sea, and the sea aroundGreenland. I behold the mariners of the

454



world; Some are in storms–some in the night,with the watch on the look-out; Some drift-ing helplessly–some with contagious diseases.

I behold the sail and steam ships of theworld, some in clusters in port, some ontheir voyages; Some double the Cape of Storms–some Cape Verde,–others Cape Guardafui,Bon, or Bajadore; Others Dondra Head–others pass the Straits of Sunda–others Cape

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Lopatka– others Behring’s Straits; OthersCape Horn–others the Gulf of Mexico, oralong Cuba or Hayti–others Hudson’s Bayor Baffin’s Bay; Others pass the Straits of Dover–others enter the Wash–others the Firthof Solway–others round Cape Clear–othersthe Land’s End; Others traverse the Zuy-der Zee, or the Scheld; Others add to theexits and entrances at Sandy Hook; Others

456



to the comers and goers at Gibraltar, or theDardanelles; Others sternly push their waythrough the northern winter-packs; Othersdescend or ascend the Obi or the Lena: Oth-ers the Niger or the Congo–others the In-dus, the Burampooter and Cambodia; Oth-ers wait at the wharves of Manhattan, steamedup, ready to start; Wait, swift and swarthy,in the ports of Australia; Wait at Liver-

457



pool, Glasgow, Dublin, Marseilles, Lisbon,Naples, Hamburg, Bremen, Bordeaux, theHague, Copenhagen; Wait at Valparaiso,Rio Janeiro, Panama; Wait at their moor-ings at Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Charleston,New Orleans, Galveston, San Francisco.

5.I see the tracks of the railroads of the

earth; I see them welding State to State,458



city to city, through North America; I seethem in Great Britain, I see them in Eu-rope; I see them in Asia and in Africa.

I see the electric telegraphs of the earth;I see the filaments of the news of the wars,deaths, losses, gains, passions, of my race.

I see the long river-stripes of the earth; Isee where the Mississippi flows–I see wherethe Columbia flows; I see the Great River,

459



and the Falls of Niagara; I see the Amazonand the Paraguay; I see the four great riversof China, the Amour, the Yellow River, theYiang-tse, and the Pearl; I see where theSeine flows, and where the Loire, the Rhone,and the Guadalquivir flow; I see the wind-ings of the Volga, the Dnieper, the Oder; Isee the Tuscan going down the Arno, andthe Venetian along the Po; I see the Greek

460



seaman sailing out of Egina bay.6.I see the site of the old empire of As-

syria, and that of Persia, and that of In-dia; I see the falling of the Ganges over thehigh rim of Saukara. I see the place of theidea of the Deity incarnated by avatars inhuman forms; I see the spots of the succes-sions of priests on the earth–oracles, sac-

461



rificers, brahmins, sabians, lamas, monks,muftis, exhorters; I see where druids walkedthe groves of Mona–I see the mistletoe andvervain; I see the temples of the deaths of the bodies of Gods–I see the old signifiers.

I see Christ once more eating the breadof His last supper, in the midst of youthsand old persons: I see where the strong di-vine young man, the Hercules, toiled faith-

462



fully and long, and then died; I see the placeof the innocent rich life and hapless fate of the beautiful nocturnal son, the full-limbedBacchus; I see Kneph, blooming, drest inblue, with the crown of feathers on his head;I see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-beloved,saying to the people, Do not weep for me,This is not my true country, I have livedbanished from my true country–I now go

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back there, I return to the celestial sphere,where every one goes in his turn .

7.I see the battlefields of the earth–grass

grows upon them, and blossoms and corn;I see the tracks of ancient and modern ex-peditions.

I see the nameless masonries, venerablemessages of the unknown events, heroes,

464



records of the earth; I see the places of the sagas; I see pine-trees and fir-frees tornby northern blasts; I see granite bouldersand cliffs–I see green meadows and lakes; Isee the burial-cairns of Scandinavian war-riors; I see them raised high with stones,by the marge of restless oceans, that thedead men’s spirits, when they wearied of their quiet graves, might rise up through

465



the mounds, and gaze on the tossing bil-lows, and be refreshed by storms, immen-sity, liberty, action.

I see the steppes of Asia; I see the tumuliof Mongolia–I see the tents of Kalmucksand Baskirs; I see the nomadic tribes, withherds of oxen and cows; I see the table-landsnotched with ravines–I see the jungles anddeserts; I see the camel, the wild steed, the

466



bustard, the fat-tailed sheep, the antelope,and the burrowing-wolf.

I see the highlands of Abyssinia; I seeflocks of goats feeding, and see the fig-tree,tamarind, date, And see fields of teff-wheat,and see the places of verdure and gold.

I see the Brazilian vaquero; I see theBolivian ascending Mount Sorata; I see theWacho crossing the plains–I see the incom-

467



parable rider of horses with his lasso on hisarm; I see over the pampas the pursuit of wild cattle for their hides.

8.I see little and large sea-dots, some in-

habited, some uninhabited; I see two boatswith nets, lying off the shore of Paumanok,quite still; I see ten fishermen waiting–theydiscover now a thick school of mossbonkers–

468



they drop the joined sein-ends in the wa-ter, The boats separate–they diverge androw off, each on its rounding course to thebeach, enclosing the mossbonkers; The netis drawn in by a windlass by those whostop ashore, Some of the fishermen loungein their boats–others stand negligently ankle-deep in the water, poised on strong legs;The boats are partly drawn up–the water

469



slaps against them; On the sand, in heapsand winrows, well out from the water, liethe green- backed spotted mossbonkers.

9.I see the despondent red man in the

west, lingering about the banks of Moingo,and about Lake Pepin; He has heard thequail and beheld the honey-bee, and sadlyprepared to depart.

470



I see the regions of snow and ice; I seethe sharp-eyed Samoiede and the Finn; I seethe seal-seeker in his boat, poising his lance;I see the Siberian on his slight-built sledge,drawn by dogs; I see the porpess-hunters–Isee the whale-crews of the South Pacific andthe North Atlantic; I see the cliffs, glaciers,torrents, valleys, of Switzerland–I mark thelong winters, and the isolation.

471



I see the cities of the earth, and makemyself at random a part of them; I am areal Parisian; I am a habitant of Vienna, St.Petersburg, Berlin, Constantinople; I am of Adelaide, Sidney, Melbourne; I am of Lon-don, Manchester, Bristol, Edinburgh, Lim-erick, I am of Madrid, Cadiz, Barcelona,Oporto, Lyons, Brussels, Berne, Frankfort,Stuttgart, Turin, Florence; I belong in Moscow,

472



Cracow, Warsaw–or northward in Christia-nia or Stockholm–or in Siberian Irkutsk–orin some street in Iceland; I descend uponall those cities, and rise from them again.

10.I see vapours exhaling from unexplored

countries; I see the savage types, the bowand arrow, the poisoned splint, the fetish,and the obi.

473



I see African and Asiatic towns; I seeAlgiers, Tripoli, Derne, Mogadore, Timbuc-too, Monrovia; I see the swarms of Pekin,Canton, Benares, Delhi, Calcutta, Yedo; Isee the Kruman in his hut, and the Da-homan and Ashantee-man in their huts; Isee the Turk smoking opium in Aleppo; Isee the picturesque crowds at the fairs of Khiva, and those of Herat; I see Teheran–

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I see Muscat and Medina, and the inter-vening sands–I see the caravans toiling on-ward; I see Egypt and the Egyptians–I seethe pyramids and obelisks; I look on chis-elled histories, songs, philosophies, cut inslabs of sandstone or on granite blocks; I seeat Memphis mummy-pits, containing mum-mies, embalmed, swathed in linen cloth, ly-ing there many centuries; I look on the fallen

475



Theban, the large-balled eyes, the side-droopingneck, the hands folded across the breast.

I see the menials of the earth, labouring;I see the prisoners in the prisons; I see thedefective human bodies of the earth; I seethe blind, the deaf and dumb, idiots, hunch-backs, lunatics; I see the pirates, thieves,betrayers, murderers, slave-makers of theearth; I see the helpless infants, and the

476



helpless old men and women.I see male and female everywhere; I see

the serene brotherhood of philosophs; I seethe constructiveness of my race; I see theresults of the perseverance and industry of my race; I see ranks, colours, barbarisms,civilisations–I go among them–I mix indis-criminately, And I salute all the inhabitantsof the earth.

477



11.You, where you are! You daughter or

son of England! You of the mighty Slavictribes and empires! you Russ in Russia!You dim-descended, black, divine-souled African,large, fine-headed, nobly-formed, superblydestined, on equal terms with me! You Nor-wegian! Swede! Dane! Icelander! youPrussian! You Spaniard of Spain! you Por-

478



tuguese! You Frenchwoman and French-man of France! You Belge! you liberty-lover of the Netherlands! You sturdy Aus-trian! you Lombard! Hun! Bohemian! farmerof Styria! You neighbour of the Danube!You working-man of the Rhine, the Elbe,or the Weser! you working-woman too! YouSardinian! you Bavarian! Swabian! Saxon!Wallachian! Bulgarian! You citizen of Prague!

479



Roman! Neapolitan! Greek! You lithe mata-dor in the arena at Seville! You moun-taineer living lawlessly on the Taurus orCaucasus! You Bokh horse-herd, watch-ing your mares and stallions feeding! Youbeautiful-bodied Persian, at full speed inthe saddle shooting arrows to the mark! YouChinaman and Chinawoman of China! youTartar of Tartary! You women of the earth

480



subordinated at your tasks! You Jew jour-neying in your old age through every risk,to stand once on Syrian ground! You otherJews waiting in all lands for your Messiah!You thoughtful Armenian, pondering by somestream of the Euphrates! you peering amidthe ruins of Nineveh! you ascending MountArarat! You foot-worn pilgrim welcomingthe far-away sparkle of the minarets of Mecca!

481



You sheiks along the stretch from Suez toBabelmandeb, ruling your families and tribes!You olive-grower tending your fruit on fieldsof Nazareth, Damascus, or Lake Tiberias!You Thibet trader on the wide inland, orbargaining in the shops of Lassa! You Japaneseman or woman! you liver in Madagascar,Ceylon, Sumatra, Borneo! All you conti-nentals of Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia,

482



indifferent of place! All you on the number-less islands of the archipelagoes of the sea!And you of centuries hence, when you lis-ten to me! And you, each and everywhere,whom I specify not, but include just thesame! Health to you! Goodwill to you all–from me and America sent.

Each of us inevitable; Each of us limitless–each of us with his or her right upon the

483



earth; Each of us allowed the eternal pur-ports of the earth: Each of us here as di-vinely as any is here.

12.You Hottentot with clicking palate! You

woolly-haired hordes! You owned persons,dropping sweat-drops or blood-drops! Youhuman forms with the fathomless ever-impressivecountenances of brutes! I dare not refuse

484



you–the scope of the world, and of time andspace, are upon me.

You poor koboo whom the meanest of the rest look down upon, for all your glim-mering language and spirituality! You lowexpiring aborigines of the hills of Utah, Ore-gon, California! You dwarfed Kamtschatkan,Greenlander, Lap! You Austral negro, naked,red, sooty, with protrusive lip, grovelling,

485



seeking your food! You Caffre, Berber, Soudanese!You haggard, uncouth, untutored Bedowee!You plague-swarms in Madras, Nankin, Kaubul,Cairo! You bather bathing in the Ganges!You benighted roamer of Amazonia! youPatagonian! you Fejee-man! You peon of Mexico! you slave of Carolina, Texas, Ten-nessee! I do not prefer others so very muchbefore you either; I do not say one word

486



against you, away back there, where youstand; You will come forward in due timeto my side.

My spirit has passed in compassion anddetermination around the whole earth; Ihave looked for equals and lovers, and foundthem ready for me in all lands; I think somedivine rapport has equalised me with them.

13.487



O vapours! I think I have risen withyou, and moved away to distant continents,and fallen down there, for reasons; I thinkI have blown with you, O winds; O waters,I have fingered every shore with you.

I have run through what any river orstrait of the globe has run through; I havetaken my stand on the bases of peninsulas,and on the highest embedded rocks, to cry

488



thence.Salut au Monde! What cities the light

or warmth penetrates, I penetrate those citiesmyself; All islands to which birds wing theirway, I wing my way myself.

Toward all I raise high the perpendicu-lar hand–I make the signal, To remain afterme in sight for ever, For all the haunts andhomes of men.

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A BROADWAY PAGEANT.(RECEPTION OF THE JAPANESE EM-

BASSY, JUNE 16, 1860.)1.Over sea, hither from Niphon, Courte-

ous, the Princes of Asia, swart-cheeked princes,First-comers, guests, two-sworded princes,Lesson-giving princes, leaning back in theiropen barouches, bare-headed, impassive, This

490



day they ride through Manhattan.2.Libertad! I do not know whether oth-

ers behold what I behold, In the proces-sion, along with the Princes of Asia, theerrand-bearers, Bringing up the rear, hov-ering above, around, or in the ranks march-ing; But I will sing you a song of what Ibehold, Libertad.

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3.When million-footed Manhattan, unpent,

descends to its pavements; When the thunder-cracking guns arouse me with the proudroar I love; When the round-mouthed guns,out of the smoke and smell I love, spit theirsalutes; When the fire-flashing guns havefully alerted me–when heaven-clouds canopymy city with a delicate thin haze; When,

492



gorgeous, the countless straight stems, theforests at the wharves, thicken with colours;When every ship, richly dressed, carries herflag at the peak; When pennants trail, andstreet-festoons hang from the windows; WhenBroadway is entirely given up to foot-passengersand foot-standers– when the mass is dens-est; When the facades of the houses arealive with people–when eyes gaze, riveted,

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tens of thousands at a time; When the guestsfrom the islands advance–when the pageantmoves forward, visible; When the summonsis made–when the answer, that waited thou-sands of years, answers; I too, arising, an-swering, descend to the pavements, mergewith the crowd, and gaze with them.

4.Superb-faced Manhattan! Comrade Americanos!–

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to us, then, at last, the Orient comes. Tous, my city, Where our tall-topped marbleand iron beauties range on opposite sides–to walk in the space between, To-day ourAntipodes comes.

The Originatress comes, The land of Paradise–land of the Caucasus–the nest of birth, Thenest of languages, the bequeather of poems,the race of eld, Florid with blood, pensive,

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Not the errand-bearing princes, nor thetanned Japanee only; Lithe and silent, theHindoo appears–the whole Asiatic continentitself appears–the Past, the dead, The murkynight-morning of wonder and fable, inscrutable,The enveloped mysteries, the old and un-known hive-bees, The North–the swelteringSouth–Assyria–the Hebrews–the Ancient of ancients, Vast desolated cities–the gliding

497



Present–all of these, and more, are in thepageant-procession.

Geography, the world, is in it; The GreatSea, the brood of islands, Polynesia, thecoast beyond; The coast you henceforth arefacing–you Libertad! from your Westerngolden shores; The countries there, with theirpopulations–the millions en masse , are cu-riously here; The swarming market-places–

498



the temples, with idols ranged along thesides, or at the end–bronze, brahmin, andlama; The mandarin, farmer, merchant, me-chanic, and fisherman; The singing-girl andthe dancing-girl–the ecstatic person–the di-vine Buddha; The secluded Emperors–Confuciushimself–the great poets and heroes–the war-riors, the castes, all, Trooping up, crowdingfrom all directions–from the Altay moun-

499



tains, From Thibet–from the four windingand far-flowing rivers of China, From theSouthern peninsulas, and the demi-continentalislands–from Malaysia; These, and what-ever belongs to them, palpable, show forthto me, and are seized by me, And I amseized by them, and friendlily held by them,Till, as here, them all I chant, Libertad! forthemselves and for you.

500



5.For I too, raising my voice, join the ranks

of this pageant; I am the chanter–I chantaloud over the pageant; I chant the worldon my Western Sea; I chant, copious, theislands beyond, thick as stars in the sky;I chant the new empire, grander than anybefore–As in a vision it comes to me; I chantAmerica, the Mistress–I chant a greater supremacy;

501



I chant, projected, a thousand blooming citiesyet, in time, on those groups of sea-islands;I chant my sail-ships and steam-ships thread-ing the archipelagoes; I chant my stars andstripes fluttering in the wind; I chant com-merce opening, the sleep of ages having doneits work–races reborn, refreshed; Lives, works,resumed–The object I know not–but the old,the Asiatic, resumed, as it must be, Com-

502



mencing from this day, surrounded by theworld.

And you, Libertad of the world! Youshall sit in the middle, well-poised, thou-sands of years; As to-day, from one side, thePrinces of Asia come to you; As to-morrow,from the other side, the Queen of Englandsends her eldest son to you.

The sign is reversing, the orb is enclosed,503



The ring is circled, the journey is done; Thebox-lid is but perceptibly opened–neverthelessthe perfume pours copiously out of the wholebox.

6.Young Libertad! With the venerable

Asia, the all-mother, Be considerate withher, now and ever, hot Libertad–for youare all; Bend your proud neck to the long-

504



off mother, now sending messages over thearchipelagoes to you: Bend your proud neckfor once, young Libertad.

7.Were the children straying westward so

long? so wide the tramping? Were theprecedent dim ages debouching westwardfrom Paradise so long? Were the centuriessteadily footing it that way, all the while

505



unknown, for you, for reasons? They arejustified–they are accomplished–they shallnow be turned the other way also, to traveltoward you thence; They shall now also marchobediently eastward, for your sake, Liber-tad.

OLD IRELAND.1.Far hence, amid an isle of wondrous beauty,

506



Crouching over a grave, an ancient sorrow-ful mother, Once a queen–now lean and tat-tered, seated on the ground, Her old whitehair drooping dishevelled round her shoul-ders; At her feet fallen an unused royal harp,Long silent–she too long silent–mourningher shrouded hope and heir; Of all the earthher heart most full of sorrow, because mostfull of love.

507



2.Yet a word, ancient mother; You need

crouch there no longer on the cold ground,with forehead between your knees; O youneed not sit there, veiled in your old whitehair, so dishevelled; For know you, the oneyou mourn is not in that grave; It was anillusion–the heir, the son you love, was notreally dead; The Lord is not dead–he is risen

508



again, young and strong, in another coun-try; Even while you wept there by yourfallen harp, by the grave, What you weptfor was translated, passed from the grave,The winds favoured, and the sea sailed it,And now, with rosy and new blood, Movesto-day in a new country.

BOSTON TOWN.1.

509



To get betimes in Boston town, I rosethis morning early; Here’s a good place atthe corner–I must stand and see the show.

2.Clear the way there, Jonathan! Way

for the President’s marshal! Way for thegovernment cannon! Way for the Federalfoot and dragoons–and the apparitions co-piously tumbling.

510



I love to look on the stars and stripes–Ihope the fifes will play ”Yankee Doodle,”How bright shine the cutlasses of the fore-most troops! Every man holds his revolver,marching stiff through Boston town.

3.A fog follows–antiques of the same come

limping, Some appear wooden-legged, andsome appear bandaged and bloodless.

511



Why this is indeed a show! It has calledthe dead out of the earth! The old grave-yards of the hills have hurried to see! Phan-toms! phantoms countless by flank and rear!Cocked hats of mothy mould! crutches madeof mist! Arms in slings! old men leaning onyoung men’s shoulders!

What troubles you, Yankee phantoms?What is all this chattering of bare gums?

512



Does the ague convulse your limbs? Doyou mistake your crutches for firelocks, andlevel them?

If you blind your eyes with tears, youwill not see the President’s marshal; If yougroan such groans, you might baulk the gov-ernment cannon.

For shame, old maniacs! Bring downthose tossed arms, and let your white hair

513



be; Here gape your great grandsons–theirwives gaze at them from the windows, Seehow well-dressed–see how orderly they con-duct themselves.

Worse and worse! Can’t you stand it?Are you retreating? Is this hour with theliving too dead for you?

Retreat then! Pell-mell! To your graves!Back! back to the hills, old limpers! I do

514



not think you belong here, anyhow.4.But there is one thing that belongs here–

shall I tell you what it is, gentlemen of Boston?I will whisper it to the Mayor–He shall

send a committee to England; They shallget a grant from the Parliament, go with acart to the royal vault–haste! Dig out KingGeorge’s coffin, unwrap him quick from the

515



grave-clothes, box up his bones for a jour-ney; Find a swift Yankee clipper–here isfreight for you, black-bellied clipper, Up withyour anchor! shake out your sails! steerstraight toward Boston bay.

5.Now call for the President’s marshal again,

bring out the government cannon, Fetch homethe roarers from Congress,–make another

516



procession, guard it with foot and dragoons.This centre-piece for them! Look, all

orderly citizens! Look from the windows,women!

The committee open the box; set up theregal ribs; glue those that will not stay;Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clapa crown on top of the skull.

You have got your revenge, old bluster!517



The crown is come to its own, and morethan its own.

6.Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan–

you are a made man from this day; You aremighty ’cute–and here is one of your bar-gains.

FRANCE, THE EIGHTEENTH YEAROF THESE STATES. [1]

518



1.A great year and place; A harsh, discor-

dant, natal scream out-sounding, to touchthe mother’s heart closer than any yet.

2.I walked the shores of my Eastern Sea,

Heard over the waves the little voice, Sawthe divine infant, where she woke, mourn-fully wailing, amid the roar of cannon, curses,

519



shouts, crash of falling buildings; Was notso sick from the blood in the gutters running–nor from the single corpses, nor those inheaps, nor those borne away in the tum-brils; Was not so desperate at the battuesof death–was not so shocked at the repeatedfusillades of the guns.

Pale, silent, stern, what could I say tothat long-accrued retribution? Could I wish

520



humanity different? Could I wish the peo-ple made of wood and stone? Or that therebe no justice in destiny or time?

3.O Liberty! O mate for me! Here too

the blaze, the bullet, and the axe, in re-serve to fetch them out in case of need, Heretoo, though long repressed, can never be de-stroyed; Here too could rise at last, murder-

521



ing and ecstatic; Here too demanding fullarrears of vengeance.

Hence I sign this salute over the sea,And I do not deny that terrible red birthand baptism, But remember the little voicethat I heard wailing–and wait with perfecttrust, no matter how long; And from to-day,sad and cogent, I maintain the bequeathedcause, as for all lands, And I send these

522



words to Paris with my love, And I guesssome chansonniers there will understandthem, For I guess there is latent music yetin France–floods of it. O I hear alreadythe bustle of instruments–they will soon bedrowning all that would interrupt them; OI think the east wind brings a triumphaland free march, It reaches hither–it swellsme to joyful madness, I will run transpose

523



it in words, to justify it, I will yet sing asong for you, ma femme!

[Footnote 1: 1793-4—The great poet of Democracy is ”not so shocked” at the greatEuropean year of Democracy.]

EUROPE, THE SEVENTY-SECONDAND SEVENTY-THIRD YEARS OF THESESTATES. [1]

1.524



Suddenly, out of its stale and drowsylair, the lair of slaves, Like lightning it leapedforth, half startled at itself, Its feet uponthe ashes and the rags–its hands tight tothe throats of kings.

O hope and faith! O aching close of exiled patriots’ lives! O many a sickenedheart! Turn back unto this day, and makeyourselves afresh.

525



2.And you, paid to defile the People! you

liars, mark! Not for numberless agonies,murders, lusts, For court thieving in its man-ifold mean forms, worming from his sim-plicity the poor man’s wages, For many apromise sworn by royal lips, and broken,and laughed at in the breaking, Then intheir power, not for all these did the blows

526



strike revenge, or the heads of the noblesfall; The People scorned the ferocity of kings.

3.But the sweetness of mercy brewed bit-

ter destruction, and the frightened rulerscome back; Each comes in state with histrain–hangman, priest, tax-gatherer, Soldier,lawyer, lord, jailer, and sycophant.

4.527



Yet behind all, lowering, stealing–lo, aShape, Vague as the night, draped inter-minably, head, front, and form, in scarletfolds, Whose face and eyes none may see:Out of its robes only this–the red robes,lifted by the arm– One finger crooked, pointedhigh over the top, like the head of a snakeappears.

5.528



Meanwhile, corpses lie in new-made graves–bloody corpses of young men; The rope of the gibbet hangs heavily, the bullets of princesare flying, the creatures of power laugh aloud,And all these things bear fruits–and theyare good.

Those corpses of young men, Those mar-tyrs that hang from the gibbets–those heartspierced by the grey lead, Cold and motion-

529



less as they seem, live elsewhere with un-slaughtered vitality.

They live in other young men, O kings!They live in brothers, again ready to defyyou! They were purified by death–they weretaught and exalted. Not a grave of the mur-dered for freedom but grows seed for free-dom, in its turn to bear seed, Which thewinds carry afar and resow, and the rains

530



and the snows nourish.Not a disembodied spirit can the weapons

of tyrants let loose, But it stalks invisiblyover the earth, whispering, counselling, cau-tioning.

6.Liberty! let others despair of you! I

never despair of you.Is the house shut? Is the master away?

531



Nevertheless, be ready–be not weary of watch-ing: He will soon return–his messengers comeanon.

[Footnote 1: The years 1848 and 1849.]TO A FOILED REVOLTER OR RE-

VOLTRESS.1.Courage! my brother or my sister! Keep

on! Liberty is to be subserved, whatever532



occurs; That is nothing that is quelled byone or two failures, or any number of fail-ures, Or by the indifference or ingratitudeof the people, or by any unfaithfulness, Orthe show of the tushes of power, soldiers,cannon, penal statutes.

2.What we believe in waits latent for ever

through all the continents, and all the is-533



lands and archipelagoes of the sea.What we believe in invites no one, promises

nothing, sits in calmness and light, is pos-itive and composed, knows no discourage-ment, Waiting patiently, waiting its time.

3.The battle rages with many a loud alarm,

and frequent advance and retreat, The infi-del triumphs–or supposes he triumphs, The

534



prison, scaffold, garrote, handcuffs, iron neck-lace and anklet, lead- balls, do their work,The named and unnamed heroes pass toother spheres, The great speakers and writ-ers are exiled–they lie sick in distant lands,The cause is asleep–the strongest throatsare still, choked with their own blood, Theyoung men drop their eyelashes toward theground when they meet; But, for all this,

535



Liberty has not gone out of the place, northe infidel entered into possession.

When Liberty goes out of a place, it isnot the first to go, nor the second or thirdto go, It waits for all the rest to go–it is thelast.

When there are no more memories of heroes and martyrs, And when all life andall the souls of men and women are dis-

536



charged from any part of the earth, Thenonly shall Liberty be discharged from thatpart of the earth, And the infidel and thetyrant come into possession.

4.Then courage! revolter! revoltress! For

till all ceases neither must you cease.5.I do not know what you are for, (I do

537



not know what I am for myself, nor whatanything is for,) But I will search carefullyfor it even in being foiled, In defeat, poverty,imprisonment–for they too are great.

Did we think victory great? So it is–But now it seems to me, when it cannot behelped, that defeat is great, And that deathand dismay are great.

DRUM TAPS.538



MANHATTAN ARMING.1.First, O songs, for a prelude, Lightly

strike on the stretched tympanum, prideand joy in my city, How she led the restto arms–how she gave the cue, How at oncewith lithe limbs, unwaiting a moment, shesprang; O superb! O Manhattan, my own,my peerless! O strongest you in the hour of

539



danger, in crisis! O truer than steel! Howyou sprang! how you threw off the costumesof peace with indifferent hand; How yoursoft opera-music changed, and the drum andfife were heard in their stead; How you ledto the war, (that shall serve for our prelude,songs of soldiers,) How Manhattan drum-taps led.

2.540



Forty years had I in my city seen soldiersparading; Forty years as a pageant–till un-awares, the Lady of this teeming and tur-bulent city, Sleepless, amid her ships, herhouses, her incalculable wealth, With hermillion children around her–suddenly, Atdead of night, at news from the South, In-censed, struck with clenched hand the pave-ment.

541



men falling in and arming; The mechan-ics arming, the trowel, the jack-plane, theblack-smith’s hammer, tossed aside with pre-cipitation; The lawyer leaving his office, andarming–the judge leaving the court; Thedriver deserting his waggon in the street,jumping down, throwing the reins abruptlydown on the horses’ backs; The salesmanleaving the store–the boss, book-keeper, porter,

543



all leaving; Squads gathering everywhere bycommon consent, and arming; The new re-cruits, even boys–the old men show themhow to wear their accoutrements–they bucklethe straps carefully; Outdoors arming–indoorsarming–the flash of the musket-barrels; Thewhite tents cluster in camps–the armed sen-tries around–the sunrise cannon, and againat sunset; Armed regiments arrive every day,

544



pass through the city, and embark from thewharves; How good they look, as they trampdown to the river, sweaty, with their gunson their shoulders! How I love them! how Icould hug them, with their brown faces, andtheir clothes and knapsacks covered withdust! The blood of the city up–armed! armed!the cry everywhere; The flags flung out fromthe steeples of churches, and from all the

545



public buildings and stores; The tearful parting–the mother kisses her son–the son kisseshis mother; Loth is the mother to part–yet not a word does she speak to detainhim; The tumultuous escort–the ranks of policemen preceding, clearing the way; Theunpent enthusiasm–the wild cheers of thecrowd for their favourites; The artillery–the silent cannons, bright as gold, drawn

546



along, rumble lightly over the stones; Silentcannons–soon to cease your silence, Soon,unlimbered, to begin the red business! Allthe mutter of preparation–all the determinedarming; The hospital service–the lint, ban-dages, and medicines; The women volun-teering for nurses–the work begun for, inearnest–no mere parade now; War! an armedrace is advancing!–the welcome for battle–

547



guns: Unlimber them! no more, as the pastforty years, for salutes for courtesies merely;Put in something else now besides powderand wadding.

6.And you, Lady of Ships! you, Manna-

hatta! Old matron of the city! this proud,friendly, turbulent city! Often in peace andwealth you were pensive, or covertly frowned

549



amid all your children; But now you smilewith joy, exulting old Mannahatta!

1861.Armed year! year of the struggle! No

dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses foryou, terrible year! Not you as some palepoetling, seated at a desk, lisping cadenzaspiano; But as a strong man, erect, clothedin blue clothes, advancing, carrying a rifle

550



on your shoulder, With well-gristled bodyand sunburnt face and hands–with a knifein the belt at your side, As I heard youshouting loud–your sonorous voice ringingacross the continent; Your masculine voice,O year, as rising amid the great cities, Amidthe men of Manhattan I saw you, as one of the workmen, the dwellers in Manhattan;Or with large steps crossing the prairies out

551



of Illinois and Indiana, Rapidly crossing theWest with springy gait, and descending theAlleghanies; Or down from the great lakes,or in Pennsylvania, or on deck along theOhio river; Or southward along the Ten-nessee or Cumberland rivers, or at Chat-tanooga on the mountain-top, Saw I yourgait and saw I your sinewy limbs, clothed inblue, bearing weapons, robust year; Heard

552



your determined voice, launched forth againand again; Year that suddenly sang by themouths of the round-lipped cannon, I re-peat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distractedyear.

THE UPRISING.1.Rise, O days, from your fathomless deeps,

till you loftier and fiercer sweep! Long for553



my soul, hungering gymnastic, I devouredwhat the earth gave me; Long I roamed thewoods of the North–long I watched Niagarapouring; I travelled the prairies over, andslept on their breast–I crossed the Nevadas,I crossed the plateaus; I ascended the tow-ering rocks along the Pacific, I sailed outto sea; I sailed through the storm, I was re-freshed by the storm; I watched with joy the

554



threatening maws of the waves; I markedthe white combs where they careered so high,curling over; I heard the wind piping, I sawthe black clouds; Saw from below what aroseand mounted, (O superb! O wild as myheart, and powerful!) Heard the continu-ous thunder, as it bellowed after the light-ning; Noted the slender and jagged threadsof lightning, as sudden and fast amid the

555



din they chased each other across the sky;–These, and such as these, I, elate, saw–saw with wonder, yet pensive and master-ful; All the menacing might of the globeuprisen around me; Yet there with my soulI fed–I fed content, supercilious.

2.’Twas well, O soul! ’twas a good prepa-

ration you gave me! Now we advance our556



latent and ampler hunger to fill; Now wego forth to receive what the earth and thesea never gave us; Not through the mightywoods we go, but through the mightier cities;Something for us is pouring now, more thanNiagara pouring; Torrents of men, (sourcesand rills of the North-west, are you indeedinexhaustible?) What, to pavements andhomesteads here–what were those storms

557



of the mountains and sea? What, to pas-sions I witness around me to-day, was thesea risen? Was the wind piping the pipe of death under the black clouds?

Lo! from deeps more unfathomable, some-thing more deadly and savage; Manhattan,rising, advancing with menacing front–Cincinnati,Chicago, unchained; –What was that swell Isaw on the ocean? behold what comes here!

558



How it climbs with daring feet and hands!how it dashes! How the true thunder bel-lows after the lightning! how bright theflashes of lightning! How DEMOCRACYwith desperate vengeful port strides on, shownthrough the dark by those flashes of light-ning! Yet a mournful wail and low sob Ifancied I heard through the dark, In a lullof the deafening confusion.

559



3.Thunder on! stride on, Democracy! strike

with vengeful stroke! And do you rise higherthan ever yet, O days, O cities! Crash heav-ier, heavier yet, O storms! you have doneme good; My soul, prepared in the moun-tains, absorbs your immortal strong nutri-ment. Long had I walked my cities, mycountry roads, through farms, only half sat-

560



isfied; One doubt, nauseous, undulating likea snake, crawled on the ground before me,Continually preceding my steps, turning uponme oft, ironically hissing low; –The cities Iloved so well I abandoned and left–I spedto the certainties suitable to me Hunger-ing, hungering, hungering, for primal ener-gies, and Nature’s dauntlessness, I refreshedmyself with it only, I could relish it only; I

561



waited the bursting forth of the pent fire–onthe water and air I waited long. –But nowI no longer wait–I am fully satisfied–I amglutted; I have witnessed the true lightning–I have witnessed my cities electric; I havelived to behold man burst forth, and war-like America rise; Hence I will seek no morethe food of the northern solitary wilds, Nomore on the mountains roam, or sail the

562



stormy sea.BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!

1.Beat! beat! drums!–Blow! bugles! blow!

Through the windows–through doors–burstlike a force of ruthless men, Into the solemnchurch, and scatter the congregation; Intothe school where the scholar is studying:Leave not the bridegroom quiet–no happi-

563



ness must he have now with his bride; Northe peaceful farmer any peace, ploughinghis field or gathering his grain; So fierce youwhirr and pound, you drums–so shrill youbugles blow.


Over the traffic of cities–over the rumble of wheels in the streets: Are beds prepared,

564



for sleepers at night in the houses? Nosleepers must sleep in those beds; No bar-gainers’ bargains by day–no brokers or speculators–Would they continue? Would the talkersbe talking? would the singer attempt tosing? Would the lawyer rise in the court tostate his case before the judge? Then rattlequicker, heavier, drums–you bugles wilderblow.

565




Make no parley–stop for no expostulation;Mind not the timid–mind not the weeperor prayer; Mind not the old man beseech-ing the young man; Let not the child’s voicebe heard, nor the mother’s entreaties; Makeeven the trestles to shake the dead, wherethey lie awaiting the hearses, So strong you

566



thump, O terrible drums–so loud you buglesblow.

SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAY-BREAK.

POET.O a new song, a free song, Flapping,

flapping, flapping, flapping, by sounds, byvoices clearer, By the wind’s voice and thatof the drum, By the banner’s voice, and

567



child’s voice, and sea’s voice, and father’svoice, Low on the ground and high in theair, On the ground where father and childstand, In the upward air where their eyesturn, Where the banner at daybreak is flap-ping.

Words! book-words! what are you? Wordsno more, for hearken and see, My song isthere in the open air–and I must sing, With

568



the banner and pennant a-flapping.I’ll weave the chord and twine in, Man’s

desire and babe’s desire–I’ll twine them in,I’ll put in life; I’ll put the bayonet’s flash-ing point–I’ll let bullets and slugs whizz; I’llpour the verse with streams of blood, fullof volition, full of joy; Then loosen, launchforth, to go and compete, With the bannerand pennant a-flapping.

569



BANNER AND PENNANT.Come up here, bard, bard; Come up

here, soul, soul; Come up here, dear littlechild, To fly in the clouds and winds withus, and play with the measureless light.

CHILD.Father, what is that in the sky beckon-

ing to me with long finger? And what doesit say to me all the while?

570



FATHER.Nothing, my babe, you see in the sky;

And nothing at all to you it says. But lookyou, my babe, Look at these dazzling thingsin the houses, and see you the money-shopsopening; And see you the vehicles prepar-ing to crawl along the streets with goods:These! ah, these! how valued and toiledfor, these! How envied by all the earth!

571



POET.Fresh and rosy red, the sun is mounting

high; On floats the sea in distant blue, ca-reering through its channels; On floats thewind over the breast of the sea, setting intoward land; The great steady wind fromwest and west-by-south, Floating so buoy-ant, with milk-white foam on the waters.

But I am not the sea, nor the red sun;572



I am not the wind, with girlish laughter;Not the immense wind which strengthens–not the wind which lashes; Not the spiritthat ever lashes its own body to terror anddeath: But I am of that which unseen comesand sings, sings, sings, Which babbles inbrooks and scoots in showers on the land;Which the birds know in the woods, morn-ings and evenings, And the shore-sands know,

573



and the hissing wave, and that banner andpennant, Aloft there flapping and flapping.

CHILD.O father, it is alive–it is full of people–

it has children! O now it seems to me itis talking to its children! I hear it–it talksto me–O it is wonderful! O it stretches–itspreads and runs so fast! O my father, It isso broad it covers the whole sky!

574



FATHER.Cease, cease, my foolish babe, What you

are saying is sorrowful to me–much it dis-pleases me; Behold with the rest, again Isay–behold not banners and pennants aloft;But the well-prepared pavements behold–and mark the solid-walled houses.

BANNER AND PENNANT.Speak to the child, O bard, out of Man-

575



hattan; Speak to our children all, or northor south of Manhattan, Where our factory-engines hum, where our miners delve theground, Where our hoarse Niagara rumbles,where our prairie-ploughs are ploughing; Speak,O bard! point this day, leaving all the rest,to us over all–and yet we know not why; Forwhat are we, mere strips of cloth, profitingnothing, Only flapping in the wind?

576



POET.I hear and see not strips of cloth alone;

I hear the tramp of armies, I hear the chal-lenging sentry; I hear the jubilant shoutsof millions of men–I hear LIBERTY! I hearthe drums beat, and the trumpets blowing;I myself move abroad, swift-rising, flyingthen; I use the wings of the land-bird, anduse the wings of the sea-bird, and look down

577



as from a height. I do not deny the pre-cious results of peace–I see populous cities,with wealth incalculable; I see numberlessfarms–I see the farmers working in theirfields or barns; I see mechanics working–Isee buildings everywhere founded, going up,or finished; I see trains of cars swiftly speed-ing along railroad tracks, drawn by the loco-motives; I see the stores, depots, of Boston,

578



Baltimore, Charleston, New Orleans; I seefar in the west the immense area of grain–Idwell a while, hovering; I pass to the lum-ber forests of the north, and again to thesouthern plantation, and again to Califor-nia; Sweeping the whole, I see the countlessprofit, the busy gatherings, earned wages;See the identity formed out of thirty-six spa-cious and haughty States, (and many more

579



to come;) See forts on the shores of harbours–see ships sailing in and out; Then over all,(aye! aye!) my little and lengthened pen-nant shaped like a sword Runs swiftly up,indicating war and defiance–And now thehalyards have raised it, Side of my bannerbroad and blue–side of my starry banner,Discarding peace over all the sea and land.

BANNER AND PENNANT.580



Yet louder, higher, stronger, bard! yetfarther, wider cleave! No longer let ourchildren deem us riches and peace alone;We can be terror and carnage also, andare so now. Not now are we one of thesespacious and haughty States, (nor any five,nor ten;) Nor market nor depot are we,nor money-bank in the city; But these, andall, and the brown and spreading land, and

581



the mines below, are ours; And the shoresof the sea are ours, and the rivers greatand small; And the fields they moisten areours, and the crops, and the fruits are ours;Bays and channels, and ships sailing in andout, are ours–and we over all, Over the areaspread below, the three millions of squaremiles–the capitals, The thirty-five millionsof people–O bard! in life and death supreme,

582



We, even we, from this day flaunt out mas-terful, high up above, Not for the presentalone, for a thousand years, chanting throughyou This song to the soul of one poor littlechild.

CHILD.O my father, I like not the houses; They

will never to me be anything–nor do I likemoney! But to mount up there I would like,

583



O father dear–that banner I like; That pen-nant I would be, and must be.

FATHER.Child of mine, you fill me with anguish,

To be that pennant would be too fearful;Little you know what it is this day, andhenceforth for ever; It is to gain nothing,but risk and defy everything; Forward tostand in front of wars–and O, such wars!–

584



what have you to do with them? Withpassions of demons, slaughter, prematuredeath?

POET.Demons and death then I sing; Put in

all, aye all, will I–sword-shaped pennant forwar, and banner so broad and blue, Anda pleasure new and ecstatic, and the prat-tled yearning of children, Blent with the

585



sounds of the peaceful land, and the liquidwash of the sea; And the icy cool of the far,far north, with rustling cedars and pines;And the whirr of drums, and the sound of soldiers marching, and the hot sun shin-ing south; And the beach-waves combingover the beach on my eastern shore, andmy western shore the same; And all be-tween those shores, and my ever-running

586



Mississippi, with bends and chutes; Andmy Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, andmy fields of Missouri; The CONTINENT–devoting the whole identity, without reserv-ing an atom, Pour in! whelm that whichasks, which sings, with all, and the yield of all.

BANNER AND PENNANT.Aye all! for ever, for all! From sea to

587



sea, north and south, east and west, Fusingand holding, claiming, devouring the whole;No more with tender lip, nor musical labialsound, But out of the night emerging forgood, our voice persuasive no more, Croak-ing like crows here in the wind.

POET.My limbs, my veins dilate; The blood

of the world has filled me full–my theme is588



clear at last. –Banner so broad, advancingout of the night, I sing you haughty and res-olute; I burst through where I waited long,too long, deafened and blinded; My sight,my hearing and tongue, are come to me, (alittle child taught me;) I hear from above, Opennant of war, your ironical call and de-mand; Insensate! insensate! yet I at anyrate chant you, O banner! Not houses of

589



peace are you, nor any nor all their prosper-ity; if need be, you shall have every one of those houses to destroy them; You thoughtnot to destroy those valuable houses, stand-ing fast, full of comfort, built with money;May they stand fast, then? Not an hour,unless you, above them and all, stand fast.–O banner! not money so precious are you,nor farm produce you, nor the material good

590



nutriment, Nor excellent stores, nor landedon wharves from the ships; Not the superbships, with sail-power or steam-power, fetch-ing and carrying cargoes, Nor machinery,vehicles, trade, nor revenues,–But you, ashenceforth I see you, Running up out of thenight, bringing your cluster of stars, ever-enlarging stars; Divider of daybreak you,cutting the air, touched by the sun, measur-

591



ing the sky, Passionately seen and yearnedfor by one poor little child, While othersremain busy, or smartly talking, for everteaching thrift, thrift; O you up there! Opennant! where you undulate like a snake,hissing so curious, Out of reach–an idea only–yet furiously fought for, risking bloody death–loved by me! So loved! O you banner,leading the day, with stars brought from

592



the night! Valueless, object of eyes, overall and demanding all–O banner and pen-nant! I too leave the rest–great as it is, it isnothing–houses, machines are nothing–I seethem not; I see but you, O warlike pennant!O banner so broad, with stripes, I sing youonly, Flapping up there in the wind.

THE BIVOUAC’S FLAME.By the bivouac’s fitful flame, A proces-

593



sion winding around me, solemn and sweetand slow;–but first I note The tents of thesleeping army, the fields’ and woods’ dimoutline, The darkness, lit by spots of kin-dled fire–the silence; Like a phantom faror near an occasional figure moving; Theshrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes theyseem to be stealthily watching me;) Whilewind in procession thoughts, O tender and

594



wondrous thoughts, Of life and death–of homeand the past and loved, and of those thatare far away; A solemn and slow proces-sion there as I sit on the ground, By thebivouac’s fitful flame.

BIVOUAC ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE.I see before me now a travelling army

halting; Below, a fertile valley spread, withbarns, and the orchards of summer; Behind,

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the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt inplaces, rising high; Broken with rocks, withclinging cedars, with tall shapes, dingily seen;The numerous camp-fires scattered near andfar, some away up on the mountain; Theshadowy forms of men and horses, loom-ing, large-sized, flickering; And over all, thesky–the sky! far, far out of reach, studdedwith the eternal stars.

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CITY OF SHIPS.City of ships! (O the black ships! O

the fierce ships! O the beautiful, sharp-bowed steam-ships and sail-ships!) City of the world! (for all races are here; All thelands of the earth make contributions here;)City of the sea! city of hurried and glitter-ing tides! City whose gleeful tides contin-ually rush or recede, whirling in and out,

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with eddies and foam! City of wharves andstores! city of tall facades of marble andiron! Proud and passionate city! mettle-some, mad, extravagant city! Spring up,O city! not for peace alone, but be indeedyourself, warlike! Fear not! submit to nomodels but your own, O city! Behold me!incarnate me, as I have incarnated you! Ihave rejected nothing you offered me–whom

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you adopted, I have adopted; Good or bad,I never question you–I love all–I do not con-demn anything; I chant and celebrate allthat is yours–yet peace no more; In peaceI chanted peace, but now the drum of waris mine; War, red war, is my song throughyour streets, O city!

VIGIL ON THE FIELD.VIGIL strange I kept on the field one

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night, When you, my son and my comrade,dropped at my side that day. One look Ibut gave, which your dear eyes returnedwith a look I shall never forget; One touchof your hand to mine, O boy, reached upas you lay on the ground. Then onward Isped in the battle, the even-contested bat-tle; Till, late in the night relieved, to theplace at last again I made my way; Found

600



you in death so cold, dear comrade–foundyour body, son of responding kisses, (neveragain on earth responding;) Bared your facein the starlight–curious the scene–cool blewthe moderate night-wind. Long there andthen in vigil I stood, dimly around me thebattlefield spreading; Vigil wondrous andvigil sweet, there in the fragrant silent night.But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn

601



sigh–Long, long I gazed; Then on the earthpartially reclining, sat by your side, leaningmy chin in my hands; Passing sweet hours,immortal and mystic hours, with you, dear-est comrade– Not a tear, not a word; Vigilof silence, love, and death–vigil for you, myson and my soldier, As onward silently starsaloft, eastward new ones upward stole; Vigilfinal for you, brave boy, (I could not save

602



you, swift was your death, I faithfully lovedyou and cared for you living–I think we shallsurely meet again;) Till at latest lingeringof the night, indeed just as the dawn ap-peared, My comrade I wrapped in his blan-ket, enveloped well his form, Folded theblanket well, tucking it carefully over head,and carefully under feet; And there and then,and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his

603



grave, in his rude-dug grave, I deposited;Ending my vigil strange with that–vigil of night and battlefield dim; Vigil for boy of responding kisses, never again on earth re-sponding; Vigil for comrade swiftly slain,vigil I never forget–how as day brightenedI rose from the chill ground, and folded mysoldier well in his blanket, And buried himwhere he fell.

604



THE FLAG.Bathed in war’s perfume–delicate flag!

O to hear you call the sailors and the sol-diers! flag like a beautiful woman! O tohear the tramp, tramp, of a million answer-ing men! O the ships they arm with joy!O to see you leap and beckon from the tallmasts of ships! O to see you peering downon the sailors on the decks! Flag like the

605



eyes of women.THE WOUNDED.

A march in the ranks hard-pressed, andthe road unknown; A route through a heavywood, with muffled steps in the darkness;Our army foiled with loss severe, and thesullen remnant retreating; Till after mid-night glimmer upon us the lights of a dim-lighted building; We come to an open space

606



in the woods, and halt by the dim-lightedbuilding. ’Tis a large old church, at thecrossing roads–’tis now an impromptu hos-pital; –Entering but for a minute, I see asight beyond all the pictures and poemsever made: Shadows of deepest, deepestblack, just lit by moving, candles and lamps,And by one great pitchy torch, stationary,with wild red flame, and clouds of smoke;

607



By these, crowds, groups of forms, vaguelyI see, on the floor, some in the pews laiddown; At my feet more distinctly, a soldier,a mere lad, in danger of bleeding to death,(he is shot in the abdomen;) I staunch theblood temporarily, (the youngster’s face iswhite as a lily;) Then before I depart I sweepmy eyes o’er the scene, fain to absorb itall; Faces, varieties, postures, beyond de-

608



scription, most in obscurity, some of themdead; Surgeons operating, attendants hold-ing lights, the smell of ether, the odour of blood; The crowd, O the crowd of the bloodyforms of soldiers–the yard outside also filled;Some on the bare ground, some on planks orstretchers, some in the death- spasm sweat-ing; An occasional scream or cry, the doc-tor’s shouted orders or calls; The glisten

609



of the little steel instruments catching theglint of the torches; These I resume as Ichant–I see again the forms, I smell theodour; Then hear outside the orders given,Fall in, my men, Fall in . But first I bend

to the dying lad–his eyes open–a half-smilegives he me; Then the eyes close, calmlyclose: and I speed forth to the darkness,Resuming, marching, as ever in darkness

610



marching, on in the ranks, The unknownroad still marching.

A SIGHT IN CAMP.1.A sight in camp in the daybreak grey

and dim, As from my tent I emerge so early,sleepless, As slow I walk in the cool fresh airthe path near by the hospital tent, Threeforms I see on stretchers lying, brought out

611



there, untended lying; Over each the blan-ket spread, ample brownish woollen blan-ket, Grey and heavy blanket, folding, cov-ering all.

2.Curious, I halt, and silent stand; Then

with light fingers I from the face of the near-est, the first, just lift the blanket; Who areyou, elderly man, so gaunt and grim, with

612



well-greyed hair, and flesh all sunken aboutthe eyes? Who are you, my dear comrade?

Then to the second I step–And who areyou, my child and darling? Who are you,sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming?

Then to the third–a face nor child norold, very calm, as of beautiful yellow-whiteivory: Young man, I think I know you–Ithink this face of yours is the face of the

613



Christ Himself; Dead and divine and brotherof all, and here again He lies.

A GRAVE.1.As toilsome I wandered Virginia’s woods,

To the music of rustling leaves kicked bymy feet–for ’twas autumn– I marked at thefoot of a tree the grave of a soldier; Mortallywounded he, and buried on the retreat–easily

614



all could I understand; The halt of a mid-day hour–when, Up! no time to lose! Yetthis sign left On a tablet scrawled and nailedon the tree by the grave, Bold, cautious,true, and my loving comrade .

2.Long, long I muse,–then on my way go

wandering, Many a changeful season to fol-low, and many a scene of life. Yet at times

615



through changeful season and scene, abrupt,–alone, or in the crowded street,– Comes be-fore me the unknown soldier’s grave, comesthe inscription rude in Virginia’s woods, Bold,cautious, true, and my loving comrade .

THE DRESSER.1.An old man bending, I come among new

faces, Years, looking backward, resuming,616



in answer to children, ”Come tell us, oldman,” (as from young men and maidensthat love me, Years hence) ”of these scenes,of these furious passions, these chances, Of unsurpassed heroes–(was one side so brave?the other was equally brave) Now be wit-ness again–paint the mightiest armies of earth;Of those armies, so rapid, so wondrous, whatsaw you to tell us? What stays with you lat-

617



est and deepest? of curious panics, Of hard-fought engagements, or sieges tremendous,what deepest remains?”

2.O maidens and young men I love, and

that love me, What you ask of my days,those the strangest and sudden your talk-ing recalls, Soldier alert I arrive, after along march, covered with sweat and dust;

618



In the nick of time I come, plunge in thefight, loudly shout in the rush of success-ful charge; Enter the captured works,...yetlo! like a swift-running river, they fade,Pass, and are gone; they fade–I dwell noton soldiers’ perils or soldiers’ joys; (BothI remember well–many the hardships, fewthe joys, yet I was content.)

But in silence, in dreams’ projections,619



While the world of gain and appearance andmirth goes on, So soon what is over forgot-ten, and waves wash the imprints off thesand, In nature’s reverie sad, with hingedknees returning, I enter the doors–(whilefor you up there, Whoever you are, followme without noise, and be of strong heart.)Bearing the bandages, water, and sponge,Straight and swift to my wounded I go, Where

620



they lie on the ground, after the battle broughtin; Where their priceless blood reddens thegrass, the ground; Or to the rows of thehospital tent, or under the roofed hospital;To the long rows of cots, up and down, eachside, I return; To each and all, one after an-other, I draw near–not one do I miss; Anattendant follows, holding a tray–he carriesa refuse-pail, Soon to be filled with clotted

621



rags and blood, emptied, and filled again.I onward go, I stop, With hinged knees

and steady hand, to dress wounds; I amfirm with each–the pangs are sharp, yet un-avoidable; One turns to me his appealingeyes–poor boy! I never knew you, Yet Ithink I could not refuse this moment to diefor you if that would save you.

On, on I go–(open, doors of time! open,622



hospital doors!) The crushed head I dress(poor crazed hand, tear not the bandageaway;) The neck of the cavalry-man, withthe bullet through and through, I examine;Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed al-ready the eye, yet life struggles hard; Come,sweet death! be persuaded, O beautifuldeath! In mercy come quickly.

From the stump of the arm, the ampu-623



tated hand, I undo the clotted lint, removethe slough, wash off the matter and blood;Back on his pillow the soldier bends, withcurved neck, and side-falling head; His eyesare closed, his face is pale, he dares notlook on the bloody stump, And has not yetlooked on it.

I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep;But a day or two more–for see, the frame

624



all wasted and sinking, And the yellow-bluecountenance see.

I dress the perforated shoulder, the footwith the bullet wound, Cleanse the one witha gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sicken-ing, so offensive, While the attendant standsbehind aside me, holding the tray and pail.

I am faithful, I do not give out; Thefractured thigh, the knee, the wound in the

625



abdomen, These and more I dress with im-passive hand–yet deep in my breast a fire,a burning flame.

3.Thus in silence, in dreams’ projections,

Returning, resuming, I thread my way throughthe hospitals; The hurt and the wounded Ipacify with soothing hand, I sit by the rest-less all the dark night–some are so young,

626



Some suffer so much–I recall the experi-ence sweet and sad. Many a soldier’s lov-ing arms about this neck have crossed andrested, Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on thesebearded lips.

A LETTER FROM CAMP.1.”Come up from the fields, father, here’s

a letter from our Pete; And come to the627



front door, mother–here’s a letter from thydear son.”

2.Lo, ’tis autumn; Lo, where the trees,

deeper green, yellower and redder, Cool andsweeten Ohio’s villages, with leaves flutter-ing in the moderate wind; Where applesripe in the orchards hang, and grapes on thetrellised vines; Smell you the smell of the

628



grapes on the vines? Smell you the buck-wheat, where the bees were lately buzzing?

Above all, lo, the sky, so calm, so trans-parent after the rain, and with wondrousclouds; Below, too, all calm, all vital andbeautiful–and the farm prospers well.

3.Down in the fields all prospers well; But

now from the fields come, father–come at629



O a strange hand writes for our dear son–O stricken mother’s soul! All swims beforeher eyes–flashes with black–she catches themain words only; Sentences broken–” gun-shot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish,taken to hospital, At present low, but willsoon be better .”

5.Ah, now the single figure to me, Amid

631



all teeming and wealthy Ohio, with all itscities and farms, Sickly white in the faceand dull in the head, very faint, By thejamb of a door leans.

6.”Grieve not so, dear mother,” the just-

grown daughter speaks through her sobs;The little sisters huddle around, speechlessand dismayed; ”See, dearest mother, the

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letter says Pete will soon be better.”7.Alas! poor boy, he will never be better,

(nor maybe needs to be better, that braveand simple soul;) While they stand at homeat the door, he is dead already; The onlyson is dead.

But the mother needs to be better; She,with thin form, presently dressed in black;

633



By day her meals untouched–then at nightfitfully sleeping, often waking, In the mid-night waking, weeping, longing with one deeplonging, O that she might withdraw unnoticed–silent from life escape and withdraw, To fol-low, to seek, to be with her dear dead son!

WAR DREAMS.1.In clouds descending, in midnight sleep,

634



of many a face in battle, Of the look at firstof the mortally wounded, of that indescrib-able look, Of the dead on their backs, witharms extended wide– I dream, I dream, Idream.

2.Of scenes of nature, the fields and the

mountains, Of the skies so beauteous af-ter the storm, and at night the moon so

635



unearthly bright, Shining sweetly, shiningdown, where we dig the trenches, and gatherthe heaps– I dream, I dream, I dream.

3.Long have they passed, long lapsed–faces,

and trenches, and fields: Long through thecarnage I moved with a callous composure,or away from the fallen Onward I sped atthe time. But now of their faces and forms,

636



at night, I dream, I dream, I dream.THE VETERAN’S VISION.

While my wife at my side lies slumber-ing, and the wars are over long, And myhead on the pillow rests at home, and themystic midnight passes, And through thestillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear,the breath of my infant, There in the room,as I wake from sleep, this vision presses

637



upon me. The engagement opens there andthen, in my busy brain unreal; The skir-mishers begin–they crawl cautiously ahead–I hear the irregular snap! snap! I hear thesound of the different missiles–the short t-h-t! t-h-t! of the rifle-balls; I see the shellsexploding, leaving small white clouds–I hearthe great shells shrieking as they pass; Thegrape, like the hum and whirr of wind through

638



the trees, (quick, tumultuous, now the con-test rages!) All the scenes at the batteriesthemselves rise in detail before me again;The crashing and smoking–the pride of themen in their pieces; The chief gunner rangesand sights his piece, and selects a fuse of the right time; After firing, I see him leanaside, and look eagerly off to note the ef-fect; –Elsewhere I hear the cry of a regi-

639



ment charging–the young colonel leads him-self this time, with brandished sword; I seethe gaps cut by the enemy’s volleys, quicklyfilled up–no delay; I breathe the suffocat-ing smoke–then the flat clouds hover low,concealing all; Now a strange lull comes fora few seconds, not a shot fired on eitherside; Then resumed, the chaos louder thanever, with eager calls, and orders of officers;

640



the wounded, dripping and red, I heed not–some to the rear are hobbling; Grime, heat,rush–aides-de-camp galloping by, or on afull run: With the patter of small arms, thewarning s-s-t of the rifles, (these in my vi-sion I hear or see,) And bombs bursting inair, and at night the vari-coloured rockets.

O TAN-FACED PRAIRIE BOY.O tan-faced prairie boy! Before you came

642



to camp came many a welcome gift; Praisesand presents came, and nourishing food–tillat last, among the recruits, You came, tac-iturn, with nothing to give–we but lookedon each other, When lo! more than all thegifts of the world you gave me.

MANHATTAN FACES.1.Give me the splendid silent sun, with all

643



his beams full-dazzling; Give me juicy au-tumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard;Give me a field where the unmowed grassgrows; Give me an arbour, give me the trel-lised grape; Give me fresh corn and wheat–give me serene-moving animals, teaching con-tent; Give me nights perfectly quiet, as onhigh plateaus west of the Mississippi, andI looking up at the stars; Give me odor-

644



ous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flow-ers, where I can walk undisturbed; Give mefor marriage a sweet-breathed woman, of whom I should never tire; Give me a perfectchild–give me, away, aside from the noise of the world, a rural domestic life; Give me towarble spontaneous songs, relieved, recluseby myself, for my own ears only; Give mesolitude–give me Nature–give me again, O

645



Nature, your primal sanities! –These, de-manding to have them, tired with ceaselessexcitement, and racked by the war-strife,These to procure incessantly asking, risingin cries from my heart, While yet inces-santly asking, still I adhere to my city; Dayupon day, and year upon year, O city, walk-ing your streets, Where you hold me en-chained a certain time, refusing to give me

646



up, Yet giving to make me glutted, enrichedof soul–you give me for ever faces; O I seewhat I sought to escape, confronting, re-versing my cries; I see my own soul tram-pling down what it asked for.

2.Keep your splendid silent sun; Keep your

woods, O Nature, and the quiet places bythe woods; Keep your fields of clover and

647



timothy, and your cornfields and orchards;Keep the blossoming buckwheat fields, wherethe ninth-month bees hum. Give me facesand streets! give me these phantoms inces-sant and endless along the trottoirs ! Giveme interminable eyes! give me women! giveme comrades and lovers by the thousand!Let me see new ones every day! let me holdnew ones by the hand every day! Give me

648



such shows! give me the streets of Manhat-tan! Give me Broadway, with the soldiersmarching–give me the sound of the trum-pets and drums! The soldiers in companiesor regiments–some starting away, flushedand reckless; Some, their time up, return-ing, with thinned ranks–young, yet very old,worn, marching, noticing nothing; –Give methe shores and the wharves heavy-fringed

649



with the black ships! O such for me! O anintense life! O full to repletion, and varied!The life of the theatre, bar-room, huge ho-tel, for me! The saloon of the steamer, thecrowded excursion, for me! the torchlightprocession! The dense brigade, bound forthe war, with high-piled military waggonsfollowing; People, endless, streaming, withstrong voices, passions, pageants; Manhat-

650



tan streets, with their powerful throbs, withthe beating drums, as now; The endless andnoisy chorus, the rustle and clank of mus-kets, even the sight of the wounded; Man-hattan crowds, with their turbulent musicalchorus–with varied chorus and light of thesparkling eyes; Manhattan faces and eyesfor ever for me!

OVER THE CARNAGE.651



1.Over the carnage rose prophetic a voice,–

Be not disheartened–Affection shall solvethe problems of Freedom yet; Those wholove each other shall become invincible–theyshall yet make Columbia victorious.

Sons of the Mother of all! you shall yetbe victorious! You shall yet laugh to scornthe attacks of all the remainder of the earth.

652



No danger shall baulk Columbia’s lovers;If need be, a thousand shall sternly immo-late themselves for one.

One from Massachusetts shall be a Mis-sourian’s comrade; From Maine and fromhot Carolina, and another an Oregonese,shall be friends triune, More precious toeach other than all the riches of the earth.

To Michigan, Florida perfumes shall ten-653



derly come; Not the perfumes of flowers,but sweeter, and wafted beyond death.

It shall be customary in the houses andstreets to see manly affection; The mostdauntless and rude shall touch face to facelightly; The dependence of Liberty shall belovers, The continuance of Equality shall becomrades.

These shall tie you and band you stronger654



than hoops of iron; I, ecstatic, O partners!O lands! with the love of lovers tie you.

2.Were you looking to be held together

by the lawyers? Or by an agreement on apaper? or by arms? –Nay–nor the worldnor any living thing will so cohere.

THE MOTHER OF ALL.Pensive, on her dead gazing, I heard

655



the Mother of all, Desperate, on the tornbodies, on the forms covering the battle-fields, gazing; As she called to her earthwith mournful voice while she stalked. ”Ab-sorb them well, O my earth!” she cried–”I charge you, lose not my sons! lose notan atom; And you, streams, absorb themwell, taking their dear blood; And you localspots, and you airs that swim above lightly,

656



And all you essences of soil and growth–and you, O my rivers’ depths; And youmountain-sides–and the woods where mydear children’s blood, trickling, reddened;And you trees, down in your roots, to be-queath to all future trees, My dead absorb–my young men’s beautiful bodies absorb–and their precious, precious, precious blood;Which, holding in trust for me, faithfully

657



back again give me, many a year hence,In unseen essence and odour of surface andgrass, centuries hence; In blowing airs fromthe fields, back again give me my darlings–give my immortal heroes; Exhale me themcenturies hence–breathe me their breath–letnot an atom be lost. O years and graves! Oair and soil! O my dead, an aroma sweet!Exhale them, perennial, sweet death, years,

658



centuries hence.”CAMPS OF GREEN.

1.Not alone our camps of white, O sol-

diers, When, as ordered forward, after along march, Footsore and weary, soon as thelight lessens, we halt for the night; Some of us so fatigued, carrying the gun and knap-sack, dropping asleep in our tracks; Oth-

659



ers pitching the little tents, and the fireslit up begin to sparkle; Outposts of pick-ets posted, surrounding, alert through thedark, And a word provided for countersign,careful for safety; Till to the call of thedrummers at daybreak loudly beating thedrums, We rise up refreshed, the night andsleep passed over, and resume our journey,Or proceed to battle.

660



2.Lo! the camps of the tents of green,

Which the days of peace keep filling, andthe days of war keep filling, With a mysticarmy, (is it too ordered forward? is it tooonly halting a while, Till night and sleeppass over?)

Now in those camps of green–in theirtents dotting the world; In the parents, chil-

661



dren, husbands, wives, in them–in the oldand young, Sleeping under the sunlight, sleep-ing under the moonlight, content and silentthere at last; Behold the mighty bivouac-field and waiting-camp of us and ours andall, Of our corps and generals all, and thePresident over the corps and generals all,And of each of us, O soldiers, and of eachand all in the ranks we fight, There without

662



hatred we shall all meet.For presently, O soldiers, we too camp

in our place in the bivouac-camps of green;But we need not provide for outposts, norword for the countersign, Nor drummer tobeat the morning drum.

DIRGE FOR TWO VETERANS.1.The last sunbeam Lightly falls from the

663



finished Sabbath On the pavement here–and, there beyond, it is looking Down anew-made double grave.

2.Lo! the moon ascending! Up from the

east, the silvery round moon; Beautiful overthe house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon; Im-mense and silent moon.

3.664



I see a sad procession, And I hear thesound of coming full-keyed bugles; All thechannels of the city streets they’re flooding,As with voices and with tears.

4.I hear the great drums pounding, And

the small drums steady whirring; And everyblow of the great convulsive drums Strikesme through and through.

665



5.For the son is brought with the father;

In the foremost ranks of the fierce assaultthey fell; Two veterans, son and father, droppedtogether, And the double grave awaits them.

6.Now nearer blow the bugles, And the

drums strike more convulsive; And the day-light o’er the pavement quite has faded, And

666



the strong dead-march enwraps me.7.In the eastern sky up-buoying, The sor-

rowful vast phantom moves illumined, ’Tissome mother’s large, transparent face, Inheaven brighter growing.

8.O strong dead-march, you please me! O

moon immense, with your silvery face you667



soothe me! O my soldiers twain! O myveterans, passing to burial! What I have Ialso give you.

9.The moon gives you light, And the bu-

gles and the drums give you music; Andmy heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, Myheart gives you love.

SURVIVORS.668



How solemn, as one by one, As the ranksreturning, all worn and sweaty–as the menfile by where I stand; As the faces, the masksappear–as I glance at the faces, studyingthe masks; As I glance upward out of thispage, studying you, dear friend, whoeveryou are;– How solemn the thought of mywhispering soul, to each in the ranks, and toyou! I see, behind each mask, that wonder,

669



a kindred soul. O the bullet could neverkill what you really are, dear friend, Northe bayonet stab what you really are. –The soul, yourself, I see, great as any, goodas the best, Waiting secure and content,–which the bullet could never kill, Nor thebayonet stab, O friend!

HYMN OF DEAD SOLDIERS.1.

670



One breath, O my silent soul! A per-fumed thought–no more I ask, for the sakeof all dead soldiers.

2.Buglers off in my armies! At present

I ask not you to sound; Not at the headof my cavalry, all on their spirited horses,With their sabres drawn and glistening, andcarbines clanking by their thighs–(ah, my

671



brave horsemen! My handsome, tan-facedhorsemen! what life, what joy and pride,With all the perils, were yours!)

Nor you drummers–neither at reveille ,at dawn, Nor the long roll alarming thecamp–nor even the muffled beat for a burial;Nothing from you, this time, O drummers,bearing my warlike drums.

3.672



But aside from these, and the crowd’shurrahs, and the land’s congratulations, Ad-mitting around me comrades close, unseenby the rest, and voiceless, I chant this chantof my silent soul, in the name of all deadsoldiers.

4.Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very

dear, gather closer yet; Draw close, but speak673



not. Phantoms, welcome, divine and ten-der! Invisible to the rest, henceforth be-come my companions; Follow me ever! desertme not, while I live!

Sweet are the blooming cheeks of theliving, sweet are the musical voices sound-ing; But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, withtheir silent eyes.

Dearest comrades! all now is over; But674



love is not over–and what love, O comrades!Perfume from battlefields rising–up from foe-tor arising.

Perfume therefore my chant, O love! im-mortal love! Give me to bathe the memoriesof all dead soldiers.

Perfume all! make all wholesome! Olove! O chant! solve all with the last chem-istry.

675



Give me exhaustless–make me a foun-tain, That I exhale love from me whereverI go, For the sake of all dead soldiers.

SPIRIT WHOSE WORK IS DONE.Spirit whose work is done! spirit of dread-

ful hours! Ere, departing, fade from myeyes your forests of bayonets– Spirit of gloomi-est fears and doubts, yet onward ever unfal-tering pressing! Spirit of many a solemn

676



day, and many a savage scene! Electricspirit! That with muttering voice, throughthe years now closed, like a tireless phan-tom flitted, Rousing the land with breath of flame, while you beat and beat the drum; –Now, as the sound of the drum, hollow andharsh to the last, reverberates round me; Asyour ranks, your immortal ranks, return, re-turn from the battles; While the muskets of

677



the young men yet lean over their shoulders;While I look on the bayonets bristling overtheir shoulders; While those slanted bayo-nets, whole forests of them, appearing inthe distance, approach and pass on, return-ing homeward, Moving with steady motion,swaying to and fro, to the right and left,Evenly, lightly, rising and falling, as thesteps keep time: –Spirit of hours I knew, all

678



hectic red one day, but pale as death nextday; Touch my mouth, ere you depart–pressmy lips close! Leave me your pulses of rage!bequeath them to me! fill me with currentsconvulsive! Let them scorch and blister outof my chants, when you are gone; Let themidentify you to the future in these songs!

RECONCILIATION.Word over all, beautiful as the sky! Beau-

679



tiful that war, and all its deeds of carnage,must in time be utterly lost; That the handsof the sisters Death and Night incessantly,softly wash again, and ever again, this soiledworld. For my enemy is dead–a man di-vine as myself is dead. I look where he lies,white-faced and still, in the coffin–I drawnear; I bend down and touch lightly withmy lips the white face in the coffin.

680



AFTER THE WAR.To the leavened soil they trod, calling, I

sing, for the last; Not cities, nor man alone,nor war, nor the dead: But forth from mytent emerging for good–loosing, untying thetent-ropes; In the freshness, the forenoonair, in the far-stretching circuits and vistas,again to peace restored; To the fiery fieldsemanative, and the endless vistas beyond–

681



to the south and the north; To the leavenedsoil of the general Western World, to attestmy songs, To the average earth, the word-less earth, witness of war and peace, Tothe Alleghanian hills, and the tireless Mis-sissippi, To the rocks I, calling, sing, andall the trees in the woods, To the plain of the poems of heroes, to the prairie spread-ing wide, To the far-off sea, and the un-

682



seen winds, and the sane impalpable air.And responding they answer all, (but notin words,) The average earth, the witness of war and peace, acknowledges mutely; Theprairie draws me close, as the father, to bo-som broad, the son:– The Northern ice andrain, that began me, nourish me to the end;But the hot sun of the South is to ripen mysongs.

683



WALT WHITMANASSIMILATIONS.

1.There was a child went forth every day;

And the first object he looked upon, thatobject he became; And that object becamepart of him for the day, or a certain partof the day, or for many years, or tretchingcycles of years.

684



2.The early lilacs became part of this child,

And grass, and white and red morning-glories,[1]and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,[2] And the Third-monthlambs, and the sow’s pink-faint litter, andthe mare’s foal, and the cow’s calf, Andthe noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by themire of the pond-side, And the fish suspend-

685



wood-berries, and the commonest weeds bythe road; And the old drunkard stagger-ing home from the outhouse of the tavern,whence he had lately risen, And the schoolmistressthat passed on her way to the school, Andthe friendly boys that passed, and the quar-relsome boys, And the tidy and fresh-cheekedgirls, and the barefoot negro boy and girl,And all the changes of city and country,

687



wherever he went.His own parents; He that had fathered

him, and she that had conceived him inher womb, and birthed him, They gave thischild more of themselves than that; Theygave him afterward every day–they becamepart of him. The mother at home, qui-etly placing the dishes on the supper-table;The mother with mild words–clean her cap

688



and gown, a wholesome odour falling off herperson and clothes as she walks by; Thefather, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean,angered, unjust; The blow, the quick loudword, the tight bargain, the crafty lure, Thefamily usages, the language, the company,the furniture–the yearning and swelling heart,Affection that will not be gainsaid–the senseof what is real–the thought if after all it

689



should prove unreal, The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time–the curi-ous whether and how– Whether that whichappears so is so, or is it all flashes andspecks? Men and women crowding fast inthe streets–if they are not flashes and specks,what are they? The streets themselves, andthe facades of houses, and goods in the win-dows, Vehicles, teams, the heavy-planked

690



wharves–the huge crossing at the ferries,The village on the highland, seen from afarat sunset–the river between; Shadows, au-reola and mist, light falling on roofs andgables of white or brown, three miles off;The schooner near by, sleepily dropping downthe tide–the little boat slack-towed astern,The hurrying tumbling waves quick-brokencrests slapping, The strata of coloured clouds,

691



the long bar of maroon-tint, away solitaryby itself-the spread of purity it lies motion-less in, The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shoremud;– These became part of that child whowent forth every day, and who now goes,and will always go forth every day.

[Footnote 1: The name of ”morning-glory” is given to the bindweed, or a sort

692



of bindweed, in America. I am not cer-tain whether this expressive name is usedin England also.]

[Footnote 2: A dun-coloured little birdwith a cheerful note, sounding like the wordPhoebe.]

A WORD OUT OF THE SEA.1.Out of the rocked cradle, Out of the

693



mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over thesterile sands, and the fields beyond, wherethe child, leaving his bed, wandered alone,bareheaded, barefoot, Down from the show-ered halo, Up from the mystic play of shad-ows, twining and twisting; as if they werealive, Out from the patches of briars andblackberries, From the memories of the birds

694



that chanted to me, From your memories,sad brother–from the fitful risings and fallingsI heard, From under that yellow half-moon,late-risen, and swollen as if with tears, Fromthose beginning notes of sickness and love,there in the transparent mist, From the thou-sand responses of my heart, never to cease,From the myriad thence-aroused words, Fromthe word stronger and more delicious than

695



any,– From such, as now they start, thescene revisiting, As a flock, twittering, ris-ing, or overhead passing, Borne hither–ereall eludes me, hurriedly,– A man–yet by thesetears a little boy again, Throwing myself onthe sand, confronting the waves, I, chanterof pains and joys, uniter of here and here-after, Taking all hints to use them, but swiftlyleaping beyond them, A reminiscence sing.

696



2.Once, Paumanok, When the snows had

melted, and the Fifth-month grass was grow-ing, Up this sea-shore, in some briars, Twoguests from Alabama–two together, And theirnest, and four light-green eggs spotted withbrown; And every day the he-bird, to andfro, near at hand, And every day the she-bird, crouched on her nest, silent, with bright

697



eyes; And every day I, a curious boy, nevertoo close, never disturbing them, Cautiouslypeering, absorbing, translating.

3.Shine! shine! shine! Pour down your

warmth, great Sun! While we bask–we twotogether.

Two together! Winds blow South, orwinds blow North, Day come white or night

698



come black, Home, or rivers and mountainsfrom home, Singing all time, minding notime, If we two but keep together .

4.Till of a sudden, Maybe killed, unknown

to her mate, One forenoon the she-bird crouchednot on the nest, Nor returned that after-noon, nor the next, Nor ever appeared again.

And thenceforward, all summer, in the699



sound of the sea, And at night, under thefull of the moon, in calmer weather, Overthe hoarse surging of the sea, Or flittingfrom briar to briar by day, I saw, I heardat intervals, the remaining one, the he-bird,The solitary guest from Alabama.

5.Blow! blow! blow! Blow up, sea-winds,

along Paumanok’s shore! I wait and I wait,700



till you blow my mate to me .6.Yes, when the stars glistened. All night

long, on the prong of a moss-scalloped stake,Down, almost amid the slapping waves, Satthe lone singer, wonderful, causing tears.

He called on his mate; He poured forththe meanings which I, of all men, know.Yes, my brother, I know; The rest might

701



not–but I have treasured every note; Foronce, and more than once, dimly, down tothe beach gliding, Silent, avoiding the moon-beams, blending myself with the shadows,Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes,the sounds and sights after their sorts, Thewhite arms out in the breakers tirelesslytossing, I, with bare feet, a child, the windwafting my hair, Listened long and long.

702



Listened, to keep, to sing–now translat-ing the notes, Following you, my brother.

7.Soothe! soothe! soothe! Close on its

wave soothes the wave behind, And againanother behind, embracing and lapping, ev-ery one close,– But my love soothes not me,not me.

Low hangs the moon–it rose late; O it703



is lagging–O I think it is heavy with love,with love.

O madly the sea pushes, pushes uponthe land, With love–with love. O night!do I not see my love fluttering out thereamong the breakers? What is that littleblack thing I see there in the white?

Loud! loud! loud! Loud. I call to you,my love! High and clear I shoot my voice

704



over the waves; Surely you must know whois here, is here; You must know who I am,my love.

Low-hanging moon! What is that duskyspot in your brown yellow? O it is theshape, the shape of my mate! O moon, donot keep her from me any longer!

Land! land! O land! Whichever way Iturn, O I think you could give me my mate

705



back again, if you only would; For I am al-most sure I see her dimly whichever way Ilook.

O rising stars! Perhaps the one I wantso much will rise, will rise with some of you.

O throat! O trembling throat! Soundclearer through the atmosphere! Pierce thewoods, the earth; Somewhere, listening tocatch you, must be the one I want.

706



Shake out, carols! Solitary here–the night’scarols! Carols of lonesome love! Death’scarols! Carols under that lagging, yellow,waning moon! O, under that moon, whereshe droops almost down into the sea! Oreckless, despairing carols!

But soft! sink low; Soft! let me justmurmur; And do you wait a moment, youhusky-noised sea; For somewhere I believe I

707



heard my mate responding to me, So faint–I must be still, be still to listen; But notaltogether still, for then she might not comeimmediately to me.

Hither, my love! Here I am! Here! Withthis just-sustained note I announce myself to you; This gentle call is for you, my love,for you!

Do not be decoyed elsewhere! That is708



the whistle of the wind–it is not my voice;That is the fluttering, the flattering of thespray; Those are the shadows of leaves.

O darkness! O in vain! O I am very sickand sorrowful!

O brown halo in the sky, near the moon,drooping upon the sea! O troubled reflec-tion in the sea! O throat! O throbbingheart! O all!–and I singing uselessly, use-

709



lessly all the night.!Yet I murmur, murmur on! O murmurs–

you yourselves make me continue to sing, Iknow not why.

O past! O life! O songs of joy! In theair–in the woods–over fields; Loved! loved!loved! loved! loved! But my love no more,no more with me! We two together no more !

8.710



The aria sinking; All else continuing–thestars shining, The winds blowing–the notesof the bird continuous echoing, With an-gry moans the fierce old Mother incessantlymoaning, On the sands of Paumanok’s shore,grey and rustling; The yellow half-moon en-larged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost touching; The boy ecstatic–with his bare feet the waves, with his hair

711



the atmosphere, dallying, The love in theheart long pent, now loose, now at last tu-multuously bursting; The aria’s meaning theears, the soul, swiftly depositing, The strangetears down the cheeks coursing; The collo-quy there–the trio–each uttering; The undertone–the savage old Mother, incessantly crying,To the boy’s soul’s questions sullenly timing–some drowned secret hissing To the outset-

712



ting bard of love.9.Demon or bird! (said the boy’s soul,)

Is it indeed toward your mate you sing?or is it mostly to me? For I, that was achild, my tongue’s use sleeping, Now I haveheard you, Now in a moment I know whatI am for–I awake; And already a thousandsingers–a thousand songs, clearer, louder,

713



and more sorrowful than yours, A thousandwarbling echoes, have started to life withinme, Never to die.

O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself–projecting me; O solitary me, listening–nevermore shall I cease perpetuating you; Nevermore shall I escape, never more, the rever-berations, Never more the cries of unsatis-fied love be absent from me, Never again

714



leave me to be the peaceful child I was be-fore what there, in the night, By the sea,under the yellow and sagging moon, Themessenger there aroused–the fire, the sweethell within, The unknown want, the destinyof me.

O give me the clue! (it lurks in the nighthere somewhere;) O if I am to have so much,let me have more! O a word! O what is my

715



destination? I fear it is henceforth chaos;–O how joys, dreads, convolutions, humanshapes and all shapes, spring as from gravesaround me!

O phantoms! you cover all the land, andall the sea! O I cannot see in the dimnesswhether you smile or frown upon me; Ovapour, a look, a word! O well-beloved! Oyou dear women’s and men’s phantoms!

716



A word then, (for I will conquer it,) Theword final, superior to all, Subtle, sent up–what is it?–I listen; Are you whispering it,and have been all the time, you sea-waves?Is that it from your liquid rims and wetsands?

10.Whereto answering, the Sea, Delaying

not, hurrying not, Whispered me through717



the night, and very plainly before daybreak,Lisped to me the low and delicious wordDEATH; And again Death–ever Death, Death,Death, Hissing melodious, neither like thebird nor like my aroused child’s heart, Butedging near, as privately for me, rustling atmy feet, Creeping thence steadily up to myears, and laving me softly all over, Death,Death, Death, Death, Death.

718



Which I do not forget, But fuse the songof my dusky demon and brother, That hesang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok’sgrey beach, With the thousand responsivesongs, at random, My own songs, awakedfrom that hour; And with them the key, theword up from the waves, The word of thesweetest song, and all songs, That strongand delicious word which, creeping to my

719



feet, The Sea whispered me.CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY.

1.Flood-tide below me! I watch you face

to face; Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face to face.

2.Crowds of men and women attired in the

usual costumes, how curious you are to me!720



On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hun-dreds that cross, returning home, are morecurious to me than you suppose; And youthat shall cross from shore to shore yearshence are more to me, and more in my med-itations, than you might suppose.

3.The impalpable sustenance of me from

all things, at all hours of the day; The sim-721



ple, compact, well-joined scheme–myself dis-integrated, every one disintegrated, yet partof the scheme; The similitudes of the past,and those of the future; The glories strunglike beads on my smallest sights and hearings–on the walk in the street, and the passageover the river; The current rushing so swiftly,and swimming with me far away; The oth-ers that are to follow me, the ties between

722



me and them; The certainty of others–thelife, love, sight, hearing, of others.

Others will enter the gates of the ferry,and cross from shore to shore; Others willwatch the run of the flood-tide; Others willsee the shipping of Manhattan north andwest, and the heights of Brooklyn to thesouth and east; Others will see the islandslarge and small; Fifty years hence, others

723



will see them as they cross, the sun half an hour high; A hundred years hence, orever so many hundred years hence, otherswill see them, Will enjoy the sunset, thepouring-in of the flood-tide, the falling-backto the sea of the ebb-tide. It avails not, nei-ther time nor place–distance avails not; Iam with you–you men and women of a gen-eration, or ever so many generations hence;

724



I project myself–also I return–I am withyou, and know how it is.

Just as you feel when you look on theriver and sky, so I felt; Just as any of youis one of a living crowd, I was one of acrowd; Just as you are refreshed by thegladness of the river and the bright flow,I was refreshed; Just as you stand and leanon the rail, yet hurry with the swift cur-

725



rent, I stood, yet was hurried; Just as youlook on the numberless masts of ships, andthe thick-stemmed pipes of steamboats, Ilooked.

I too many and many a time crossed theriver, the sun half an hour high; I watchedthe twelfth-month sea-gulls–I saw them highin the air, floating with motionless wings,oscillating their bodies, I saw how the glis-

726



tening yellow lit up parts of their bodies,and left the rest in strong shadow, I sawthe slow-wheeling circles, and the gradualedging toward the south.

I too saw the reflection of the summersky in the water, Had my eyes dazzled bythe shimmering track of beams, Looked atthe fine centrifugal spokes of light roundthe shape of my head in the sun-lit wa-

727



ter, Looked on the haze on the hills south-ward and southwestward, Looked on thevapour as it flew in fleeces tinged with vio-let, Looked toward the lower bay to noticethe arriving ships, Saw their approach, sawaboard those that were near me, Saw thewhite sails of schooners and sloops, saw theships at anchor, The sailors at work in therigging, or out astride the spars. The round

728



masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, theslender serpentine pennants, The large andsmall steamers in motion, the pilots in theirpilot-houses, The white wake left by thepassage, the quick tremulous whirl of thewheels, The flags of all nations, the fallingof them at sunset, The scallop-edged wavesin the twilight, the ladled cups, the frolic-some crests and glistening, The stretch afar

729



growing dimmer and dimmer, the grey wallsof the granite store-houses by the docks,On the river the shadowy group, the bigsteam-tug closely flanked on each side bythe barges–the hay-boat, the belated lighter,On the neighbouring shore, the fires fromthe foundry chimneys burning high and glar-ingly into the night, Casting their flicker of black, contrasted with wild red and yellow

730



light, over the tops of houses and down intothe clefts of streets.

These, and all else, were to me the sameas they are to you; I project myself a mo-ment to tell you–also I return.

I loved well those cities; I loved wellthe stately and rapid river; The men andwomen I saw were all near to me; Othersthe same–others who look back on me be-

731



cause I looked forward to them; The timewill come, though I stop here to-day andto-night.

What is it, then, b etween us? What isthe count of the scores or hundreds of yearsbetween us?

Whatever it is, it avails not–distance availsnot, and place avails not.

I too lived–Brooklyn, of ample hills, was732



mine; I too walked the streets of ManhattanIsland, and bathed in the waters around it;I too felt the curious abrupt questioningsstir within me; In the day, among crowds of people, sometimes they came upon me, Inmy walks home late at night, or as I lay inmy bed, they came upon me.

I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution, I too had received

733



identity by my Body; That I was, I knew,was of my body–and what I should be, Iknew, I should be of my body.

It is not upon you alone the dark patchesfall, The dark threw patches down upon mealso; The best I had done seemed to meblank and suspicious; My great thoughts,as I supposed them, were they not in real-ity meagre? would not people laugh at me?

734



It is not you alone who know what itis to be evil; I am he who knew what itwas to be evil; I too knitted the old knotof contrariety, Blabbed, blushed, resented,lied, stole, grudged; Had guile, anger, lust,hot wishes I dared not speak; Was way-ward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly,malignant; The wolf, the snake, the hog,not wanting in me; The cheating look, the

735



frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not want-ing; Refusals, hates, postponements, mean-ness, laziness, none of these wanting.

But I was Manhattanese, friendly andproud! I was called by my nighest name byclear loud voices of young men as they sawme approaching or passing, Felt their armson my neck as I stood, or the negligent lean-ing of their flesh against me as I sat; Saw

736



many I loved in the street, or ferry-boat,or public assembly, yet never told them aword; Lived the same life with the rest,the same old laughing, gnawing, sleeping;Played the part that still looks back on theactor or actress, The same old role, the rolethat is what we make it,–as great as we like,Or as small as we like, or both great andsmall.

737



Closer yet I approach you: What thoughtyou have of me, I had as much of you– I laidin my stores in advance; I considered longand seriously of you before you were born.

Who was to know what should comehome to me? Who knows but I am enjoy-ing this? Who knows but I am as good aslooking at you now, for all you cannot seeme?

738



It is not you alone, nor I alone; Not afew races, nor a few generations, nor a fewcenturies; It is that each came or comes orshall come from its due emission, withoutfail, either now or then or henceforth.

Everything indicates–the smallest does,and the largest does; A necessary film en-velops all, and envelops the Soul for a propertime.

739



loudly by my nighest name as I approach;Curious what is more subtle than this whichties me to the woman or man that looks inmy face, Which fuses me into you now, andpours my meaning into you.

We understand, then, do we not? WhatI promised without mentioning it have younot accepted? What the study could notteach–what the preaching could not accom-

741



plish, is accomplished, is it not? What thepush of reading could not start, is startedby me personally, is it not?

4.Flow on river! flow with the flood-tide,

and ebb with the ebb-tide! Frolic on, crestedand scallop-edged waves! Gorgeous cloudsof the sunset, drench with your splendourme, or the men and women generations af-

742



ter me! Cross from shore to shore, count-less crowds of passengers! Stand up, tallmasts of Mannahatta!-stand up, beautifulhills of Brooklyn! Bully for you! you proud,friendly, free Manhattanese! Throb, baf-fled and curious brain! throw out ques-tions and answers! Suspend here and ev-erywhere, eternal float of solution!

Blab, blush, lie, steal, you or I or any743



one after us! Gaze, loving and thirstingeyes, in the house, or street, or public as-sembly! Sound out, voices of young men!loudly and musically call me by my nigh-est name! Live, old life! play the part thatlooks back on the actor or actress! Play theold role, the role that is great or small, ac-cording as one makes it! Consider, you whoperuse me, whether I may not in unknown

744



ways be looking upon you: Be firm, rail overthe river, to support those who lean idly,yet haste with the hasting current; Fly on,sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in largecircles high in the air; Receive the summersky, you water! and faithfully hold it, tillall downcast eyes have time to take it fromyou; Diverge, fine spokes of light, from theshape of my head, or any one’s head, in

745



the sun-lit water; Come on, ships from thelower bay! pass up or down, white-sailedschooners, sloops, lighters! Flaunt away,flags of all nations! be duly lowered at sun-set; Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys!cast black shadows at nightfall; cast red andyellow light over the tops of the houses;Appearances, now or henceforth, indicatewhat you are; You necessary film, continue

746



to envelop the soul; About my body forme, and your body for you, be hung ourdivinest aromas; Thrive, cities! bring yourfreight, bring your shows, ample and suf-ficient rivers! Expand, being than whichnone else is perhaps more spiritual! Keepyour places, objects than which none else ismore lasting!

We descend upon you and all things–we747



arrest you all; We realise the soul only byyou, you faithful solids and fluids; Throughyou colour, form, location, sublimity, ideal-ity; Through you every proof, comparison,and all the suggestions and determinationsof ourselves.

You have waited, you always wait, youdumb, beautiful ministers! you novices! Wereceive you with free sense at last, and are

748



insatiate henceforward; Not you any moreshall be able to foil us, or withhold your-selves from us; We use you, and do not castyou aside–we plant you permanently withinus; We fathom you not–we love you–thereis perfection in you also; You furnish yourparts toward eternity; Great or small, youfurnish your parts toward the soul.

NIGHT AND DEATH.749



1.Night on the prairies. The supper is

over–the fire on the ground burns low; Thewearied emigrants sleep, wrapped in theirblankets; I walk by myself–I stand and lookat the stars, which I think now I never re-alised before.

Now I absorb immortality and peace, Iadmire death, and test propositions.

750



How plenteous! How spiritual! Howresume ! The same Old Man and Soul–the

same old aspirations, and the same content.2.I was thinking the day most splendid,

till I saw what the not day exhibited, I wasthinking this globe enough, till there sprangout so noiseless around me myriads of otherglobes.

751



Now, while the great thoughts of spaceand eternity fill me, I will measure myself bythem: And now, touched with the lives of other globes, arrived as far along as those of the earth, Or waiting to arrive, or passed onfarther than those of the earth, I henceforthno more ignore them than I ignore my ownlife, Or the lives of the earth arrived as faras mine, or waiting to arrive.

752



3.O I see now that life cannot exhibit all

to me-as the day cannot, I see that I am towait for what will be exhibited by death.

ELEMENTAL DRIFTS.1.Elemental drifts! O I wish I could im-

press others as you and the waves have justbeen impressing me.

753



As I ebbed with an ebb of the oceanof life, As I wended the shores I know, AsI walked where the sea-ripples wash you,Paumanok, Where they rustle up, hoarseand sibilant, Where the fierce old Motherendlessly cries for her castaways, I, musing,late in the autumn day, gazing off south-ward, Alone, held by this eternal self of me,out of the pride of which I have uttered my

754



poems, Was seized by the spirit that trailsin the lines underfoot, In the rim, the sed-iment, that stands for all the water and allthe land of the globe.

Fascinated, my eyes, reverting from thesouth, dropped, to follow those slender win-rows, Chaff, straw, splinters of wood, weeds,and the sea-gluten, Scum, scales from shin-ing rocks, leaves of salt-lettuce, left by the

755



tide; Miles walking, the sound of break-ing waves the other side of me, Paumanok,there and then, as I thought the old thoughtof likenesses. These you presented to me,you fish-shaped Island, As I wended theshores I know, As I walked with that eternalself of me, seeking types.

2.As I wend to the shores I know not, As

756



I list to the dirge, the voices of men andwomen wrecked, As I inhale the impalpablebreezes that set in upon me, As the oceanso mysterious rolls toward me closer andcloser, I too but signify, at the utmost, a lit-tle washed-up drift, A few sands and deadleaves to gather, Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift.

O baffled, baulked, bent to the very earth,757



Oppressed with myself that I have daredto open my mouth, Aware now that, amidall the blab whose echoes recoil upon me,I have not once had the least idea who orwhat I am, But that before all my insolentpoems, the real ME stands yet untouched,untold, altogether unreached, Withdrawnfar, mocking me with mock-congratulatorysigns and bows, With peals of distant iron-

758



ical laughter at every word I have written,Pointing in silence to all these songs, andthen to the sand beneath.

Now I perceive I have not understoodanything–not a single object–and that noman ever can.

I perceive Nature, here in sight of thesea, is taking advantage of me, to dart uponme, and sting me, Because I have dared to

759



open my mouth to sing at all.3.You oceans both! I close with you; These

little shreds shall indeed stand for all.You friable shore, with trails of debris!

You fish-shaped Island! I take what is un-derfoot; What is yours is mine, my father.

I too, Paumanok, I too have bubbledup, floated the measureless float, and been

760



washed on your shores; I too am but a trailof drift and debris, I too leave little wrecksupon you, you fish-shaped Island.

I throw myself upon your breast, my fa-ther, I cling to you so that you cannot un-loose me, I hold you so firm till you answerme something.

Kiss me, my father, Touch me with yourlips, as I touch those I love, Breathe to me,

761



while I hold you close, the secret of the won-drous murmuring I envy.

4.Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will return.)

Cease not your moaning, you fierce old Mother,Endlessly cry for your castaways–but fearnot, deny not me, Rustle not up so hoarseand angry against my feet, as I touch you,or gather from you.

762



I mean tenderly by you, I gather for my-self, and for this phantom, looking downwhere we lead, and following me and mine.

Me and mine! We, loose winrows, littlecorpses, Froth, snowy white, and bubbles,(See! from my dead lips the ooze exuding atlast! See–the prismatic colours, glisteningand rolling!) Tufts of straw, sands, frag-ments, Buoyed hither from many moods,

763



one contradicting another, From the storm,the long calm, the darkness, the swell; Mus-ing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, adab of liquid or soil; Up just as much out of fathomless workings fermented and thrown;A limp blossom or two, torn, just as muchover waves floating, drifted at random; Justas much for us that sobbing dirge of Na-ture; Just as much, whence we come, that

764



blare of the cloud-trumpets; We, capricious,brought hither, we know not whence, spreadout before you, You, up there, walking orsitting, Whoever you are–we too lie in driftsat your feet.

WONDERS.1.Who learns my lesson complete? Boss,

journeyman, apprentice–churchman and athe-765



ist, The stupid and the wise thinker–parentsand offspring–merchant, clerk, porter, andcustomer, Editor, author, artist; and schoolboy–Draw nigh and commence; It is no lesson–itlets down the bars to a good lesson, Andthat to another, and every one to anotherstill.

2.The great laws take and effuse without

766



argument; I am of the same style, for I amtheir friend, I love them quits and quits–Ido not halt and make salaams.

I lie abstracted, and hear beautiful talesof things, and the reasons of things; Theyare so beautiful I nudge myself to listen.I cannot say to any person what I hear–Icannot say it to myself–it is very wonderful.

It is no small matter, this round and de-767



licious globe, moving so exactly in its orbitfor ever and ever, without one jolt, or theuntruth of a single second; I do not think itwas made in six days, nor in ten thousandyears, nor ten billions of years, Nor plannedand built one thing after another, as an ar-chitect plans and builds a house. I do notthink seventy years is the time of a man orwoman, Nor that seventy millions of years

768



is the time of a man or woman, Nor thatyears will ever stop the existence of me, orany one else.

3.Is it wonderful that I should be immor-

tal? as every one is immortal; I know it iswonderful–but my eyesight is equally won-derful, and how I was conceived in my mother’swomb is equally wonderful; And passed from

769



a babe, in the creeping trance of a coupleof summers and winters, to articulate andwalk–All this is equally wonderful.

And that my Soul embraces you thishour, and we affect each other without everseeing each other, and never perhaps to seeeach other, is every bit as wonderful.

And that I can think such thoughts asthese is just as wonderful; And that I can

770



remind you, and you think them and knowthem to be true, is just as wonderful. Andthat the moon spins round the earth, andon with the earth, is equally wonderful; Andthat they balance themselves with the sunand stars is equally wonderful.

MIRACLES.1.What shall I give? and which are my

771



miracles?2.Realism is mine–my miracles–Take freely,

Take without end–I offer them to you wher-ever your feet can carry you or your eyesreach.

3.Why! who makes much of a miracle? As

to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,772



Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses to-ward the sky, Or wade with naked feet alongthe beach, just in the edge of the water, Orstand under trees in the woods, Or talk byday with any one I love–or sleep in the bedat night with any one I love, Or sit at thetable at dinner with my mother, Or look atstrangers opposite me riding in the car, Or

773



watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of asummer forenoon, Or animals feeding in thefields, Or birds–or the wonderfulness of in-sects in the air, Or the wonderfulness of thesundown–or of stars shining so quiet andbright, Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curveof the new moon in spring; Or whether Igo among those I like best, and that likeme best–mechanics, boatmen, farmers, Or

774



among the savans–or to the soiree –or tothe opera. Or stand a long while lookingat the movements of machinery, Or beholdchildren at their sports, Or the admirablesight of the perfect old man, or the per-fect old woman, Or the sick in hospitals, orthe dead carried to burial, Or my own eyesand figure in the glass; These, with the rest,one and all, are to me miracles, The whole

775



referring–yet each distinct and in its place.4.To me, every hour of the light and dark

is a miracle, Every inch of space is a mira-cle, Every square yard of the surface of theearth is spread with the same, Every cubicfoot of the interior swarms with the same;Every spear of grass–the frames, limbs, or-gans, of men and women, and all that con-

776



cerns them, All these to me are unspeakablyperfect miracles.

To me the sea is a continual miracle;The fishes that swim–the rocks–the motionof the waves–the ships, with men in them,What stranger miracles are there?

VISAGES.Of the visages of things–And of piercing

through to the accepted hells beneath. Of 777



ugliness–To me there is just as much in it asthere is in beauty–And now the ugliness of human beings is acceptable to me. Of de-tected persons–To me, detected persons arenot, in any respect, worse than undetectedpersons–and are not in any respect worsethan I am myself. Of criminals–To me, anyjudge, or any juror, is equally criminal–andany reputable person is also–and the Pres-

778



ident is also.THE DARK SIDE.

I sit and look out upon all the sorrowsof the world, and upon all oppression andshame; I hear secret convulsive sobs fromyoung men, at anguish with themselves, re-morseful after deeds done; I see, in low life,the mother misused by her children, dying,neglected, gaunt, desperate; I see the wife

779



misused by her husband–I see the treach-erous seducer of young women; I mark theranklings of jealousy and unrequited love,attempted to be hid– I see these sights onthe earth; I see the workings of battle, pesti-lence, tyranny–I see martyrs and prisoners;I observe a famine at sea–I observe the sailorscasting lots who shall be killed, to preservethe lives of the rest; I observe the slights and

780



degradations cast by arrogant persons uponlabourers, the poor, and upon negroes, andthe like; All these–all the meanness and agonywithout end, I, sitting, look out upon; See,hear, and am silent.

MUSIC.I heard you, solemn-sweet pipes of the

organ, as last Sunday morn I passed thechurch; Winds of autumn!–as I walked the

781



woods at dusk, I heard your long-stretchedsighs, up above, so mournful; I heard theperfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera–Iheard the soprano in the midst of the quar-tette singing. –Heart of my love! you too Iheard, murmuring low, through one of thewrists around my head; Heard the pulse of you, when all was still, ringing little bellslast night under my ear.

782



WHEREFORE?O me! O life!–of the questions of these

recurring; Of the endless trains of the faithless–of cities filled with the foolish; Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more fool-ish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyesthat vainly crave the light–of the objectsmean–of the struggle ever renewed; Of thepoor results of all–of the plodding and sor-

783



did crowds I see around me; Of the emptyand useless years of the rest–with the restme intertwined; The question, O me! sosad, recurring–What good amid these, Ome, O life?

ANSWER .That you are here–that life exists, and

identity; That the powerful play goes on,and you will contribute a verse.

784



QUESTIONABLE.As I lay with my head in your lap, cam-

erado, The confession I made I resume–whatI said to you and the open air I resume. Iknow I am restless, and make others so; Iknow my words are weapons, full of danger,full of death; (Indeed I am myself the realsoldier; It is not he, there, with his bayo-net, and not the red-striped artilleryman;)

785



For I confront peace, security, and all thesettled laws, to unsettle them; I am moreresolute because all have denied me than Icould ever have been had all accepted me; Iheed not, and have never heeded, either ex-perience, cautions, majorities, nor ridicule;And the threat of what is called hell is littleor nothing to me; And the lure of what iscalled heaven is little or nothing to me. –

786



Dear camerado! I confess I have urged youonward with me, and still urge you, with-out the least idea what is our destination,Or whether we shall be victorious, or ut-terly quelled and defeated.

SONG AT SUNSET.1.Splendour of ended day, floating and fill-

ing me! Hour prophetic–hour resuming the787



past: Inflating my throat–you, divine Av-erage! You, Earth and Life, till the last raygleams, I sing.

2.Open mouth of my soul, uttering glad-

ness, Eyes of my soul, seeing perfection,Natural life of me, faithfully praising things;Corroborating for ever the triumph of things.

3.788



Illustrious every one! Illustrious whatwe name space–sphere of unnumbered spir-its; Illustrious the mystery of motion, inall beings, even the tiniest insect; Illustri-ous the attribute of speech–the senses–thebody; Illustrious the passing light! Illustri-ous the pale reflection on the new moon inthe western sky! Illustrious whatever I see,or hear, or touch, to the last.

789



Good in all, In the satisfaction and aplombof animals, In the annual return of the sea-sons, In the hilarity of youth, In the strengthand flush of manhood, In the grandeur andexquisiteness of old age, In the superb vis-tas of Death.

Wonderful to depart; Wonderful to behere! The heart, to jet the all-alike andinnocent blood, To breathe the air, how de-

790



licious! To speak! to walk! to seize some-thing by the hand! To prepare for sleep,for bed–to look on my rose-coloured flesh,To be conscious of my body, so happy, solarge, To be this incredible God I am, Tohave gone forth among other Gods–thosemen and women I love.

Wonderful how I celebrate you and my-self! How my thoughts play subtly at the

791



spectacles around! How the clouds passsilently overhead!

How the earth darts on and on! andhow the sun, moon, stars, dart on and on!How the water sports and sings! (Surelyit is alive!) How the trees rise and standup–with strong trunks–with branches andleaves! Surely there is something more ineach of the trees–some living soul.

792



O amazement of things! even the leastparticle! O spirituality of things! O strainmusical, flowing through ages and continents–now reaching me and America! I take yourstrong chords–I intersperse them, and cheer-fully pass them forward.

I too carol the sun, ushered, or at noon,or, as now, setting, I too throb to the brainand beauty of the earth, and of all the growths

793



of the earth, I too have felt the resistless callof myself.

As I sailed down the Mississippi, As Iwandered over the prairies, As I have lived–As I have looked through my windows, myeyes, As I went forth in the morning–As Ibeheld the light breaking in the east; AsI bathed on the beach of the Eastern Sea,and again on the beach of the Western Sea;

794



As I roamed the streets of inland Chicago-whatever streets I have roamed; Wherever Ihave been, I have charged myself with con-tentment and triumph.

I sing the Equalities; I sing the endlessfinales of things; I say Nature continues–Glory continues; I praise with electric voice:For I do not see one imperfection in the uni-verse; And I do not see one cause or result

795



lamentable at last in the universe.O setting sun! though the time has come,

I still warble under you unmitigated adora-tion.

LONGINGS FOR HOME.O Magnet South! O glistening, perfumed

South! my South! O quick mettle, richblood, impulse, and love! good and evil!O all dear to me! O dear to me my birth-

796



things–all moving things, and the trees whereI was born,[1] the grains, plants, rivers; Dearto me my own slow, sluggish rivers, wherethey flow distant over flats of silvery sandsor through swamps; Dear to me the Roanoke,the Savannah, the Altamahaw, the Pedee,the Tombigbee, the Santee, the Coosa, andthe Sabine– O pensive, far away wander-ing, I return with my soul to haunt their

797



banks again. Again in Florida I float ontransparent lakes–I float on Okeechobee–Icross the hummock land, or through pleas-ant openings or dense forests. I see theparrots in the woods, I see the papaw-tree,and the blossoming titi. Again, sailing inmy coaster, on deck, I coast off Georgia,I coast up the Carolinas; I see where thelive-oak is growing–I see where the yellow-

798



pine, the scented bay-tree, the lemon andorange, the cypress, the graceful palmetto.I pass rude sea-headlands, and enter Pam-lico Sound through an inlet, and dart myvision inland; O the cotton plant! the grow-ing fields of rice, sugar, hemp! The cactus,guarded with thorns–the laurel-tree, withlarge white flowers; The range afar–the rich-ness and barrenness–the old woods charged

799



with mistletoe and trailing moss, The pineyodour and the gloom–the awful natural still-ness, Here in these dense swamps the free-booter carries his gun, and the fugitive slavehas his concealed hut; O the strange fasci-nation of these half-known, half-impassableswamps, infested by reptiles, resounding withthe bellow of the alligator, the sad noisesof the night-owl and the wild-cat, and the

800



whirr of the rattlesnake; The mocking-bird,the American mimic, singing all the forenoon–singing through the moon-lit night, The humming-bird, the wild-turkey, the raccoon, the opos-sum; A Tennessee corn-field–the tall, grace-ful, long-leaved corn–slender, flapping, brightgreen, with tassels–with beautiful ears, eachwell-sheathed in its husk; An Arkansas prairie–a sleeping lake, or still bayou. O my heart!

801



O tender and fierce pangs–I can stand themnot–I will depart! O to be a Virginian,where I grew up! O to be a Carolinian!O longings irrepressible! O I will go backto old Tennessee, and never wander more!

[Footnote 1: These expressions cannotbe understood in a literal sense, for Whit-man was born, not in the South, but in theState of New York. The precise sense to

802



be attached to them may be open to somedifference of opinion.]

APPEARANCES.Of the terrible doubt of appearances, Of

the uncertainty after all–that we may bedeluded, That maybe reliance and hope arebut speculations after all, That maybe iden-tity beyond the grave is a beautiful fableonly, Maybe the things I perceive–the ani-

803



mals, plants, men, hills, shining and flowingwaters, The skies of day and night–colours,densities, forms–Maybe these are (as doubt-less they are) only apparitions, and the realsomething has yet to be known; (How oftenthey dart out of themselves, as if to con-found me and mock me! How often I thinkneither I know, nor any man knows, aughtof them!) Maybe seeming to me what they

804



are (as doubtless they indeed but seem) asfrom my present point of view–And mightprove (as of course they would) naught of what they appear, or naught anyhow, fromentirely changed points of view; –To me,these, and the like of these, are curiouslyanswered by my lovers, my dear friends.When he whom I love travels with me, orsits a long while holding me by the hand,

805



When the subtle air, the impalpable, thesense that words and reason hold not, sur-round us and pervade us, Then I am chargedwith untold and untellable wisdom–I amsilent–I require nothing further, I cannotanswer the question of appearances, or thatof identity beyond the grave; But I walk orsit indifferent–I am satisfied, He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.

806



THE FRIEND.Recorders ages hence! Come, I will take

you down underneath this impassive exterior–I will tell you what to say of me; Publish myname and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover, The friend, the lover’sportrait, of whom his friend, his lover, wasfondest, Who was not proud of his songs,but of the measureless ocean of love within

807



him–and freely poured it forth, Who oftenwalked lonesome walks, thinking of his dearfriends, his lovers, Who pensive, away fromone he loved, often lay sleepless and dis-satisfied at night, Who knew too well thesick, sick dread lest the one he loved mightsecretly be indifferent to him, Whose hap-piest days were far away, through fields, inwoods, on hills, he and another, wander-

808



ing hand in hand, they twain, apart fromother men, Who oft, as he sauntered thestreets, curved with his arm the shoulder of his friend–while the arm of his friend restedupon him also.

MEETING AGAIN.When I heard at the close of the day

how my name had been received with plau-dits in the capitol, still it was not a happy

809



night for me that followed; And else, whenI caroused, or when my plans were accom-plished, still I was not happy. But the daywhen I rose at dawn from the bed of per-fect health, refreshed, singing, inhaling theripe breath of autumn, When I saw thefull moon in the west grow pale and dis-appear in the morning light, When I wan-dered alone over the beach, and undressing

810



bathed, laughing with the cool waters, andsaw the sunrise, And when I thought howmy dear friend, my lover, was on his waycoming, O then I was happy; O then eachbreath tasted sweeter–and all that day myfood nourished me more–and the beautifulday passed well, And the next came withequal joy–and with the next, at evening,came my friend; And that night, while all

811



was still, I heard the waters roll slowly con-tinually up the shores, I heard the hissingrustle of the liquid and sands, as directedto me, whispering, to congratulate me; Forthe one I love most lay sleeping by me underthe same cover in the cool night, In the still-ness, in the autumn moonbeams, his facewas inclined toward me, And his arm laylightly around my breast–and that night I

812



was happy.A DREAM.

Of him I love day and night, I dreamedI heard he was dead; And I dreamed I wentwhere they had buried him I love–but hewas not in that place; And I dreamed Iwandered, searching among burial-places,to find him; And I found that every placewas a burial-place; The houses full of life

813



were equally full of death, (this house isnow;) The streets, the shipping, the placesof amusement, the Chicago, Boston, Philadel-phia, the Mannahatta, were as full of thedead as of the living, And fuller, O vastlyfuller, of the dead than of the living. –And what I dreamed I will henceforth tellto every person and age, And I stand hence-forth bound to what I dreamed; And now I

814



am willing to disregard burial-places, anddispense with them; And if the memori-als of the dead were put up indifferentlyeverywhere, even in the room where I eator sleep, I should be satisfied; And if thecorpse of any one I love, or if my own corpse,be duly rendered to powder, and poured inthe sea, I shall be satisfied; Or if it be dis-tributed to the winds, I shall be satisfied.

815



PARTING FRIENDS.What think you I take my pen in hand

to record? The battle-ship, perfect-modelled,majestic, that I saw pass the offing to- dayunder full sail? The splendours of the pastday? Or the splendour of the night thatenvelops me? Or the vaunted glory andgrowth of the great city spread around me?–No; But I record of two simple men I saw to-

816



day, on the pier, in the midst of the crowd,parting the parting of dear friends; The oneto remain hung on the other’s neck, andpassionately kissed him, While the one todepart tightly pressed the one to remain inhis arms.

TO A STRANGER.Passing stranger! you do not know how

longingly I look upon you; You must be he I817



was seeking, or she I was seeking (it comesto me, as of a dream). I have somewheresurely lived a life of joy with you. All isrecalled as we flit by each other, fluid, af-fectionate, chaste, matured; You grew upwith me, were a boy with me, or a girl withme; I ate with you, and slept with you–yourbody has become not yours only, nor left mybody mine only; You give me the pleasure

818



of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass–you takeof my beard, breast, hands in return; I amnot to speak to you–I am to think of youwhen I sit alone, or wake at night alone; Iam to wait–I do not doubt I am to meetyou again; I am to see to it that I do notlose you.

OTHER LANDS.This moment yearning and thoughtful,

819



sitting alone, It seems to me there are othermen in other lands, yearning and thought-ful; It seems to me I can look over and be-hold them in Prussia, Italy, France, Spain–or far, far away, in China, or in Russia orIndia–talking other dialects; And it seemsto me, if I could know those men, I shouldbecome attached to them, as I do to menin my own lands. O I know we should be

820



brethren and lovers; I know I should behappy with them.

ENVY.When I peruse the conquered fame of

heroes, and the victories of mighty generals,I do not envy the generals, Nor the Presi-dent in his Presidency, nor the rich in hisgreat house.

But when I read of the brotherhood of 821



lovers, how it was with them; How throughlife, through dangers, odium, unchanging,long and long, Through youth, and throughmiddle and old age, how unfaltering, howaffectionate and faithful they were, ThenI am pensive–I hastily put down the book,and walk away, filled with the bitterest envy.

THE CITY OF FRIENDS.I dreamed in a dream I saw a city in-

822



vincible to the attacks of the whole of therest of the earth; I dreamed that it was thenew City of Friends; Nothing was greaterthere than the quality of robust love–it ledthe rest; It was seen every hour in the ac-tions of the men of that city, And in all theirlooks and words.

OUT OF THE CROWD.1.

823



Out of the rolling ocean, the crowd, camea drop gently to me, Whispering, I loveyou; before long I die: I have travelled along way, merely to look on you, to touchyou: For I could not die till I once lookedon you, For I feared I might afterward loseyou .

2.Now we have met, we have looked, we

824



are safe; Return in peace to the ocean, mylove; I too am part of that ocean, my love–we are not so much separated; Behold thegreat rondure –the cohesion of all, how per-fect! But as for me, for you, the irresistiblesea is to separate us, As for an hour carry-ing us diverse–yet cannot carry us diversefor ever; Be not impatient–a little space–know you, I salute the air, the ocean, and

825



the land, Every day, at sundown, for yourdear sake, my love.

AMONG THE MULTITUDE.Among the men and women, the multi-

tude, I perceive one picking me out by se-cret and divine signs, Acknowledging noneelse–not parent, wife, husband, brother, child,any nearer than I am; Some are baffled–Butthat one is not–that one knows me.

826



Ah, lover and perfect equal! I meantthat you should discover me so, by my faintindirections; And I, when I meet you, meanto discover you by the like in you.

LEAVES OF GRASS.PRESIDENT LINCOLN’S FUNERAL

HYMN.1.When lilacs last in the door-yard bloomed,

827



And the great star[1] early drooped in thewestern sky in the night, I mourned,...andyet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

O ever-returning spring! trinity sure tome you bring; Lilac blooming perennial, anddrooping star in the west, And thought of him I love.

2.O powerful, western, fallen star! O shades

828



of night! O moody, tearful night! O greatstar disappeared! O the black murk thathides the star! O cruel hands that holdme powerless! O helpless soul of me! Oharsh surrounding cloud that will not freemy soul!

3.In the door-yard fronting an old farm-

house, near the whitewashed palings, Stands829



the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shapedleaves of rich green, With many a pointedblossom, rising delicate, with the perfumestrong I love, With every leaf a miracle:and from this bush in the dooryard, Withdelicate-coloured blossoms, and heart-shapedleaves of rich green, A sprig, with its flower,I break.

4.830



In the swamp, in secluded recesses, Ashy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

Solitary, the thrush, The hermit, with-drawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,Sings by himself a song:

Song of the bleeding throat! Death’soutlet song of life–for well, dear brother, Iknow, If thou wast not gifted to sing, thouwouldst surely die.

831



5.Over the breast of the spring, the land,

amid cities, Amid lanes, and through oldwoods, where lately the violets peeped fromthe ground, spotting the greydebris; Amidthe grass in the fields each side of the lanes–passing the endless grass; Passing the yellow-speared wheat, every grain from its shroudin the dark-brown fields uprising; Passing

832



the apple-tree blows of white and pink inthe orchards; Carrying a corpse to where itshall rest in the grave, Night and day jour-neys a coffin.

6.Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,

Through day and night, with the great clouddarkening the land, With the pomp of theinlooped flags, with the cities draped in black,

833



With the show of the States themselves asof crape-veiled women standing, With pro-cessions long and winding, and the flam-beaus of the night, With the countless torcheslit–with the silent sea of faces, and the un-bared heads, With the waiting depot, thearriving coffin, and the sombre faces, Withdirges through the night, with the thousandvoices rising strong and solemn; With all

834



the mournful voices of the dirges, pouredaround the coffin, The dim-lit churches andthe shuddering organs–Where amid theseyou journey, With the tolling, tolling bells’perpetual clang; Here! coffin that slowlypasses, I give you my sprig of lilac.

7.Nor for you, for one, alone; Blossoms

and branches green to coffins all I bring: For835



fresh as the morning–thus would I chant asong for you, O sane and sacred Death.

All over bouquets of roses, O Death! Icover you over with roses and early lilies;But mostly and now the lilac that bloomsthe first, Copious, I break, I break the sprigsfrom the bushes! With loaded arms I come,pouring for you, For you and the coffins allof you, O Death.

836



8.O western orb, sailing the heaven! Now

I know what you must have meant, as amonth since we walked, As we walked upand down in the dark blue so mystic, Aswe walked in silence the transparent shad-owy night, As I saw you had something totell, as you bent to me night after night, Asyou drooped from the sky low down, as if to

837



my side, while the other stars all looked on;As we wandered together the solemn night,for something, I know not what, kept mefrom sleep; As the night advanced, and Isaw on the rim of the west, ere you went,how full you were of woe; As I stood onthe rising ground in the breeze, in the cooltransparent night, As I watched where youpassed and was lost in the netherward black

838



of the night, As my soul, in its trouble, dis-satisfied, sank, as where you, sad orb, Con-cluded, dropped in the night, and was gone.

9.Sing on, there in the swamp! O singer

bashful and tender! I hear your notes–Ihear your call; I hear–I come presently–Iunderstand you; But a moment I linger–forthe lustrous star has detained me; The star,

839



my comrade departing, holds and detainsme.

10.O how shall I warble myself for the dead

one there I loved? And how shall I deck mysong for the large sweet soul that has gone?And what shall my perfume be for the graveof him I love?

Sea-winds, blown from east and west,840



Blown from the Eastern Sea, and blownfrom the Western Sea, till there on the prairiesmeeting: These, and with these, and thebreath of my chant, I perfume the grave of him I love.

11.O what shall I hang on the chamber

walls? And what shall the pictures be thatI hang on the walls, To adorn the burial-

841



house of him I love?Pictures of growing spring, and farms,

and homes, With the Fourth-month eve atsundown, and the grey smoke lucid and bright,With floods of the yellow gold of the gor-geous, indolent sinking sun, burning, ex-panding the air; With the fresh sweet herbageunder foot, and the pale green leaves of thetrees prolific; In the distance the flowing

842



glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there; With ranging hillson the banks, with many a line against thesky, and shadows; And the city at hand,with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chim-neys, And all the scenes of life, and theworkshops, and the workmen homeward re-turning.

12.843



Lo! body and soul! this land! MightyManhattan, with spires, and the sparklingand hurrying tides, and the ships; The var-ied and ample land–the South and the Northin the light–Ohio’s shores, and flashing Mis-souri, And ever the far-spreading prairies,covered with grass and corn.

Lo! the most excellent sun, so calm andhaughty; The violet and purple morn, with

844



just-felt breezes; The gentle, soft-born, mea-sureless light; The miracle, spreading, bathingall–the fulfilled noon; The coming eve, delicious–the welcome night, and the stars, Over mycities shining all, enveloping man and land.

13.Sing on! sing on, you grey-brown bird!

Sing from the swamps, the recesses–pouryour chant from the bushes; Limitless out

845



of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.Sing on, dearest brother–warble your reedy

song, Loud human song, with voice of ut-termost woe.

O liquid, and free, and tender! O wildand loose to my soul! O wondrous singer!You only I hear,... yet the star holds me,(but will soon depart;) Yet the lilac, withmastering odour, holds me.

846



14.Now while I sat in the day, and looked

forth, In the close of the day, with its light,and the fields of spring, and the farmer prepar-ing his crops, In the large unconscious sceneryof my land, with its lakes and forests, Inthe heavenly aerial beauty, after the per-turbed winds and the storms; Under thearching heavens of the afternoon swift pass-

847



ing, and the voices of children and women,The many-moving sea-tides,–and I saw theships how they sailed, And the summer ap-proaching with richness, and the fields allbusy with labour, And the infinite separatehouses, how they all went on, each with itsmeals and minutiae of daily usages; And thestreets, how their throbbings throbbed, andthe cities pent–lo! then and there, Falling

848



upon them all, and among them all, en-veloping me with the rest, Appeared thecloud, appeared the long black trail; AndI knew Death, its thought, and the sacredknowledge of Death.

15.And the Thought of Death close-walking

the other side of me, And I in the mid-dle, as with companions, and as holding the

849



hands of companions, I fled forth to the hid-ing receiving night, that talks not, Down tothe shores of the water, the path by theswamp in the dimness, To the solemn shad-owy cedars, and ghostly pines so still.

And the singer so shy to the rest re-ceived me; The grey-brown bird I know re-ceived us Comrades three; And he sang whatseemed the song of Death, and a verse for

850



Come, lovely and soothing Death, Un-dulate round the world, serenely arriving,arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, toeach, Sooner or later, delicate Death.

Praised be the fathomless universe, Forlife and joy, and for objects and knowledgecurious; And for love, sweet love–But praise!O praise and praise, For the sure-enwindingarms of cool-enfolding Death.

852



in the loving, floating ocean of thee, Lavedin the flood of thy bliss, O Death.

From me to thee glad serenades, Dancesfor thee I propose, saluting thee–adornmentsand feastings for thee; And the sights of theopen landscape, and the high-spread sky,are fitting, And life and the fields, and thehuge and thoughtful night.

The night, in silence, under many a star;854



The ocean shore, and the husky whisper-ing wave, whose voice I know; And the soulturning to thee, O vast and well-veiled Death,And the body gratefully nestling close tothee.

Over the tree-tops I float thee a song!Over the rising and sinking waves–over themyriad fields, and the prairies wide; Overthe dense-packed cities all, and the teeming

855



While my sight that was bound in myeyes unclosed, As to long panoramas of vi-sions.

18.I saw the vision of armies; And I saw,

as in noiseless dreams, hundreds of battle-flags; Borne through the smoke of the bat-tles, and pierced with missiles, I saw them,And carried hither and yon through the smoke,

857



and torn and bloody; And at last but a fewshreds of the flags left on the staffs, (and allin silence,) And the staffs all splintered andbroken.

I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,And the white skeletons of young men–Isaw them; I saw the debris and debris of alldead soldiers. But I saw they were not aswas thought; They themselves were fully at

858



rest–they suffered not; The living remainedand suffered–the mother suffered, And thewife and the child, and the musing comradesuffered, And the armies that remained suf-fered.

19.Passing the visions, passing the night;

Passing, unloosing the hold of my Com-rades’ hands; Passing the song of the hermit

859



bird, and the tallying song of my soul; Vic-torious song, Death’s outlet song, yet vary-ing, ever-altering song; As low and wailing,yet clear, the notes, rising and falling, flood-ing the night, Sadly sinking and fainting, aswarning and warning, and yet again burst-ing with joy. Covering the earth, and fillingthe spread of the heaven, As that powerfulpsalm in the night, I heard from recesses.

860



20.Must I leave thee, lilac with heart-shaped

leaves? Must I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring?

Must I pass from my song for thee– Frommy gaze on thee in the west, fronting thewest, communing with thee, O comrade lus-trous, with silver face in the night?

21.861



Yet each I keep, and all; The song, thewondrous chant of the grey-brown bird, Andthe tallying chant, the echo aroused in mysoul, With the lustrous and drooping star,with the countenance full of woe; With thelilac tali, and its blossoms of mastering odour;Comrades mine, and I in the midst, andtheir memory ever I keep–for the dead Iloved so well; For the sweetest, wisest soul

862



low in the west with unusual and tenderbrightness.”–JOHN BURROUGHS.]

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! (FORTHE DEATH OF LINCOLN.)

1.O Captain! my Captain! our fearful

trip is done! The ship has weathered ev-ery wrack, the prize we sought is won. Theport is near, the bells I hear, the people all

864



exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel,the vessel grim and daring. But, O heart!heart! heart! Leave you not the little spotWhere on the deck my Captain lies, Fallencold and dead.

2.O Captain! my Captain! rise up and

hear the bells! Rise up! for you the flagis flung, for you the bugle trills: For you

865



bouquets and ribboned wreaths; for you theshores a-crowding: For you they call, theswaying mass, their eager faces turning.

O Captain! dear father! This arm Ipush beneath you. It is some dream thaton the deck You’ve fallen cold and dead!

3.My Captain does not answer, his lips are

pale and still: My father does not feel my866



arm, he has no pulse nor will. But the ship,the ship is anchored safe, its voyage closedand done: From fearful trip the victor shipcomes in with object won! Exult, O shores!and ring, O bells! But I, with silent tread,Walk the spot my Captain lies, Fallen coldand dead.

PIONEERS! O PIONEERS!1.

867



Come, my tan-faced children, Follow wellin order, get your weapons ready; Have youyour pistols? have you your sharp-edgedaxes? Pioneers! O pioneers!

2.For we cannot tarry here, We must march,

my darlings, we must bear the brunt of dan-ger, We, the youthful sinewy races, all therest on us depend. Pioneers! O pioneers!

868



3.O you youths, Western youths, So impa-

tient, full of action, full of manly pride andfriendship, Plain I see you, Western youths,see you tramping with the foremost, Pio-neers! O pioneers!

4.Have the elder races halted? Do they

droop and end their lesson, wearied, over869



there beyond the seas? We take up the tasketernal, and the burden, and the lesson, Pi-oneers! O pioneers!

5.All the past we leave behind; We de-

bouch upon a newer, mightier world, variedworld; Fresh and strong the world we seize,world of labour and the march, Pioneers! Opioneers!

870



6.We detachments steady throwing, Down

the edges, through the passes, up the moun-tains steep, Conquering, holding, daring,venturing, as we go, the unknown ways, Pi-oneers! O pioneers!

7.We primeval forests felling, We the rivers

stemming, vexing we, and piercing deep the871



mines within; We the surface broad survey-ing, and the virgin soil upheaving, Pioneers!O pioneers!

8.Colorado men are we, From the peaks

gigantic, from the great sierras and the highplateaus, From the mine and from the gully,from the hunting trail we come, Pioneers! Opioneers!

872



9.From Nebraska, from Arkansas, Central

inland race are we, from Missouri, with thecontinental blood interveined; All the handsof comrades clasping, all the Southern, allthe Northern, Pioneers! O pioneers!

10.O resistless, restless race! O beloved

race in all! O my breast aches with tender873



love for all! O I mourn and yet exult–I amrapt with love for all, Pioneers! O pioneers;

11.Raise the mighty mother mistress, Wav-

ing high the delicate mistress, over all thestarry mistress, (bend your heads all,) Raisethe fanged and warlike mistress, stern, im-passive, weaponed mistress, Pioneers! O pi-oneers!

874



12.See, my children, resolute children, By

those swarms upon our rear, we must neveryield or falter, Ages back in ghostly mil-lions, frowning there behind us urging, Pi-oneers! O pioneers!

13.On and on, the compact ranks, With

accessions ever waiting, with the places of 875



the dead quickly filled, Through the battle,through defeat, moving yet and never stop-ping, Pioneers! O pioneers!

14.O to die advancing on! Are there some

of us to droop and die? has the hour come?Then upon the march we fittest die, soonand sure the gap is filled, Pioneers! O pio-neers!

876



15.All the pulses of the world, Falling in,

they beat for us, with the Western move-ment beat; Holding single or together, steadymoving, to the front, all for us, Pioneers! Opioneers!

16.Life’s involved and varied pageants, All

the forms and shows, all the workmen at877



their work, All the seamen and the lands-men, all the masters with their slaves, Pio-neers, O pioneers!

17.All the hapless silent lovers, All the pris-

oners in the prisons, all the righteous andthe wicked, All the joyous, all the sorrow-ing, all the living, all the dying, Pioneers!O pioneers!

878



18.I too with my soul and body, We, a cu-

rious trio, picking, wandering on our way,Through these shores, amid the shadows,with the apparitions pressing, Pioneers! Opioneers!

19.Lo! the darting, bowling orb! Lo! the

brother orbs around! all the clustering suns879



and planets; All the dazzling days, all themystic nights with dreams, Pioneers! O pi-oneers!

20.These are of us, they are with us, All

for primal needed work, while the followersthere in embryo wait behind, We to-day’sprocession heading, we the route for travelclearing, Pioneers! O pioneers!

880



21.O you daughters of the West! O you

young and elder daughters! O you mothersand you wives! Never must you be divided,in our ranks you move united, Pioneers! Opioneers!

22.Minstrels latent on the prairies! (Shrouded

bards of other lands! you may sleep–you881



have done your work;) Soon I hear you com-ing warbling, soon you rise and tramp amidus, Pioneers! O pioneers!

23.Not for delectations sweet; Not the cush-

ion and the slipper, not the peaceful and thestudious; Not the riches safe and palling,not for us the tame enjoyment, Pioneers! Opioneers!

882



24.Do the feasters gluttonous feast? Do the

corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lockedand bolted doors? Still be ours the diethard, and the blanket on the ground, Pio-neers! O pioneers!

25.Has the night descended? Was the road

of late so toilsome? did we stop discour-883



aged, nodding on our way? Yet a passinghour I yield you in your tracks to pauseoblivious, Pioneers! O pioneers!

26.Till with sound of trumpet, Far, far off

the daybreak call–hark! how loud and clearI hear it wind; Swift! to the head of thearmy!–swift! spring to your places, Pio-neers! O pioneers!

884



TO THE SAYERS OF WORDS.1.Earth, round, rolling, compact–suns, moons,

animals–all these are words to be said; Wa-tery, vegetable, sauroid advances–beings, pre-monitions, lispings of the future, Behold!these are vast words to be said.

Were you thinking that those were thewords–those upright lines? those curves,

885



angles, dots? No, those are not the words–the substantial words are in the ground andsea, They are in the air–they are in you.

Were you thinking that those were thewords–those delicious sounds out of yourfriends’ mouths? No; the real words aremore delicious than they.

Human bodies are words, myriads of words;In the best poems reappears the body, man’s

886



or woman’s, well-shaped, natural, gay; Ev-ery part able, active, receptive, without shameor the need of shame.

Air, soil, water, fire–these are words; Imyself am a word with them–my qualitiesinterpenetrate with theirs–my name is noth-ing to them; Though it were told in thethree thousand languages, what would air,soil, water, fire, know of my name?

887



A healthy presence, a friendly or com-manding gesture, are words, sayings, mean-ings; The charms that go with the merelooks of some men and women are sayingsand meanings also.

2.The workmanship of souls is by the in-

audible words of the earth; The great mas-ters know the earth’s words, and use them

888



more than the audible words.Amelioration is one of the earth’s words;

The earth neither lags nor hastens; It has allattributes, growths, effects, latent in itself from the jump; It is not half beautiful only–defects and excrescences show just as muchas perfections show.

The earth does not withhold–it is gener-ous enough; The truths of the earth contin-

889



ually wait, they are not so concealed either;They are calm, subtle, untransmissible byprint; They are imbued through all things,conveying themselves willingly, Conveyinga sentiment and invitation of the earth. Iutter and utter: I speak not; yet, if youhear me not, of what avail am I to you? Tobear–to better; lacking these, of what availam I?

890



Accouche! Accouchez! Will you rotyour own fruit in yourself there? Will yousquat and stifle there?

The earth does not argue, Is not pa-thetic, has no arrangements, Does not scream,haste, persuade, threaten, promise, Makesno discriminations, has no conceivable fail-ures, Closes nothing, refuses nothing, shutsnone out; Of all the powers, objects, states,

891



it notifies, shuts none out.The earth does not exhibit itself, nor

refuse to exhibit itself–possesses still under-neath; Underneath the ostensible sounds,the august chorus of heroes, the wail of slaves,Persuasions of lovers, curses, gasps of thedying, laughter of young people, accents of bargainers, Underneath these, possessing thewords that never fail.

892



To her children, the words of the elo-quent dumb great Mother never fail; Thetrue words do not fail, for motion does notfail, and reflection does not fail; Also theday and night do not fail, and the voyagewe pursue does not fail.

3.Of the interminable sisters, Of the cease-

less cotillons of sisters, Of the centripetal893



and centrifugal sisters, the elder and youngersisters, The beautiful sister we know danceson with the rest.

With her ample back towards every be-holder, With the fascinations of youth, andthe equal fascinations of age, Sits she whomI too love like the rest–sits undisturbed, Hold-ing up in her hand what has the characterof a mirror, while her eyes glance back from

894



it, Glance as she sits, inviting none, deny-ing none, Holding a mirror day and nighttirelessly before her own face.

Seen at hand, or seen at a distance, Dulythe twenty-four appear in public every day,Duly approach and pass with their com-panions, or a companion, Looking from nocountenances of their own, but from thecountenances of those who are with them,

895



From the countenances of children or women,or the manly countenance, From the opencountenances of animals, or from inanimatethings, From the landscape or waters, orfrom the exquisite apparition of the sky,From our countenances, mine and yours,faithfully returning them, Every day in pub-lic appearing without fail, but never twicewith the same companions.

896



Embracing man, embracing all, proceedthe three hundred and sixty-five resistlesslyround the sun; Embracing all, soothing, sup-porting, follow close three hundred and sixty-five offsets of the first, sure and necessaryas they.

Tumbling on steadily, nothing dreading,Sunshine, storm, cold, heat, for ever with-standing, passing, carrying,

897



The Soul’s realisation and determina-tion still inheriting; The fluid vacuum aroundand ahead still entering and dividing, Nobaulk retarding, no anchor anchoring, onno rock striking, Swift, glad, content, un-bereaved, nothing losing, Of all able andready at any time to give strict account,The divine ship sails the divine sea.

4.898



Whoever you are! motion and reflectionare especially for you; The divine ship sailsthe divine sea for you.

Whoever you are! you are he or she forwhom the earth is solid and liquid, You arehe or she for whom the sun and moon hangin the sky; For none more than you are thepresent and the past, For none more thanyou is immortality.

899



Each man to himself, and each womanto herself, such as the word of the past andpresent, and the word of immortality; Noone can acquire for another–not one! Notone can grow for another–not one!

The song is to the singer, and comesback most to him; The teaching is to theteacher, and comes back most to him; Themurder is to the murderer, and comes back

900



most to him;The theft is to the thief, and comes back

most to him; The love is to the lover, andconies back most to him; The gift is to thegiver, and comes back most to him–it can-not fail; The oration is to the orator, theacting is to the actor and actress, not tothe audience; And no man understands anygreatness or goodness but his own, or the

901



indication of his own.5.I swear the earth shall surely be com-

plete to him or her who shall be complete!I swear the earth remains jagged and bro-ken only to him or her who remains brokenand jagged!

I swear there is no greatness or powerthat does not emulate those of the earth!

902



I swear there can be no theory of any ac-count, unless it corroborate the theory of the earth! No politics, art, religion, be-haviour, or what not, is of account, unlessit compare with the amplitude of the earth,Unless it face the exactness, vitality, impar-tiality, rectitude, of the earth.

I swear I begin to see love with sweeterspasms than that which responds love! It is

903



that which contains itself–which never in-vites, and never refuses.

I swear I begin to see little or noth-ing in audible words! I swear I think allmerges toward the presentation of the un-spoken meanings of the earth; Toward himwho sings the songs of the Body, and of thetruths of the earth; Toward him who makesthe dictionaries of words that print cannot

904



touch.I swear I see what is better than to tell

the best; It is always to leave the best un-told.

When I undertake to tell the best, I findI cannot, My tongue is ineffectual on itspivots, My breath will not be obedient toits organs, I become a dumb man.

The best of the earth cannot be told905



anyhow–all or any is best; It is not whatyou anticipated–it is cheaper, easier, nearer;Things are not dismissed from the placesthey held before; The earth is just as posi-tive and direct as it was before; Facts, reli-gions, improvements, politics, trades, are asreal as before; But the Soul is also real,–ittoo is positive and direct; No reasoning, noproof has established it, Undeniable growth

906



has established it.6.This is a poem for the sayers of words–

these are hints of meanings, These are theythat echo the tones of souls, and the phrasesof souls; If they did not echo the phrases of souls, what were they then? If they hadnot reference to you in especial, what werethey then? I swear I will never henceforth

907



have to do with the faith that tells the best!I will have to do only with that faith thatleaves the best untold.

7.Say on, sayers! Delve! mould! pile the

words of the earth! Work on–it is materialsyou bring, not breaths; Work on, age afterage! nothing is to be lost! It may have towait long, but it will certainly come in use;

908



When the materials are all prepared, thearchitects shall appear.

I swear to you the architects shall ap-pear without fail! I announce them andlead them; I swear to you they will under-stand you and justify you; I swear to youthe greatest among them shall be he whobest knows you, and encloses all, and isfaithful to all; I swear to you, he and the

909



rest shall not forget you–they shall perceivethat you are not an iota less than they; Iswear to you, you shall be glorified in them.

VOICES.1.Now I make a leaf of Voices–for I have

found nothing mightier than they are, AndI have found that no word spoken but isbeautiful in its place.

910



2.O what is it in me that makes me trem-

ble so at voices? Surely, whoever speaks tome in the right voice, him or her I shall fol-low, As the water follows the moon, silently,with fluid steps anywhere around the globe.

All waits for the right voices; Where isthe practised and perfect organ? Where isthe developed Soul? For I see every word

911



uttered thence has deeper, sweeter, new sounds,impossible on less terms.

I see brains and lips closed–tympans andtemples unstruck, Until that comes whichhas the quality to strike and to unclose, Un-til that comes which has the quality to bringforth what lies slumbering, for ever ready,in all words.

WHOSOEVER.912



Whoever you are, I fear you are walk-ing the walks of dreams, I fear those sup-posed realities are to melt from under yourfeet and hands; Even now, your features,joys, speech, house, trade, manners, trou-bles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate awayfrom you, Your true Soul and Body appearbefore me, They stand forth out of affairs-out of commerce, shops, law, science, work,

913



farms, clothes, the house, medicine, print,buying, selling, eating, drinking, suffering,dying.

Whoever you are, now I place my handupon you, that you be my poem; I whisperwith my lips close to your ear, I have lovedmany women and men, but I love none bet-ter than you.

Oh! I have been dilatory and dumb; I914



should have made my way straight to youlong ago; I should have blabbed nothing butyou, I should have chanted nothing but you.

I will leave all, and come and make thehymns of you; None have understood you,but I understand you; None have done jus-tice to you–you have not done justice toyourself; None but have found you imperfect–I only find no imperfection in you; None

915



but would subordinate you–I only am hewho will never consent to subordinate you;I only am he who places over you no mas-ter, owner, better, God, beyond what waitsintrinsically in yourself.

Painters have painted their swarming groups,and the centre figure of all, From the headof the centre figure spreading a nimbus of gold-coloured light; But I paint myriads of

916



heads, but paint no head without its nim-bus of gold- coloured light; From my hand,from the brain of every man and woman, itstreams, effulgently flowing for ever.

O I could sing such grandeurs and glo-ries about you! You have not known whatyou are–you have slumbered upon yourself all your life; Your eyelids have been thesame as closed most of the time; What you

917



have done returns already in mockeries; Yourthrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not re-turn in mockeries, what is their return?

The mockeries are not you; Underneaththem, and within them, I see you lurk; Ipursue you where none else has pursuedyou; Silence, the desk, the flippant expres-sion, the night, the accustomed routine, if these conceal you from others, or from your-

918



self, they do not conceal you from me; Theshaved face, the unsteady eye, the impurecomplexion, if these baulk others, they donot baulk me. The pert apparel, the de-formed attitude, drunkenness, greed, pre-mature death, all these I part aside.

There is no endowment in man or womanthat is not tallied in you; There is no virtue,no beauty, in man or woman, but as good

919



is in you; No pluck, no endurance in others,but as good is in you; No pleasure wait-ing for others, but an equal pleasure waitsfor you. As for me, I give nothing to anyone, except I give the like carefully to you; Ising the songs of the glory of none, not God,sooner than I sing the songs of the glory of you.

Whoever you are! claim your own at920



any hazard! These shows of the east andwest are tame compared to you; These im-mense meadows–these interminable rivers–you are immense and interminable as they;These furies, elements, storms, motions of Nature, throes of apparent dissolution–youare he or she who is master or mistress overthem, Master or mistress in your own rightover Nature, elements, pain, passion, disso-

921



lution.The hopples fall from your ankles–you

find an unfailing sufficiency; Old or young,male or female, rude, low, rejected by therest, whatever you are promulgates itself;Through birth, life, death, burial, the meansare provided, nothing is scanted; Throughangers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui,what you are picks its way.

922



BEGINNERS.How they are provided for upon the earth,

appearing at intervals; How dear and dread-ful they are to the earth; How they inure tothemselves as much as to any–What a para-dox appears their age; How people respondto them, yet know them not; How there issomething relentless in their fate, all times;How all times mischoose the objects of their

923



adulation and reward, And how the sameinexorable price must still be paid for thesame great purchase.

TO A PUPIL.1.Is reform needed? Is it through you?

The greater the reform needed, the greaterthe PERSONALITY you need to accom-plish it.

924



You! do you not see how it would serveto have eyes, blood, complexion, clean andsweet? Do you not see how it would serve tohave such a Body and Soul that, when youenter the crowd, an atmosphere of desireand command enters with you, and everyone is impressed with your personality?

2.O the magnet! the flesh over and over!

925



Go, dear friend! if need be, give up all else,and commence to-day to inure yourself topluck, reality, self-esteem, definiteness, ele-vatedness; Rest not, till you rivet and pub-lish yourself of your own personality.

LINKS.1.Think of the Soul; I swear to you that

body of yours gives proportions to your Soul926



somehow to live in other spheres; I do notknow how, but I know it is so.

2.Think of loving and being loved; I swear

to you, whoever you are, you can interfuseyourself with such things that everybodythat sees you shall look longingly upon you.

3.Think of the past; I warn you that, in

927



a little while, others will find their past inyou and your times.

The race is never separated–nor man norwoman escapes; All is inextricable–things,spirits, nature, nations, you too–from prece-dents you come.

Recall the ever-welcome defiers (the moth-ers precede them); Recall the sages, poets,saviours, inventors, lawgivers, of the earth;

928



Recall Christ, brother of rejected persons–brother of slaves, felons, idiots, and of in-sane and diseased persons.

4.Think of the time when you was not yet

born; Think of times you stood at the sideof the dying; Think of the time when yourown body will be dying.

Think of spiritual results: Sure as the929



earth swims through the heavens, does ev-ery one of its objects pass into spiritual re-sults.

Think of manhood, and you to be a man;Do you count manhood, and the sweet of manhood, nothing?

Think of womanhood, and you to be awoman; The creation is womanhood; HaveI not said that womanhood involves all?

930



Have I not told how the universe has noth-ing better than the best womanhood?

THE WATERS.The world below the brine. Forests at

the bottom of the sea–the branches and leaves,Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers andseeds–the thick tangle, the openings, andthe pink turf, Different colours, pale greyand green, purple, white, and gold–the play

931



of light through the water, Dumb swimmersthere among the rocks–coral, gluten, grass,rushes–and the aliment of the swimmers,Sluggish existences grazing there, suspended,or slowly crawling close to the bottom: Thesperm-whale at the surface, blowing air andspray, or disporting with his flukes, Theleaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle,the hairy sea-leopard, and the sting-ray. Pas-

932



sions there, wars, pursuits, tribes–sight inthose ocean-depths– breathing that thickbreathing air, as so many do. The changethence to the sight here, and to the sub-tle air breathed by beings like us, who walkthis sphere: The change onward from oursto that of beings who walk other spheres.

TO THE STATES.TO IDENTIFY THE SIXTEENTH, SEV-

933



ENTEENTH, OR EIGHTEENTH PRESIDENTIAD.[1]Why reclining, interrogating? Why my-

self and all drowsing? What deepening twi-light! Scum floating atop of the waters!Who are they, as bats and night-dogs, askantin the Capitol? What a filthy Presidentiad!(O South, your torrid suns! O North, yourArctic freezings!) Are those really Congress-men? Are those the great Judges? Is that

934



the President? Then I will sleep a whileyet–for I see that these States sleep, forreasons. With gathering murk–with mut-tering thunder and lambent shoots, we allduly awake, South, North, East, West, in-land and seaboard, we will surely awake.

[Footnote 1: These were the three Pres-identships of Polk; of Taylor, succeeded byFillmore; and of Pierce;–1845 to 1857.]

935



TEARS.Tears! tears! tears! In the night, in soli-

tude, tears; On the white shore dripping,dripping, sucked in by the sand; Tears–nota star shining–all dark and desolate; Moisttears from the eyes of a muffled head: –Owho is that ghost?–that form in the dark,with tears? What shapeless lump is that,bent, crouched there on the sand? Stream-

936



ing tears–sobbing tears–throes, choked withwild cries; O storm, embodied, rising, ca-reering, with swift steps along the beach;O wild and dismal night-storm, with wind!O belching and desperate! O shade, so se-date and decorous by day, with calm coun-tenance and regulated pace; But away, atnight, as you fly, none looking–O then theunloosened ocean Of tears! tears! tears!

937



A SHIP.1.Aboard, at the ship’s helm, A young

steersman, steering with care.A bell through fog on a sea-coast dole-

fully ringing, An ocean-bell–O a warningbell, rocked by the waves.

O you give good notice indeed, you bellby the sea-reefs ringing, Ringing, ringing,

938



to warn the ship from its wreck-place. For,as on the alert, O steersman, you mind thebell’s admonition, The bows turn,–the freightedship, tacking, speeds away under her greysails; The beautiful and noble ship, with allher precious wealth, speeds away gaily andsafe.

2.But O the ship, the immortal ship! O

939



ship aboard the ship! O ship of the body–ship of the soul–voyaging, voyaging, voyag-ing.

GREATNESS.1.Great are the myths–I too delight in them;

Great are Adam and Eve–I too look backand accept them; Great the risen and fallennations, and their poets, women, sages, in-

940



ventors, rulers, warriors, and priests.Great is Liberty! great is Equality! I am

their follower; Helmsmen of nations, chooseyour craft! where you sail, I sail, I weatherit out with you, or sink with you.

Great is Youth–equally great is Old Age–great are the Day and Night; Great is Wealth–great is Poverty–great is Expression–greatis Silence.

941



2.Youth, large, lusty, loving–Youth, full of

grace, force, fascination! Do you know thatOld Age may come after you, with equalgrace, force, fascination?

Day, full-blown and splendid–Day of theimmense sun, action, ambition, laughter,The Night follows close, with millions of suns, and sleep, and restoring darkness.

942



Wealth, with the flush hand, fine clothes,hospitality; But then the soul’s wealth, whichis candour, knowledge, pride, enfolding love;Who goes for men and women showing Povertyricher than wealth?

Expression of speech! in what is writtenor said, forget not that Silence is also ex-pressive; That anguish as hot as the hottest,and contempt as cold as the coldest, may be

943



without words.3.Great is the Earth, and the way it be-

came what it is: Do you imagine it hasstopped at this? the increase abandoned?Understand then that it goes as far onwardfrom this as this is from the times whenit lay in covering waters and gases, beforeman had appeared.

944



4.Great is the quality of Truth in man;

The quality of truth in man supports itself through all changes; It is inevitably in theman–he and it are in love, and never leaveeach other.

The truth in man is no dictum, it is vitalas eyesight; If there be any Soul, there istruth–if there be man or woman, there is

945



truth–if there be physical or moral, thereis truth; If there be equilibrium or volition,there is truth–if there be things at all uponthe earth, there is truth.

O truth of the earth! O truth of things!I am determined to press my way towardyou; Sound your voice! I scale mountains,or dive in the sea, after you.

5.946



tiny as the English? It is the mother of thebrood that must rule the earth with the newrule; The new rule shall rule as the Soulrules, and as the love, justice, equality inthe Soul rule.

6.Great is Law–great are the old few land-

marks of the law, They are the same in alltimes, and shall not be disturbed.

948



Great is Justice! Justice is not settledby legislators and laws–it is in the Soul;It cannot be varied by statutes, any morethan love, pride, the attraction of gravity,can; It is immutable–it does not depend onmajorities–majorities or what not come atlast before the same passionless and exacttribunal.

For justice are the grand natural lawyers,949



and perfect judges–it is in their souls; Itis well assorted–they have not studied fornothing–the great includes the less; Theyrule on the highest grounds–they oversee alleras, states, administrations.

The perfect judge fears nothing–he couldgo front to front before God; Before theperfect judge all shall stand back–life anddeath shall stand back–heaven and hell shall

950



stand back.7.Great is Life, real and mystical, wher-

ever and whoever; Great is Death–sure asLife holds all parts together, Death holdsall parts together.

Has Life much purport?–Ah! Death hasthe greatest purport.

THE POET.951



1.Now list to my morning’s romanza; To

the cities and farms I sing, as they spreadin the sunshine before me.

2.A young man came to me bearing a mes-

sage from his brother; How should the youngman know the whether and when of hisbrother? Tell him to send me the signs.

952



And I stood before the young man faceto face, and took his right hand in my lefthand, and his left hand in my right hand,And I answered for his brother, and formen, and I answered for THE POET, andsent these signs.

Him all wait for–him all yield up to–hisword is decisive and final, Him they accept,in him lave, in him perceive themselves, as

953



amid light, Him they immerse, and he im-merses them.

Beautiful women, the haughtiest nations,laws, the landscape, people, animals, Theprofound earth and its attributes, and theunquiet ocean (so tell I my morning’s ro-manza), All enjoyments and properties, andmoney, and whatever money will buy, Thebest farms–others toiling and planting, and

954



he unavoidably reaps, The noblest and costli-est cities–others grading and building, andhe domiciles there, Nothing for any one butwhat is for him–near and far are for him,–the ships in the offing, The perpetual showsand marches on land, are for him, if they arefor anybody.

He puts things in their attitudes; Heputs to-day out of himself, with plasticity

955



and love; He places his own city, times, rem-iniscences, parents, brothers and sisters, as-sociations, employment, politics, so that therest never shame them afterward, nor as-sume to command them.

He is the answerer; What can be an-swered he answers–and what cannot be an-swered, he shows how it cannot be answered.

3.956



A man is a summons and challenge; (Itis vain to skulk–Do you hear that mock-ing and laughter? Do you hear the ironicalechoes?)

Books, friendships, philosophers, priests,action, pleasure, pride, beat up and down,seeking to give satisfaction; He indicates thesatisfaction, and indicates them that beatup and down also.

957



Whichever the sex, whatever the seasonor place, he may go freshly and gently andsafely, by day or by night; He has the pass-key of hearts–to him the response of theprying of hands on the knobs.

His welcome is universal–the flow of beautyis not more welcome or universal than he is;The person he favours by day or sleeps withat night is blessed.

958



Every existence has its idiom–everythinghas an idiom and tongue; He resolves alltongues into his own, and bestows it uponmen, and any man translates, and any mantranslates himself also; One part does notcounteract another part–he is the joiner–hesees how they join.

He says indifferently and alike, ” Howare you, friend ?” to the President at his

959



levee, And he says, ” Good-day, my brother !”to Cudge that hoes in the sugar- field, Andboth understand him, and know that hisspeech is right.

He walks with perfect ease in the Capi-tol, He walks among the Congress, and onerepresentative says to another, ” Here is ourequal, appearing and new .”

4.960



Then the mechanics take him for a me-chanic, And the soldiers suppose him to bea soldier, and the sailors that he has fol-lowed the sea, And the authors take himfor an author, and the artists for an artist,And the labourers perceive he could labourwith them and love them; No matter whatthe work is, that he is the one to follow it, orhas followed it, No matter what the nation,

961



that he might find his brothers and sistersthere.

The English believe he comes of theirEnglish stock, A Jew to the Jew he seems–a Russ to the Russ–usual and near, removedfrom none.

Whoever he looks at in the travellers’coffee-house claims him; The Italian or French-man is sure, and the German is sure, and

962



the Spaniard is sure, and the island Cubanis sure; The engineer, the deck-hand on thegreat lakes, or on the Mississippi, or St.Lawrence, or Sacramento, or Hudson, orPaumanok Sound, claims him.

The gentleman of perfect blood acknowl-edges his perfect blood; The insulter, theprostitute, the angry person, the beggar,see themselves in the ways of him–he strangely

963



transmutes them, They are not vile any more–they hardly know themselves, they are sogrown.

BURIAL.1.To think of it! To think of time–of all

that retrospection! To think of to-day, andthe ages continued henceforward! Have youguessed you yourself would not continue?

964



Have you dreaded these earth-beetles? Haveyou feared the future would be nothing toyou?

Is to-day nothing? Is the beginninglesspast nothing? If the future is nothing, theyare just as surely nothing.

To think that the sun rose in the east!that men and women were flexible, real,alive! that everything was alive! To think

965



that you and I did not see, feel, think, norbear our part! To think that we are nowhere, and bear our part!

2.Not a day passes–not a minute or sec-

ond, without an accouchement! Not a daypasses-not a minute or second, without acorpse!

The dull nights go over, and the dull966



days also, The soreness of lying so muchin bed goes over, The physician, after longputting off, gives the silent and terrible lookfor an answer, The children come hurriedand weeping, and the brothers and sistersare sent for; Medicines stand unused on theshelf–(the camphor-smell has long pervadedthe rooms,) The faithful hand of the liv-ing does not desert the hand of the dying,

967



The twitching lips press lightly on the fore-head of the dying, The breath ceases, andthe pulse of the heart ceases, The corpsestretches on the bed, and the living lookupon it, It is palpable as the living are pal-pable.

The living look upon the corpse withtheir eyesight, But without eyesight lingersa different living, and looks curiously on the

968



corpse.3.To think that the rivers will flow, and

the snow fall, and the fruits ripen, and actupon others as upon us now–yet not actupon us! To think of all these wonders of city and country, and others taking greatinterest in them–and we taking–no interestin them!

969



To think how eager we are in buildingour houses! To think others shall be just aseager, and we quite indifferent! I see onebuilding the house that serves him a fewyears, or seventy or eighty years at most, Isee one building the house that serves himlonger than that.

Slow-moving and black lines creep overthe whole earth–they never cease– they are

970



the burial lines; He that was President wasburied, and he that is now President shallsurely be buried.

4.Gold dash of waves at the ferry-wharf–

posh and ice in the river, half- frozen mudin the streets, a grey discouraged sky over-head, the short last daylight of Twelfth-month, A hearse and stages–other vehicles

971



give place–the funeral of an old Broadwaystage-driver, the cortege mostly drivers.

Steady the trot to the cemetery, dulyrattles the death-bell, the gate is passed,the new-dug grave is halted at, the livingalight, the hearse uncloses, The coffin ispassed out, lowered, and settled, the whipis laid on the coffin, the earth is swiftlyshovelled in, The mound above is flattened

972



with the spades–silence, A minute, no onemoves or speaks–it is done, He is decentlyput away–is there anything more?

He was a good fellow, free-mouthed, quick-tempered, not bad-looking, able to take hisown part, witty, sensitive to a slight, readywith life or death for a friend, fond of women,gambled, ate hearty, drank hearty, had knownwhat it was to be flush, grew low-spirited

973



toward the last, sickened, was helped by acontribution, died, aged forty- one years–and that was his funeral.

Thumb extended, finger uplifted, apron,cape, gloves, strap, wet-weather clothes, whipcarefully chosen, boss, spotter, starter, hostler,somebody loafing on you, you loafing onsomebody, headway, man before and manbehind, good day’s work, bad day’s work,

974



pet stock, mean stock, first out, last out,turning-in at night; To think that these areso much and so nigh to other drivers–andhe there takes no interest in them!

5.The markets, the government, the working-

man’s wages–to think what account theyare through our nights and days! To thinkthat other working-men will make just as

975



great account of them– yet we make littleor no account!

The vulgar and the refined–what youcall sin, and what you call goodness– tothink how wide a difference! To think thedifference will still continue to others, yetwe lie beyond the difference.

To think how much pleasure there is!Have you pleasure from looking at the sky?

976



have you pleasure from poems? Do you en-joy yourself in the city? or engaged in busi-ness? or planning a nomination and elec-tion? or with your wife and family? Orwith your mother and sisters? or in wom-anly housework? or the beautiful maternalcares? These also flow onward to others–you and I fly onward, But in due time youand I shall take less interest in them.

977



Your farm, profits, crops,–to think howengrossed you are! To think there will stillbe farms, profits, crops–yet for you, of whatavail?

6.What will be will be well–for what is is

well; To take interest is well, and not to takeinterest shall be well.

The sky continues beautiful, The plea-978



sure of men with women shall never be sated,nor the pleasure of women with men, northe pleasure from poems; The domestic joys,the daily housework or business, the build-ing of houses–these are not phantasms–theyhave weight, form, location; Farms, prof-its, crops, markets, wages, government, arenone of them phantasms; The difference be-tween sin and goodness is no delusion, The

979



earth is not an echo–man and his life, andall the things of his life, are well-considered.

You are not thrown to the winds–yougather certainly and safely around yourself;Yourself! Yourself! Yourself, for ever andever!

7.It is not to diffuse you that you were

born of your mother and father–it is to iden-980



tify you; It is not that you should be un-decided, but that you should be decided;Something long preparing and formless isarrived and formed in you, You are hence-forth secure, whatever comes or goes.

The threads that were spun are gath-ered, the weft crosses the warp, the patternis systematic.

The preparations have every one been981



justified, The orchestra have sufficiently tunedtheir instruments–the baton has given thesignal.

The guest that was coming–he waitedlong, for reasons–he is now housed; He isone of those who are beautiful and happy–he is one of those that to look upon and bewith is enough.

The law of the past cannot be eluded,982



The law of the present and future cannotbe eluded, The law of the living cannot beeluded–it is eternal; The law of promotionand transformation cannot be eluded, Thelaw of heroes and good-doers cannot be eluded,The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons–not one iota thereof can be eluded.

8.Slow-moving and black lines go cease-

983



lessly over the earth, Northerner goes car-ried, and Southerner goes carried, and theyon the Atlantic side, and they on the Pa-cific, and they between, and all through theMississippi country, and all over the earth.

The great masters and kosmos are wellas they go–the heroes and good-doers arewell, The known leaders and inventors, andthe rich owners and pious and distinguished,

984



may be well, But there is more account thanthat–there is strict account of all.

The interminable hordes of the ignorantand wicked are not nothing, The barbar-ians of Africa and Asia are not nothing, Thecommon people of Europe are not nothing–the American aborigines are not nothing,The infected in the immigrant hospital arenot nothing–the murderer or mean person

985



is not nothing, The perpetual successionsof shallow people are not nothing as theygo, The lowest prostitute is not nothing–the mocker of religion is not nothing as hegoes.

9.I shall go with the rest–we have satis-

faction, I have dreamed that we are notto be changed so much, nor the law of us

986



changed, I have dreamed that heroes andgood-doers shall be under the present andpast law, And that murderers, drunkards,liars, shall be under the present and pastlaw, For I have dreamed that the law theyare under now is enough.

And I have dreamed that the satisfac-tion is not so much changed, and that thereis no life without satisfaction; What is the

987



earth? what are Body and Soul withoutsatisfaction?

I shall go with the rest, We cannot bestopped at a given point–that is no satis-faction, To show us a good thing, or a fewgood things, for a space of time–that is nosatisfaction, We must have the indestruc-tible breed of the best, regardless of time.If otherwise, all these things came but to

988



ashes of dung, If maggots and rats endedus, then alarum! for we are betrayed! Thenindeed suspicion of death.

Do you suspect death? If I were to sus-pect death, I should die now: Do you thinkI could walk pleasantly and well-suited to-ward annihilation?

10.Pleasantly and well-suited I walk: Whither

989



I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good;The whole universe indicates that it is good,The past and the present indicate that it isgood.

How beautiful and perfect are the ani-mals! How perfect is my Soul! How perfectthe earth, and the minutest thing upon it!What is called good is perfect, and what iscalled bad is just as perfect, The vegetables

990



and minerals are all perfect, and the impon-derable fluids are perfect; Slowly and surelythey have passed on to this, and slowly andsurely they yet pass on.

My Soul! if I realise you, I have satis-faction; Animals and vegetables! if I realiseyou, I have satisfaction; Laws of the earthand air! if I realise you, I have satisfaction.

I cannot define my satisfaction, yet it is991



so; I cannot define my life, yet it is so.11.It comes to me now! I swear I think

now that everything without exception hasan eternal soul! The trees have, rooted inthe ground! the weeds of the sea have! theanimals!

I swear I think there is nothing but im-mortality! That the exquisite scheme is for

992



it, and the nebulous float is for it, and thecohering is for it; And all preparation is forit! and identity is for it! and life and deathare altogether for it!

THIS COMPOST.1.Something startles me where I thought I

was safest; I withdraw from the still woodsI loved; I will not go now on the pastures

993



to walk; I will not strip the clothes frommy body to meet my lover the sea; I willnot touch my flesh to the earth, as to otherflesh, to renew me.

2.O how can the ground not sicken? How

can you be alive, you growths of spring?How can you furnish health, you blood of herbs, roots, orchards, grain? Are they not

994



continually putting distempered corpses inyou? Is not every continent worked overand over with sour dead?

Where have you disposed of their car-casses? Those drunkards and gluttons of somany generations; Where have you drawnoff all the foul liquid and meat? I do notsee any of it upon you to-day–or perhaps Iam deceived; I will run a furrow with my

995



plough–I will press my spade through thesod, and turn it up underneath; I am sureI shall expose some of the foul meat.

3.Behold this compost! behold it well!

Perhaps every mite has once formed partof a sick person–Yet behold! The grass cov-ers the prairies, The bean bursts noiselesslythrough the mould in the garden, The deli-

996



cate spear of the onion pierces upward, Theapple-buds cluster together on the apple branches,The resurrection of the wheat appears withpale visage out of its graves, The tinge awakesover the willow-tree and the mulberry-tree,The he-birds carol mornings and evenings,while the she-birds sit on their nests, Theyoung of poultry break through the hatchedeggs, The new-born of animals appear–the

997



calf is dropped from the cow, the colt fromthe mare, Out of its little hill faithfully risethe potato’s dark-green leaves, Out of itshill rises the yellow maize-stalk; The sum-mer growth is innocent and disdainful aboveall those strata of sour dead.

What chemistry! That the winds arereally not infectious, That this is no cheat,this transparent green-wash of the sea, which

998



is so amorous after me; That it is safe to al-low it to lick my naked body all over with itstongues, That it will not endanger me withthe fevers that have deposited themselvesin it, That all is clean for ever and for ever,That the cool drink from the well tastesso good, That blackberries are so flavorousand juicy, That the fruits of the apple-orchard,and of the orange-orchard–that melons, grapes,

999



peaches, plums, will none of them poisonme, That when I recline on the grass I donot catch any disease, Though probably ev-ery sphere of grass rises out of what wasonce a catching disease.

4.Now I am terrified at the Earth! it is

that calm and patient, It grows such sweetthings out of such corruptions, It turns harm-

1000



less and stainless on its axis, with such end-less successions of diseased corpses, It distilssuch exquisite winds out of such infused fe-tor, It renews with such unwitting looks itsprodigal, annual, sumptuous crops, It givessuch divine materials to men, and acceptssuch leavings from them at last.

DESPAIRING CRIES.1.

1001



Despairing cries float ceaselessly towardme, day and night, The sad voice of Death–the call of my nearest lover, putting forth,alarmed, uncertain, ” The Sea I am quicklyto sail: come tell me, Come tell me where Iam speeding–tell me my destination .”

2.I understand your anguish, but I cannot

help you; I approach, hear, behold–the sad1002



mouth, the look out of the eyes, your muteinquiry, ” Whither I go from the bed I re-cline on, come tell me .” Old age, alarmed,uncertain–A young woman’s voice, appeal-ing to me for comfort; A young man’s voice,” Shall I not escape ?”

THE CITY DEAD-HOUSEBy the City Dead-House, by the gate,

As idly sauntering, wending my way from1003



the clangour, I curious pause–for lo! an out-cast form, a poor dead prostitute brought;Her corpse they deposit unclaimed, it lieson the damp brick pavement. The divinewoman, her body–I see the body–I look onit alone, That house once full of passionand beauty–all else I notice not; Nor still-ness so cold, nor running water from faucet,nor odours morbific impress me; But the

1004



house alone–that wondrous house–that del-icate fair house–that ruin! That immortalhouse, more than all the rows of dwellingsever built, Or white-domed Capitol itself,with majestic figure surmounted–or all theold high-spired cathedrals, That little housealone, more than them all–poor, desperatehouse! Fair, fearful wreck! tenement of aSoul! itself a Soul! Unclaimed, avoided

1005



house! take one breath from my tremu-lous lips; Take one tear, dropped aside asI go, for thought of you, Dead house of love! house of madness and sin, crumbled!crushed! House of life–erewhile talking andlaughing–but ah, poor house! dead eventhen; Months, years, an echoing, garnishedhouse-but dead, dead, dead!

TO ONE SHORTLY TO DIE.1006



1.From all the rest I single out you, hav-

ing a message for you: You are to die–Letothers tell you what they please, I cannotprevaricate, I am exact and merciless, butI love you–There is no escape for you.

2.Softly I lay my right hand upon you–

you just feel it; I do not argue–I bend my1007



head close, and half envelop it, I sit qui-etly by–I remain faithful, I am more thannurse, more than parent or neighbour, I ab-solve you from all except yourself, spiritual,bodily–that is eternal,– The corpse you willleave will be but excrementitious.

The sun bursts through in unlooked-fordirections! Strong thoughts fill you, andconfidence–you smile! You forget you are

1008



sick, as I forget you are sick, You do not seethe medicines–you do not mind the weep-ing friends–I am with you, I exclude othersfrom you–there is nothing to be commiser-ated, I do not commiserate–I congratulateyou.

UNNAMED LANDS.1.Nations, ten thousand years before these

1009



States, and many times ten thousand yearsbefore these States; Garnered clusters of ages, that men and women like us grew upand travelled their course, and passed on;What vast-built cities–what orderly republics–what pastoral tribes and nomads; What his-tories, rulers, heroes, perhaps transcendingall others; What laws, customs, wealth, arts,traditions; What sort of marriage–what costumes–

1010



what physiology and phrenology; What of liberty and slavery among them–what theythought of death and the soul; Who werewitty and wise–who beautiful and poetic–who brutish and undeveloped; Not a mark,not a record remains,–And yet all remains.

2.O I know that those men and women

were not for nothing, any more than we are1011



for nothing; I know that they belong to thescheme of the world every bit as much as wenow belong to it, and as all will henceforthbelong to it.

Afar they stand–yet near to me theystand, Some with oval countenances, learnedand calm, Some naked and savage–Somelike huge collections of insects, Some in tents–herdsmen, patriarchs, tribes, horsemen, Some

1012



prowling through woods–Some living peace-ably on farms, labouring, reaping, fillingbarns, Some traversing paved avenues, amidtemples, palaces, factories, libraries, shows,courts, theatres, wonderful monuments.

Are those billions of men really gone?Are those women of the old experience of the earth gone? Do their lives, cities, arts,rest only with us? Did they achieve nothing

1013



for good, for themselves?3.I believe, of all those billions of men and

women that filled the unnamed lands, everyone exists this hour, here or elsewhere, in-visible to us, in exact proportion to whathe or she grew from in life, and out of whathe or she did, felt, became, loved, sinned,in life.

1014



I believe that was not the end of thosenations, or any person of them, any morethan this shall be the end of my nation,or of me; Of their languages, governments,marriage, literature, products, games, wars,manners, crimes, prisons, slaves, heroes, po-ets, I suspect their results curiously await inthe yet unseen world–counterparts of whataccrued to them in the seen world; I sus-

1015



pect I shall meet them there, I suspect Ishall there find each old particular of thoseunnamed lands.

SIMILITUDE.1.On the beach at night alone, As the

old Mother sways her to and fro, singingher savage and husky song, As I watch thebright stars shining–I think a thought of the

1016



clef of the universes, and of the future.2.A VAST SIMILITUDE interlocks all, All

spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns,moons, planets, comets, asteroids, All thesubstances of the same, and all that is spir-itual upon the same, All distances of place,however wide, All distances of time–all inan-imate forms, All Souls–all living bodies, though

1017



they be ever so different, or in different worlds,All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes–the fishes, the brutes, All men and women–me also; All nations, colours, barbarisms,civilisations, languages; All identities thathave existed, or may exist, on this globe,or any globe; All lives and deaths–all of the past, present, future; This vast simil-itude spans them, and always has spanned,

1018



and shall for ever span them, and compactlyhold them.

THE SQUARE DEIFIC.GOD.Chanting the Square Deific, out of the

One advancing, out of the sides; Out of theold and new–out of the square entirely di-vine, Solid, four-sided, (all the sides needed)–From this side JEHOVAH am I, Old Brahm

1019



I, and I Saturnius am; Not Time affects me–I am Time, modern as any; Unpersuadable,relentless, executing righteous judgments;As the Earth, the Father, the brown oldKronos, with laws, Aged beyond computation–yet ever new–ever with those mighty lawsrolling, Relentless, I forgive no man–whoeversins dies–I will have that man’s life; There-fore let none expect mercy–Have the sea-

1020



sons, gravitation, the appointed days, mercy?–No more have I; But as the seasons, andgravitation–and as all the appointed days,that forgive not, I dispense from this sidejudgments inexorable, without the least re-morse.

SAVIOUR.Consolator most mild, the promised one

advancing, With gentle hand extended, the1021



mightier God am I, Foretold by prophetsand poets, in their most wrapt propheciesand poems; From this side, lo! the LordCHRIST gazes–lo! Hermes I–lo! mine isHercules’ face; All sorrow, labour, suffer-ing, I, tallying it, absorb in myself; Manytimes have I been rejected, taunted, put inprison, and crucified–and many times shallbe again; All the world have I given up for

1022



my dear brothers’ and sisters’ sake–for thesoul’s sake; Wending my way through thehomes of men, rich or poor, with the kiss of affection; For I am affection–I am the cheer-bringing God, with hope, and all- enclos-ing charity; Conqueror yet–for before me allthe armies and soldiers of the earth shallyet bow–and all the weapons of war be-come impotent: With indulgent words, as

1023



to children–with fresh and sane words, mineonly; Young and strong I pass, knowing wellI am destined myself to an early death: Butmy Charity has no death–my Wisdom diesnot, neither early nor late, And my sweetLove, bequeathed here and elsewhere, neverdies.

SATAN.Aloof, dissatisfied, plotting revolt, Com-

1024



rade of criminals, brother of slaves, Crafty,despised, a drudge, ignorant, With sudraface and worn brow–black, but in the depthsof my heart proud as any; Lifted, now andalways, against whoever, scorning, assumesto rule me; Morose, full of guile, full of reminiscences, brooding, with many wiles,Though it was thought I was baffled anddispelled, and my wiles done–but that will

1025



never be; Defiant I SATAN still live–stillutter words–in new lands duly appearing,and old ones also; Permanent here, from myside, warlike, equal with any, real as any,Nor time, nor change, shall ever change meor my words.

THE SPIRIT.Santa SPIRITA,[1] breather, life, Beyond

the light, lighter than light, Beyond the flames1026



of hell–joyous, leaping easily above hell; Be-yond Paradise–perfumed solely with mineown perfume; Including all life on earth–touching, including God–including Saviourand Satan; Ethereal, pervading all–for, with-out me, what were all? what were God?Essence of forms–life of the real identities,permanent, positive, namely the unseen, Lifeof the great round world, the sun and stars,

1027



and of man–I, the General Soul, Here theSquare finishing, the solid, I the most solid,Breathe my breath also through these littlesongs.

[Footnote 1: The reader will share mywish that Whitman had written sanctusspiritus , which is right, instead of santaspirita , which is methodically wrong.]

SONGS OF PARTING.1028



SINGERS AND POETS.1.The indications and tally of time; Per-

fect sanity shows the master among philosophs;Time, always without flaw, indicates itself in parts; What always indicates the poetis the crowd of the pleasant company of singers, and their words; The words of thesingers are the hours or minutes of the light

1029



or dark–but the words of the maker of po-ems are the general light and dark; Themaker of poems settles justice, reality, im-mortality, His insight and power encirclethings and the human race, He is the gloryand extract, thus far, of things and of thehuman race.

2.The singers do not beget–only the POET

1030



begets; The singers are welcomed, under-stood, appear often enough–but rare hasthe day been, likewise the spot, of the birthof the maker of poems; Not every century,or every five centuries, has contained sucha day, for all its names. The singers of suc-cessive hours of centuries may have ostensi-ble names, but the name of each of themis one of the singers; The name of each

1031



is eye-singer, ear-singer, head-singer, sweet-singer, echo-singer, parlour-singer, love-singer,or something else.

3.All this time, and at all times, wait the

words of poems; The greatness of sons isthe exuding of the greatness of mothers andfathers; The words of poems are the tuftand final applause of science.

1032



Divine instinct, breadth of vision, thelaw of reason, health, rudeness of body, with-drawnness, gaiety, sun-tan, air-sweetness–such are some of the words of poems.

4.The sailor and traveller underlie the maker

of poems, The builder, geometer, chemist,anatomist, phrenologist, artist–all these un-derlie the maker of poems.

1033



5.The words of the true poems give you

more than poems, They give you, to formfor yourself, poems, religions, politics, war,peace, behaviour, histories, essays, romances,and everything else, They balance ranks,colours, races, creeds, and the sexes, Theydo not seek beauty–they are sought, Forever touching them, or close upon them, fol-

1034



lows beauty, longing, fain, love-sick. Theyprepare for death–yet are they not the fin-ish, but rather the outset, They bring noneto his or her terminus, or to be content andfull; Whom they take, they take into space,to behold the birth of stars, to learn one of the meanings, To launch off with absolutefaith–to sweep through the ceaseless rings,and never be quiet again.

1035



TO A HISTORIAN.You who celebrate bygones: Who have

explored the outward, the surfaces of theraces–the life that has exhibited itself; Whohave treated of man as the creature of poli-tics, aggregates, rulers, and priests. I, habitueof the Alleghanies, treating man as he isin himself, in his own rights, Pressing thepulse of the life that has seldom exhibited

1036



itself, the great pride of man in himself;Chanter of Personality, outlining what isyet to be; I project the history of the fu-ture.

FIT AUDIENCE.1.Whoever you are, holding me now in

hand, Without one thing, all will be useless:I give you fair warning, before you attempt

1037



me further, I am not what you supposed,but far different.

2.Who is he that would become my fol-

lower? Who would sign himself a candidatefor my affections?

The way is suspicious–the result uncer-tain, perhaps destructive; You would haveto give up all else–I alone would expect to

1038



be your God, sole and exclusive; Your novi-tiate would even then be long and exhaust-ing, The whole past theory of your life, andall conformity to the lives around you, wouldhave to be abandoned; Therefore release menow, before troubling yourself any further–Let go your hand from my shoulders, Putme down, and depart on your way.

Or else, by stealth, in some wood, for1039



trial, Or back of a rock, in the open air,(For in any roofed room of a house I emergenot–nor in company, And in libraries I lie asone dumb, a gawk, or unborn, or dead,) Butjust possibly with you on a high hill–firstwatching lest any person, for miles around,approach unawares– Or possibly with yousailing at sea, or on the beach of the sea,or some quiet island, Here to put your lips

1040



upon mine I permit you, With the com-rade’s long-dwelling kiss, or the new hus-band’s kiss, For I am the new husband, andI am the comrade.

Or, if you will, thrusting me beneathyour clothing, Where I may feel the throbsof your heart, or rest upon your hip, Carryme when you go forth over land or sea;For thus, merely touching you, is enough–

1041



is best, And thus, touching you, would Isilently sleep, and be carried eternally.

3.But these leaves conning, you con at

peril, For these leaves, and me, you willnot understand, They will elude you at first,and still more afterward–I will certainly eludeyou, Even while you should think you hadunquestionably caught me, behold! Already

1042



perhaps more; For all is useless without thatwhich you may guess at many times andnot hit–that which I hinted at; Thereforerelease me, and depart on your way.

SINGING IN SPRING.These I, singing in spring, collect for

lovers: For who but I should understandlovers, and all their sorrow and joy? Andwho but I should be the poet of comrades?

1044



Collecting, I traverse the garden, the world–but soon I pass the gates, Now along thepond-side–now wading in a little, fearingnot the wet, Now by the post-and-rail fences,where the old stones thrown there, pickedfrom the fields, have accumulated, Wild flow-ers and vines and weeds come up throughthe stones, and partly cover them–Beyondthese I pass, Far, far in the forest, before

1045



I think where I go, Solitary, smelling theearthy smell, stopping now and then in thesilence; Alone, I had thought–yet soon asilent troop gathers around me; Some walkby my side, and some behind, and some em-brace my arms or neck, They, the spirits of friends, dead or alive–thicker they come, agreat crowd, and I in the middle, Collect-ing, dispensing, singing in spring, there I

1046



wander with them, Plucking something fortokens–tossing toward whoever is near me.Here lilac, with a branch of pine, Here, outof my pocket, some moss which I pulledoff a live-oak in Florida, as it hung trailingdown, Here some pinks and laurel leaves,and a handful of sage, And here what Inow draw from the water, wading in thepond-side, (O here I last saw him that ten-

1047



derly loves me–and returns again, never toseparate from me, And this, O this shallhenceforth be the token of comrades–thisCalamus- root[1] shall, Interchange it, youths,with each other! Let none render it back!)And twigs of maple, and a bunch of wild or-ange, and chestnut, And stems of currants,and plum-blows, and the aromatic cedar,These I, compassed around by a thick cloud

1048



of spirits, Wandering, point to, or touch asI pass, or throw them loosely from me, In-dicating to each one what he shall have–giving something to each. But what I drewfrom the water by the pond-side, that I re-serve; I will give of it–but only to them thatlove as I myself am capable of loving.

[Footnote 1: I am favoured with the fol-lowing indication, from Mr Whitman him-

1049



self, of the relation in which this word Cala-mus is to be understood:–”Calamus is thevery large and aromatic grass or rush grow-ing about water-ponds in the valleys–spearsabout three feet high; often called SweetFlag; grows all over the Northern and Mid-dle States. The recherche or ethereal senseof the term, as used in my book, arisesprobably from the actual Calamus present-

1050



ing the biggest and hardiest kind of spearsof grass, and their fresh, aquatic, pungentbouquet .”]

LOVE OF COMRADES.1.Come, I will make the continent indis-

soluble; I will make the most splendid racethe sun ever yet shone upon! I will make di-vine magnetic lands, With the love of com-

1051



rades, With the life-long love of comrades.2.I will plant companionship thick as trees

along all the rivers of America, and alongthe shores of the great lakes, and all overthe prairies; I will make inseparable cities,with their arms about each other’s necks;By the love of comrades, By the manly loveof comrades.

1052



3.For you these, from me, O Democracy,

to serve you, ma femme ! For you! foryou, I am trilling these songs, In the loveof comrades, In the high-towering love of comrades.

PULSE OF MY LIFE.Not heaving from my ribbed breast only;

Not in sighs at night, in rage, dissatisfied1053



with myself; Not in those long-drawn, ill-suppressed sighs; Not in many an oath andpromise broken; Not in my wilful and sav-age soul’s volition; Not in the subtle nour-ishment of the air; Not in this beating andpounding at my temples and wrists; Notin the curious systole and diastole within,which will one day cease; Not in many ahungry wish, told to the skies only; Not

1054



in cries, laughter, defiances, thrown fromme when alone, far in the wilds; Not inhusky pantings through clenched teeth; Notin sounded and resounded words–chatteringwords, echoes, dead words; Not in the mur-murs of my dreams while I sleep, Nor theother murmurs of these incredible dreamsof every day; Nor in the limbs and sensesof my body, that take you and dismiss you

1055



continually–Not there; Not in any or all of them, O Adhesiveness! O pulse of my life!Need I that you exist and show yourself,any more than in these songs.

AUXILIARIES.WHAT place is besieged, and vainly tries

to raise the siege? Lo! I send to that placea commander, swift, brave, immortal; Andwith him horse and foot, and parks of ar-

1056



tillery, And artillerymen, the deadliest thatever fired gun.

REALITIES.1.As I walk, solitary, unattended, Around

me I hear that eclat of the world–politics,produce, The announcements of recognisedthings–science, The approved growth of cities,and the spread of inventions.

1057



I see the ships, (they will last a fewyears,) The vast factories, with their fore-men and workmen, And hear the endorse-ment of all, and do not object to it.

2.But I too announce solid things; Sci-

ence, ships, politics, cities, factories, are notnothing–they serve, They stand for realities–all is as it should be.

1058



3.Then my realities; What else is so real

as mine? Libertad, and the divine Average-Freedom to every slave on the face of theearth, The rapt promises and lumine [1]of seers–the spiritual world–these centuries-lasting songs, And our visions, the visionsof poets, the most solid announcements of any.

1059



For we support all, After the rest is doneand gone, we remain, There is no final re-liance but upon us; Democracy rests finallyupon us, (I, my brethren, begin it,) And ourvisions sweep through eternity.

[Footnote 1: I suppose Whitman getsthis odd word lumine , by a process of hisown, out of illuminati , and intends it tostand for what would be called clairvoy-

1060



ance, intuition.]NEARING DEPARTURE.

1.As nearing departure, As the time draws

nigh, glooming, a cloud, A dread beyond, of I know not what, darkens me.

2.I shall go forth, I shall traverse the

States–but I cannot tell whither or how long;1061



Perhaps soon, some day or night while I amsinging, my voice will suddenly cease.

3.O book and chant! must all then amount

to but this? Must we barely arrive at thisbeginning of me?... And yet it is enough, Osoul! O soul! we have positively appeared–that is enough.

POETS TO COME.1062



1.Poets to come! Not to-day is to justify

me, and Democracy, and what we are for;But you, a new brood, native, athletic, con-tinental, greater than before known, Youmust justify me.

2.I but write one or two indicative words

for the future, I but advance a moment,1063



only to wheel and hurry back in the dark-ness.

I am a man who, sauntering along, with-out fully stopping, turns a casual look uponyou, and then averts his face, Leaving it toyou to prove and define it, Expecting themain things from you.

CENTURIES HENCE.Full of life now, compact, visible, I, forty

1064



years old the eighty-third year of the States,To one a century hence, or any number of centuries hence, To you, yet unborn, theseseeking you.

When you read these, I, that was vis-ible, am become invisible; Now it is you,compact, visible, realising my poems, seek-ing me; Fancying how happy you were, if Icould be with you, and become your loving

1065



comrade; Be it as if I were with you. Benot too certain but I am now with you.

SO LONG!1.To conclude–I announce what comes af-

ter me; I announce mightier offspring, ora-tors, days, and then depart,

I remember I said, before my leaves sprangat all, I would raise my voice jocund and

1066



strong, with reference to consummations.When America does what was promised,

When there are plentiful athletic bards, in-land and sea-board, When through theseStates walk a hundred millions of superbpersons, When the rest part away for su-perb persons, and contribute to them, Whenbreeds of the most perfect mothers denoteAmerica, Then to me my due fruition.

1067



I have pressed through in my own right,I have offered my style to every one–I havejourneyed with confident step. While mypleasure is yet at the full, I whisper, Solong ! And take the young woman’s hand,and the young man’s hand for the last time.

2.I announce natural persons to arise, I

announce justice triumphant, I announce1068



uncompromising liberty and equality, I an-nounce the justification of candour, and thejustification of pride.

I announce that the identity of theseStates is a single identity only, I announcethe Union, out of all its struggles and wars,more and more compact, I announce splen-dours and majesties to make all the previ-ous politics of the earth insignificant.

1069



I announce a man or woman coming–perhaps you are the one ( So long !) I an-nounce the great individual, fluid as Na-ture, chaste, affectionate, compassionate, fullyarmed. I announce a life that shall be co-pious, vehement, spiritual, bold, And I an-nounce an old age that shall lightly and joy-fully meet its translation.

3.1070



O thicker and faster! ( So long !) Ocrowding too close upon me; I foresee toomuch–it means more than I thought, It ap-pears to me I am dying.

Hasten throat, and sound your last! Saluteme–salute the days once more. Peal the oldcry once more.

Screaming electric, the atmosphere us-ing, At random glancing, each as I notice

1071



absorbing, Swiftly on, but a little while alight-ing, Curious enveloped messages delivering,Sparkles hot, seed ethereal, down in the dirtdropping, Myself unknowing, my commis-sion obeying, to question it never daring, Toages, and ages yet, the growth of the seedleaving, To troops out of me rising–they thetasks I have set promulging, To women cer-tain whispers of myself bequeathing–their

1072



affection me more clearly explaining, To youngmen my problems offering–no dallier I–I themuscle of their brains trying, So I pass–alittle time vocal, visible, contrary, After-ward, a melodious echo, passionately bentfor–death making me really undying,– Thebest of me then when no longer visible–fortoward that I have been incessantly prepar-ing.

1073



What is there more, that I lag and pause,and crouch extended with unshut mouth?Is there a single final farewell?

4.My songs cease–I abandon them, From

behind the screen where I hid, I advancepersonally, solely to you.

Camerado! This is no book; Who touchesthis touches a man. (Is it night? Are we

1074



here alone?) It is I you hold, and who holdsyou, I spring from the pages into your arms–decease calls me forth.

O how your fingers drowse me! Yourbreath falls around me like dew–your pulselulls the tympans of my ears, I feel immergedfrom head to foot, Delicious–enough.

Enough, O deed impromptu and secret!Enough, O gliding present! Enough, O summed-

1075



up past!5.Dear friend, whoever you are, here, take

this kiss, I give it especially to you–Do notforget me,

I feel like one who has done his work–I progress on,–(long enough have I dalliedwith Life,) The unknown sphere, more realthan I dreamed, more direct, awakening rays

1076



about me– So long ! Remember my words–I love you–I depart from materials, I am asone disembodied, triumphant, dead.

POSTSCRIPT.While this Selection was passing through

the press, it has been my privilege to re-ceive two letters from Mr. Whitman, be-sides another communicated to me througha friend. I find my experience to be the

1077



same as that of some previous writers: that,if one admires Whitman in reading his books,one loves him on coming into any personalrelation with him–even the comparativelydistant relation of letter-writing.

The more I have to thank the poet forthe substance and tone of his letters, andsome particular expressions in them, themore does it become incumbent upon me

1078

poems walt whitman

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