 | Leaves of grass. (1861-1861) |  |
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[11. The thought of fruitage]
The thought of fruitage,Of Death, (the life greater)—of seeds dropping into the ground—of birth,
Of the steady concentration of America, inland, upward, to impregnable and swarming places,
Of what Indiana, Kentucky, Ohio and the rest, are to be,
Of what a few years will show there in Missouri, Kansas, Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota and the rest,
Of what the feuillage of America is the preparation for—and of what all the sights, North, South, East and West, are;
Of the temporary use of materials for identity's sake,
Of departing—of the growth of a mightier race than any yet,
Of myself, soon, perhaps, closing up my songs by these shores,
Of California—of Oregon—and of me journeying hence to live and sing there;
Of the Western Sea—of the spread inland between it and the spinal river,
Of the great pastoral area, athletic and feminine,
Of all sloping down there where the fresh free-giver, the mother, the Mississippi flows—and Westward still;
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Of cities yet unsurveyed and unsuspected, (as I am also, and as it must be,)
Of the new and good names—of the strong developments—of the inalienable homesteads,
Of a free original life there—of simple diet, and clean and sweet blood,
Of litheness, majestic faces, clear eyes, and perfect physique there,
Of immense spiritual results, future years, inland, spread there each side of the Anahuacs,
Of these Leaves well-understood there, (being made for that area,)
Of the native scorn of grossness and gain there,
(O it lurks in me night and day—What is gain, after all, to savageness and freedom?)
| Leaves of grass. (1861-1861) | |