Leaves of grass. :: :: University of Virginia Library

1   O TO make the most jubilant poems!
O full of music! Full of manhood, womanhood, in-     fancy!
O full of common employments ! Full of grain and      trees.
2  O for the voices of animals ! O for the swiftness      and balance of fishes !
O for the dropping of rain-drops in a poem !
O for the sunshine, and motion of waves in a poem.
3  O to be on the sea ! the wind, the wide waters      around;
O to sail in a ship under full sail at sea.
4  O the joy of my spirit! It is uncaged ! It darts      like lightning !
It is not enough to have this globe, or a certain time       — I will have thousands of globes, and all time.

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5   O the engineer's joys
To go with a locomotive !
To hear the hiss of steam — the merry shriek — the      steam-whistle — the laughing locomotive!
To push with resistless way, and speed off in the dis-     tance.

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6 O the horseman's and horsewoman's joys!
The saddle — the gallop — the pressure upon the seat — the cool gurgling by the ears and hair.

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7   O the fireman's joys!
I hear the alarm at dead of night,
I hear bells — shouts! — I pass the crowd — I run!
The sight of the flames maddens me with pleasure.
8  O the joy of the strong-brawn'd fighter, towering      in the arena, in perfect condition, conscious of      power, thirsting to meet his opponent.
9  O the joy of that vast elemental sympathy which      only the human Soul is capable of generating      and emitting in steady and limitless floods.

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10   O the mother's joys!
The watching — the endurance — the precious love —      the anguish — the patiently yielded life.
11  O the joy of increase, growth, recuperation,
The joy of soothing and pacifying — the joy of con-     cord and harmony.
12  O to go back to the place where I was born!
To hear the birds sing once more!
To ramble about the house and barn, and over the      fields, once more,
And through the orchard and along the old lanes      once more.

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13 O male and female!
O the presence of women! (I swear there is nothing more exquisite than the presence of women;)

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O for the girl, my mate! O for the happiness with      my mate!
O the young man as I pass! O I am sick after      the friendship of him who, I fear, is indifferent      to me.
14  O the streets of cities!
The flitting faces — the expressions, eyes, feet, cos-     tumes! O I cannot tell how welcome they are      to me;
O, of the men — of women toward me as I pass — The      memory of only one look — the boy lingering      and waiting.

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15   O to have been brought up on bays, lagoons, creeks      or along the coast!
O to continue and be employ'd there all my life!
O the briny and damp smell — the shore — the salt      weeds exposed at low water,
The work of fishermen — the work of the eel-fisher      and clam-fisher.
16  O it is I!
I come with my clam-rake and spade! I come with      my eel-spear;
Is the tide out? I join the group of clam-diggers on      the flats,
I laugh and work with them — I joke at my work, like      a mettlesome young man.
17  In winter I take my eel-basket and eel-spear and      travel out on foot on the ice — I have a small      axe to cut holes in the ice;
Behold me, well-clothed, going gaily, or returning in      the afternoon — my brood of tough boys accom-     panying me,

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My brood of grown and part-grown boys, who love      to be with no one else so well as they love to      be with me,
By day to work with me, and by night to sleep with      me.
18  Or, another time, in warm weather, out in a boat,      to lift the lobster-pots, where they are sunk      with heavy stones, (I know the buoys;)
O the sweetness of the Fifth-month morning upon      the water, as I row, just before sunrise, toward      the buoys;
I pull the wicker pots up slantingly — the dark green      lobsters are desperate with their claws, as I      take them out — I insert wooden pegs in the      joints of their pincers,
I go to all the places, one after another, and then row      back to the shore,
There, in a huge kettle of boiling water, the lobsters      shall be boil'd till their color becomes scarlet.
19  Or, another time, mackerel-taking,
Voracious, mad for the hook, near the surface, they      seem to fill the water for miles;
Or, another time, fishing for rock-fish in Chesapeake      Bay — I one of the brown-faced crew;
Or, another time, trailing for blue-fish off Paumanok,      I stand with braced body,
My left foot is on the gunwale — my right arm throws      the coils of slender rope,
In sight around me the quick veering and darting of      fifty skiffs, my companions.

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20 O boating on the rivers!
The voyage down the Niagara, (the St. Lawrence,) — the superb scenery — the steamers,

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The ships sailing — the Thousand Islands — the occa-     sional timber-raft, and the raftsmen with long-     reaching sweep-oars,
The little huts on the rafts, and the stream of smoke      when they cook supper at evening.
21  O something pernicious and dread!
Something far away from a puny and pious life!
Something unproved! Something in a trance!
Something escaped from the anchorage, and driving      free.
22  O to work in mines, or forging iron!
Foundry casting — the foundry itself — the rude high      roof — the ample and shadow'd space,
The furnace — the hot liquid pour'd out and running.

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23   O the joys of the soldier!
To feel the presence of a brave general! to feel his      sympathy!
To behold his calmness! to be warm'd in the rays of      his smile!
To go to battle! to hear the bugles play, and the      drums beat!
To hear the crash of artillery! to see the glittering of      the bayonets and musket-barrels in the sun!
To see men fall and die and not complain!
To taste the savage taste of blood! to be so devilish!
To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy.

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24   O the whaleman's joys! O I cruise my old cruise      again!
I feel the ship's motion under me — I feel the Atlan-     tic breezes fanning me,
I hear the cry again sent down from the mast-head,      There she blows,

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Again I spring up the rigging, to look with the rest —      We see — we descend, wild with excitement,
I leap in the lower'd boat — We row toward our prey,      where he lies,
We approach, stealthy and silent — I see the moun-     tainous mass, lethargic, basking,
I see the harpooner standing up — I see the weapon      dart from his vigorous arm;
O swift, again, now, far out in the ocean, the wounded      whale, settling, running to windward, tows me,
Again I see him rise to breathe — We row close again,
I see a lance driven through his side, press'd deep,      turn'd in the wound,
Again we back off — I see him settle again — the life is      leaving him fast,
As he rises, he spouts blood — I see him swim in circles      narrower and narrower, swiftly cutting the      water — I see him die,
He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the cir-     cle, and then falls flat and still in the bloody      foam.

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25   O the old manhood of me, my joy!
My children and grand-children — my white hair and      beard,
My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long      stretch of my life.
26  O the ripen'd joy of womanhood!
O perfect happiness at last!
I am more than eighty years of age — my hair, too, is      pure white — I am the most venerable mother;
How clear is my mind! how all people draw nigh to      me!
What attractions are these, beyond any before? what      bloom, more than the bloom of youth?
What beauty is this that descends upon me, and rises      out of me?

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27   O the joy of my soul leaning poised on itself — re-     ceiving identity through materials, and loving      them — observing characters, and absorbing      them;
O my soul, vibrated back to me, from them — from      facts, sight, hearing, touch, my phrenology,      reason, articulation, comparison, memory, and      the like;
O the real life of my senses and flesh, transcending      my senses and flesh;
O my body, done with materials — my sight, done with      my material eyes;
O what is proved to me this day, beyond cavil, that it      is not my material eyes which finally see,
Nor my material body which finally loves, walks,      laughs, shouts, embraces, procreates.

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28   O the farmer's joys!
Ohioan's, Illinoisian's, Wisconsinese', Kanadian's, Io-     wan's, Kansian's, Missourian's, Oregonese' joys,
To rise at peep of day, and pass forth nimbly to work,
To plow land in the fall for winter-sown crops,
To plough land in the spring for maize,
To train orchards — to graft the trees — to gather ap-     ples in the fall.
29  O the pleasure with trees!
The orchard — the forest — the oak, cedar, pine, pekan-     tree,
The honey-locust, black-walnut, cottonwood, and mag-     nolia.

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30 O Death!
O the beautiful touch of Death, soothing and be- numbing a few moments, for reasons;

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O that of myself, discharging my excrementitious body, to be burn'd, or render'd to powder, or buried,
My real body doubtless left to me for other spheres,
My voided body, nothing more to me, returning to the purifications, further offices, eternal uses of the earth.

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31   O to bathe in the swimming-bath, or in a good      place along shore!
To splash the water! to walk ankle-deep — to race      naked along the shore.
32  O to realize space!
The plenteousness of all — that there are no bounds;
To emerge, and be of the sky — of the sun and moon,      and the flying clouds, as one with them.

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33   O, while I live, to be the ruler of life — not a slave,
To meet life as a powerful conquerer,
No fumes — no ennui — no more complaints or scornful      criticisms.
34  O me repellent and ugly!
To these proud laws of the air, the water, and the      ground, proving my interior Soul impregnable,      And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me.
35  O to attract by more than attraction!
How it is I know not — yet behold! the something      which obeys none of the rest,
It is offensive, never defensive — yet how magnetic it      draws.

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36 O the joy of suffering!
To struggle against great odds! to meet enemies un- daunted!

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To be entirely alone with them! to find how much one      can stand!
To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, death,      face to face!
To mount the scaffold! to advance to the muzzles of      guns with perfect nonchalance!
To be indeed a God!
37  O the gleesome saunter over fields and hill-sides!
The leaves and flowers of the commonest weeds — the      moist fresh stillness of the woods,
The exquisite smell of the earth at day-break, and all      through the forenoon.
38  O love-branches! love-root! love-apples!
O chaste and electric torrents! O mad-sweet drops.
39  O the orator's joys!
To inflate the chest — to roll the thunder of the voice      out from the ribs and throat,
To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with      yourself,
To lead America — to quell America with a great      tongue.
40  O the joy of a manly self-hood!
Personality — to be servile to none — to defer to none       — not to any tyrant, known or unknown,
To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and      elastic,
To look with calm gaze, or with a flashing eye,
To speak with a full and sonorous voice, out of a      broad chest,
To confront with your personality all the other per-     sonalities of the earth.
41  O to have my life henceforth my poem of joys!
To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on,      float on,
An athlete — full of rich words — full of joys.

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