 | Leaves of grass. |  |
1b
SEQUEL TO DRUM-TAPS.
(SINCE THE PRECEDING CAME
FROM THE PRESS.)
WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE
DOOR-YARD BLOOM'D.
AND
OTHER PIECES.
WASHINGTON.
1865-6.
2b
CONTENTS.
| When Lilacs last in the door-yard bloom'd......... | 3 |
| Race of Veterans.................................. | 12 |
| O Captain! my Captain!............................ | 13 |
| Spirit whose work is done......................... | 14 |
| Chanting the Square Deific........................ | 15 |
| I heard you, solemn sweet pipes of the Organ...... | 17 |
| Not my Enemies ever invade me..................... | 17 |
| O me! O life!..................................... | 18 |
| Ah poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats........ | 18 |
| As I lay with my head in your lap, Camerado....... | 19 |
| This day, O Soul.................................. | 19 |
| In clouds descending, in midnight sleep........... | 20 |
| An Army on the march.............................. | 20 |
| Dirge for Two Veterans............................ | 21 |
| How solemn, as one by one......................... | 22 |
| Lo! Victress on the Peaks!........................ | 23 |
| Reconciliation.................................... | 23 |
| To the leaven'd Soil they trod.................... | 24 |
3b
WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE
DOOR-YARD BLOOM'D.
1
1 WHEN lilacs last in the door-yard
bloom'd,
And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,
I mourn'd ... and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
2 O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring;
Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.
And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,
I mourn'd ... and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
2 O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring;
Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.
2
3 O powerful, western,
fallen star!
O shades of night! O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear'd! O the blank murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless! O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul!
O shades of night! O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear'd! O the blank murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless! O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul!
3
4 In the door-yard fronting
an old farm-house, near the
white-wash'd
palings,
Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the perfume strong I love,
With every leaf a miracle ...... and from this bush in the
door-yard,
With its delicate-color'd blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig, with its flower, I break.
Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the perfume strong I love,
4b
With its delicate-color'd blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig, with its flower, I break.
4
5 In the swamp, in secluded
recesses,
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.
6 Solitary, the thrush,
The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.
7 Song of the bleeding throat!
Death's outlet song of life — (for well, dear brother, I know,
If thou wast not gifted to sing, thou would'st surely die.)
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.
6 Solitary, the thrush,
The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.
7 Song of the bleeding throat!
Death's outlet song of life — (for well, dear brother, I know,
If thou wast not gifted to sing, thou would'st surely die.)
5
8 Over the breast of the
spring, the land, amid cities,
Amid lanes, and through old woods, (where lately the violets peep'd from the ground, spotting the gray debris;)
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes — passing the endless grass;
Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprising;
Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards;
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,
Night and day journeys a coffin.
Amid lanes, and through old woods, (where lately the violets peep'd from the ground, spotting the gray debris;)
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes — passing the endless grass;
Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprising;
Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards;
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,
Night and day journeys a coffin.
6
9 Coffin that passes
through lanes and streets,
Through day and night, with the great cloud darkening the land,
With the pomp of the inloop'd flags, with the cities draped in black,
With the show of the States themselves, as of crape-veil'd
women,
standing,
With processions long and winding, and the flambeaus of the night,
With the countless torches lit — with the silent sea of faces, and the unbared heads,
With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,
With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn;
With all the mournful voices of the dirges, pour'd around the coffin,
The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs — Where amid these you journey,
With the tolling, tolling bells' perpetual clang;
Here! coffin that slowly passes.
I give you my sprig of lilac.
Through day and night, with the great cloud darkening the land,
With the pomp of the inloop'd flags, with the cities draped in black,
5b
With processions long and winding, and the flambeaus of the night,
With the countless torches lit — with the silent sea of faces, and the unbared heads,
With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,
With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn;
With all the mournful voices of the dirges, pour'd around the coffin,
The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs — Where amid these you journey,
With the tolling, tolling bells' perpetual clang;
Here! coffin that slowly passes.
I give you my sprig of lilac.
7
10 (Nor for you, for one,
alone;
Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring:
For fresh as the morning — thus would I chant a song for you, O sane and sacred death.
11 All over bouquets of roses,
O death! I cover you over with roses and early lilies;
But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,
Copious, I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes:
With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,
For you and the coffins all of you, O death.)
Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring:
For fresh as the morning — thus would I chant a song for you, O sane and sacred death.
11 All over bouquets of roses,
O death! I cover you over with roses and early lilies;
But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,
Copious, I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes:
With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,
For you and the coffins all of you, O death.)
8
12 O western orb, sailing
the heaven!
Now I know what you must have meant, as a month since we walk'd,
As we walk'd up and down in the dark blue so mystic,
As we walk'd in silence the transparent shadowy night,
As I saw you had something to tell, as you bent to me night
after night,
As you droop'd from the sky low down, as if to my side, (while the other stars all look'd on;)
As we wander'd together the solemn night, (for something I know not what, kept me from sleep;)
As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west, ere you went, how full you were of woe;
As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze, in the cool transparent night,
As I watch'd where you pass'd and was lost in the nether- ward black of the night,
As my soul, in its trouble, dissatisfied, sank, as where you, sad orb,
Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.
Now I know what you must have meant, as a month since we walk'd,
As we walk'd up and down in the dark blue so mystic,
As we walk'd in silence the transparent shadowy night,
6b
As you droop'd from the sky low down, as if to my side, (while the other stars all look'd on;)
As we wander'd together the solemn night, (for something I know not what, kept me from sleep;)
As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west, ere you went, how full you were of woe;
As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze, in the cool transparent night,
As I watch'd where you pass'd and was lost in the nether- ward black of the night,
As my soul, in its trouble, dissatisfied, sank, as where you, sad orb,
Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.
9
13 Sing on, there in the
swamp!
O singer bashful and tender! I hear your notes — I hear your call;
I hear — I come presently — I understand you;
But a moment I linger — for the lustrous star has detain'd me;
The star, my comrade, departing, holds and detains me.
O singer bashful and tender! I hear your notes — I hear your call;
I hear — I come presently — I understand you;
But a moment I linger — for the lustrous star has detain'd me;
The star, my comrade, departing, holds and detains me.
10
14 O how shall I warble
myself for the dead one there I
loved?
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
And what shall my perfume be, for the grave of him I love?
15 Sea-winds, blown from east and west,
Blown from the eastern sea, and blown from the western sea, till there on the prairies meeting:
These, and with these, and the breath of my chant,
I perfume the grave of him I love.
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
And what shall my perfume be, for the grave of him I love?
15 Sea-winds, blown from east and west,
Blown from the eastern sea, and blown from the western sea, till there on the prairies meeting:
These, and with these, and the breath of my chant,
I perfume the grave of him I love.
7b
11
16 O what shall I hang on
the chamber walls?
And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls,
To adorn the burial-house of him I love?
17 Pictures of growing spring, and farms, and homes,
With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray-smoke lucid and bright,
With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air;
With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific;
In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there;
With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows;
And the city at hand, with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys,
And all the scenes of life, and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning.
And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls,
To adorn the burial-house of him I love?
17 Pictures of growing spring, and farms, and homes,
With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray-smoke lucid and bright,
With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air;
With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific;
In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there;
With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows;
And the city at hand, with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys,
And all the scenes of life, and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning.
12
18 Lo! body and soul! this
land!
Mighty Manhattan, with spires, and the sparkling and hur- rying tides, and the ships;
The varied and ample land — the South and the North in the light — Ohio's shores, and flashing Missouri,
And ever the far-spreading prairies, cover'd with grass and corn.
19 Lo! the most excellent sun, so calm and haughty;
The violet and purple morn, with just-felt breezes:
The gentle, soft-born, measureless light;
The miracle, spreading, bathing all — the fulfill'd noon;
The coming eve, delicious — the welcome night, and the stars,
Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.
Mighty Manhattan, with spires, and the sparkling and hur- rying tides, and the ships;
The varied and ample land — the South and the North in the light — Ohio's shores, and flashing Missouri,
And ever the far-spreading prairies, cover'd with grass and corn.
19 Lo! the most excellent sun, so calm and haughty;
The violet and purple morn, with just-felt breezes:
The gentle, soft-born, measureless light;
The miracle, spreading, bathing all — the fulfill'd noon;
The coming eve, delicious — the welcome night, and the stars,
Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.
8b
13
20 Sing on! sing on, you
gray-brown bird!
Sing from the swamps, the recesses — pour your chant from the bushes;
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.
21 Sing on, dearest brother — warble your reedy song;
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.
22 O liquid, and free, and tender!
O wild and loose to my soul! O wondrous singer!
You only I hear ...... yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart;)
Yet the lilac, with mastering odor, holds me.
Sing from the swamps, the recesses — pour your chant from the bushes;
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.
21 Sing on, dearest brother — warble your reedy song;
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.
22 O liquid, and free, and tender!
O wild and loose to my soul! O wondrous singer!
You only I hear ...... yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart;)
Yet the lilac, with mastering odor, holds me.
14
23 Now while I sat in the
day, and look'd forth,
In the close of the day, with its light, and the fields of spring, and the farmer preparing his crops,
In the large unconscious scenery of my land, with its lakes and forests,
In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb'd winds, and the storms;)
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women,
The many-moving sea-tides, — and I saw the ships how they sail'd,
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor,
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages;
And the streets, how their throbbings throbb'd, and the cities pent, — lo! then and there,
Falling among them all, and upon them all, enveloping me with the rest,
Appear'd the cloud, appear'd the long black trail;
And I knew Death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death.
In the close of the day, with its light, and the fields of spring, and the farmer preparing his crops,
In the large unconscious scenery of my land, with its lakes and forests,
In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb'd winds, and the storms;)
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women,
The many-moving sea-tides, — and I saw the ships how they sail'd,
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor,
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages;
And the streets, how their throbbings throbb'd, and the cities pent, — lo! then and there,
Falling among them all, and upon them all, enveloping me with the rest,
Appear'd the cloud, appear'd the long black trail;
And I knew Death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death.
9b
15
24 Then with the knowledge
of death as walking one side of
me,
And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,
And I in the middle, as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions,
I fled forth to the hiding receiving night, that talks not,
Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness,
To the solemn shadowy cedars, and ghostly pines so still.
25 And the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd me;
The gray-brown bird I know, receiv'd us comrades three;
And he sang what seem'd the song of death, and a verse for him I love.
26 From deep secluded recesses,
From the fragrant cedars, and the ghostly pines so still,
Came the singing of the bird.
27 And the charm of the singing rapt me,
As I held, as if by their hands, my comrades in the night;
And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.
And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,
And I in the middle, as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions,
I fled forth to the hiding receiving night, that talks not,
Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness,
To the solemn shadowy cedars, and ghostly pines so still.
25 And the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd me;
The gray-brown bird I know, receiv'd us comrades three;
And he sang what seem'd the song of death, and a verse for him I love.
26 From deep secluded recesses,
From the fragrant cedars, and the ghostly pines so still,
Came the singing of the bird.
27 And the charm of the singing rapt me,
As I held, as if by their hands, my comrades in the night;
And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.
16
28 Come, lovely and
soothing Death,
Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,
In the day, in the night, to all, to each,
Sooner or later, delicate Death.
29 Prais'd be the fathomless universe,
For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious;
And for love, sweet love — But praise! O praise and praise,
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death.
30 Dark Mother, always gliding near, with soft feet,
Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?
Then I chant it for thee — I glorify thee above all;
I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.
31 Approach, encompassing Death — strong Deliveress!
When it is so — when thou hast taken them, I joyously sing the dead,
Lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee,
Laved in the flood of thy bliss, O Death.
32 From me to thee glad serenades,
Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee — adornments and feastings for thee;
And the sights of the open landscape, and the high-spread sky, are fitting,
And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.
33 The night, in silence, under many a star;
The ocean shore, and the husky whispering wave, whose voice I know;
And the soul turning to thee, O vast and well-veil'd Death,
And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.
34 Over the tree-tops I float thee a song!
Over the rising and sinking waves — over the myriad fields, and the prairies wide;
Over the dense-pack'd cities all, and the teeming wharves and ways,
I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O Death!
Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,
In the day, in the night, to all, to each,
Sooner or later, delicate Death.
29 Prais'd be the fathomless universe,
For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious;
And for love, sweet love — But praise! O praise and praise,
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death.
30 Dark Mother, always gliding near, with soft feet,
Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?
10b
I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.
31 Approach, encompassing Death — strong Deliveress!
When it is so — when thou hast taken them, I joyously sing the dead,
Lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee,
Laved in the flood of thy bliss, O Death.
32 From me to thee glad serenades,
Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee — adornments and feastings for thee;
And the sights of the open landscape, and the high-spread sky, are fitting,
And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.
33 The night, in silence, under many a star;
The ocean shore, and the husky whispering wave, whose voice I know;
And the soul turning to thee, O vast and well-veil'd Death,
And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.
34 Over the tree-tops I float thee a song!
Over the rising and sinking waves — over the myriad fields, and the prairies wide;
Over the dense-pack'd cities all, and the teeming wharves and ways,
I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O Death!
17
35 To the tally of my soul,
Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird,
With pure, deliberate notes, spreading, filling the night.
36 Loud in the pines and cedars dim,
Clear in the freshness moist, and the swamp-perfume;
And I with my comrades there in the night.
37 While my sight that was
bound in my eyes unclosed,
As to long panoramas of visions.
Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird,
With pure, deliberate notes, spreading, filling the night.
36 Loud in the pines and cedars dim,
Clear in the freshness moist, and the swamp-perfume;
And I with my comrades there in the night.
11b
As to long panoramas of visions.
18
38 I saw the vision of
armies;
And I saw, as in noiseless dreams, hundreds of battle-flags;
Borne through the smoke of the battles, and pierc'd with missiles, I saw them,
And carried hither and you through the smoke, and torn and bloody;
And at last but a few shreds of the flags left on the staffs, (and all in silence,)
And the staffs all splinter'd and broken.
39 I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,
And the white skeletons of young men — I saw them;
I saw the debris and debris of all dead soldiers;
But I saw they were not as was thought;
They themselves were fully at rest — they suffer'd not;
The living remain'd and suffer'd — the mother suffer'd,
And the wife and the child, and the musing comrade suf- fer'd,
And the armies that remain'd suffer'd.
And I saw, as in noiseless dreams, hundreds of battle-flags;
Borne through the smoke of the battles, and pierc'd with missiles, I saw them,
And carried hither and you through the smoke, and torn and bloody;
And at last but a few shreds of the flags left on the staffs, (and all in silence,)
And the staffs all splinter'd and broken.
39 I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,
And the white skeletons of young men — I saw them;
I saw the debris and debris of all dead soldiers;
But I saw they were not as was thought;
They themselves were fully at rest — they suffer'd not;
The living remain'd and suffer'd — the mother suffer'd,
And the wife and the child, and the musing comrade suf- fer'd,
And the armies that remain'd suffer'd.
19
40 Passing the visions,
passing the night;
Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands;
Passing the song of the hermit bird, and the tallying song of my soul,
Victorious song, death's outlet song, (yet varying, ever- altering song,
As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night,
Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy,)
Covering the earth, and filling the spread of the heaven,
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses.
Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands;
Passing the song of the hermit bird, and the tallying song of my soul,
Victorious song, death's outlet song, (yet varying, ever- altering song,
As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night,
Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy,)
Covering the earth, and filling the spread of the heaven,
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses.
12b
20
41 Must I leave thee, lilac
with heart-shaped leaves?
Must I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, return- ing with spring?
42 Must I pass from my song for thee;
From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, com- muning with thee,
O comrade lustrous, with silver face in the night?
Must I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, return- ing with spring?
42 Must I pass from my song for thee;
From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, com- muning with thee,
O comrade lustrous, with silver face in the night?
21
43 Yet each I keep, and
all;
The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird, I keep,
And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul, I keep,
With the lustrous and drooping star, with the countenance full of woe;
With the lilac tall, and its blossoms of mastering odor;
Comrades mine, and I in the midst, and their memory ever I keep — for the dead I loved so well;
For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands ... and this for his dear sake;
Lilac and star and bird, twined with the chant of my soul,
With the holders holding my hand, nearing the call of the bird,
There in the fragrant pines, and the cedars dusk and dim.
The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird, I keep,
And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul, I keep,
With the lustrous and drooping star, with the countenance full of woe;
With the lilac tall, and its blossoms of mastering odor;
Comrades mine, and I in the midst, and their memory ever I keep — for the dead I loved so well;
For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands ... and this for his dear sake;
Lilac and star and bird, twined with the chant of my soul,
With the holders holding my hand, nearing the call of the bird,
There in the fragrant pines, and the cedars dusk and dim.
RACE OF VETERANS.
RACE of veterans!
Race of the soil, ready for conflict! race of the conquering march!
(No more credulity's race, abiding-temper'd race;)
Race owning no law but the law of itself;
Race of passion and the storm.
Race of the soil, ready for conflict! race of the conquering march!
(No more credulity's race, abiding-temper'd race;)
Race owning no law but the law of itself;
Race of passion and the storm.
13b
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!
1
O CAPTAIN! my captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! Leave you not the little spot, Where on the deck my captain lies. Fallen cold and dead.
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! Leave you not the little spot, Where on the deck my captain lies. Fallen cold and dead.
2
O captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; O captain! dear father! This arm I push beneath you; It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead.
Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; O captain! dear father! This arm I push beneath you; It is some dream that on 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 my arm, he has no pulse nor will:
But the ship, the ship is anchor'd safe, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won: Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with silent tread, Walk the spot my captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will:
But the ship, the ship is anchor'd safe, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won: Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I, with silent tread, Walk the spot my captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
14b
SPIRIT WHOSE WORK IS DONE.
SPIRIT whose work is done! spirit of
dreadful hours!
Ere, departing, fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets;
Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet onward ever unfal- tering pressing;)
Spirit of many a solemn day, and many a savage scene! Electric spirit!
That with muttering voice, through the years now closed, like a tireless phantom flitted,
Rousing the land with breath of flame, while you beat and beat the drum;
— Now, as the sound of the drum, hollow and harsh to the last, reverberates round me;
As your ranks, your immortal ranks, return, return from the battles;
While the muskets of the young men yet lean over their shoulders;
While I look on the bayonets bristling over their shoulders;
While those slanted bayonets, whole forests of them, ap- pearing in the distance, approach and pass on, re- turning homeward,
Moving with steady motion, swaying to and fro, to the right and left,
Evenly, lightly rising and falling, as the steps keep time:
— Spirit of hours I knew, all hectic red one day, but pale as death next day;
Touch my mouth, ere you depart — press my lips close!
Leave me pulses of rage! bequeath them to me! fill me with currents convulsive!
Let them scorch and blister out of my chants, when you are gone;
Let them identify you to the future in these songs.
Ere, departing, fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets;
Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet onward ever unfal- tering pressing;)
Spirit of many a solemn day, and many a savage scene! Electric spirit!
That with muttering voice, through the years now closed, like a tireless phantom flitted,
Rousing the land with breath of flame, while you beat and beat the drum;
— Now, as the sound of the drum, hollow and harsh to the last, reverberates round me;
As your ranks, your immortal ranks, return, return from the battles;
While the muskets of the young men yet lean over their shoulders;
While I look on the bayonets bristling over their shoulders;
While those slanted bayonets, whole forests of them, ap- pearing in the distance, approach and pass on, re- turning homeward,
Moving with steady motion, swaying to and fro, to the right and left,
Evenly, lightly rising and falling, as the steps keep time:
— Spirit of hours I knew, all hectic red one day, but pale as death next day;
Touch my mouth, ere you depart — press my lips close!
Leave me pulses of rage! bequeath them to me! fill me with currents convulsive!
Let them scorch and blister out of my chants, when you are gone;
Let them identify you to the future in these songs.
15b
CHANTING THE SQUARE DEIFIC.
1
CHANTING the square deific, out of the One advancing, out
of the sides;
Out of the old and new — out of the square entirely divine,
Solid, four-sided, (all the sides needed)...from this side JEHOVAH am I,
Old Brahm 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 old Kronos, with laws,
Aged beyond computation — yet ever new — ever with those mighty laws rolling,
Relentless, I forgive no man — whoever sins, dies — I will have that man's life;
Therefore let none expect mercy — Have the seasons, gravi- tation, the appointed days, mercy? — No more have I;
But as the seasons, and gravitation — and as all the appointed days, that forgive not,
I dispense from this side judgments inexorable, without the least remorse.
Out of the old and new — out of the square entirely divine,
Solid, four-sided, (all the sides needed)...from this side JEHOVAH am I,
Old Brahm 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 old Kronos, with laws,
Aged beyond computation — yet ever new — ever with those mighty laws rolling,
Relentless, I forgive no man — whoever sins, dies — I will have that man's life;
Therefore let none expect mercy — Have the seasons, gravi- tation, the appointed days, mercy? — No more have I;
But as the seasons, and gravitation — and as all the appointed days, that forgive not,
I dispense from this side judgments inexorable, without the least remorse.
2
Consolator most mild, the promis'd one advancing,
With gentle hand extended, the mightier God am I,
Foretold by prophets and poets, in their most rapt proph- ecies and poems;
From this side, lo! the Lord CHRIST gazes — lo! Hermes I — lo! mine is Hercules' face;
All sorrow, labor, suffering, I, tallying it, absorb in myself;
Many times have I been rejected, taunted, put in prison, and crucified — and many times shall be again;
All the world have I given up for my dear brothers' and sisters' sake — for the soul's sake;
Wending my way through the homes of men, rich or
poor, with
the kiss of affection;
For I am affection — I am the cheer-bringing God, with hope, and all-enclosing Charity;
(Conqueror yet — for before me all the armies and soldiers of the earth shall yet bow — and all the weapons of war become impotent:)
With indulgent words, as to children — with fresh and sane words, mine only;
Young and strong I pass, knowing well I am destin'd my- self to an early death:
But my Charity has no death — my Wisdom dies not, neither early nor late,
And my sweet Love, bequeath'd here and elsewhere, never dies.
With gentle hand extended, the mightier God am I,
Foretold by prophets and poets, in their most rapt proph- ecies and poems;
From this side, lo! the Lord CHRIST gazes — lo! Hermes I — lo! mine is Hercules' face;
All sorrow, labor, suffering, I, tallying it, absorb in myself;
Many times have I been rejected, taunted, put in prison, and crucified — and many times shall be again;
All the world have I given up for my dear brothers' and sisters' sake — for the soul's sake;
16b
For I am affection — I am the cheer-bringing God, with hope, and all-enclosing Charity;
(Conqueror yet — for before me all the armies and soldiers of the earth shall yet bow — and all the weapons of war become impotent:)
With indulgent words, as to children — with fresh and sane words, mine only;
Young and strong I pass, knowing well I am destin'd my- self to an early death:
But my Charity has no death — my Wisdom dies not, neither early nor late,
And my sweet Love, bequeath'd here and elsewhere, never dies.
3
Aloof, dissatisfied, plotting revolt,
Comrade of criminals, brother of slaves,
Crafty, despised, a drudge, ignorant,
With sudra face and worn brow — black, but in the depths of my heart, proud as any;
Lifted, now and always, against whoever, scorning, assumes to rule me;
Morose, full of guile, full of reminiscences, brooding, with many wiles,
(Though it was thought I was baffled and dispell'd, and my wiles done — but that will never be;)
Defiant, I, SATAN, still live — still utter words — in new lands duly appearing, (and old ones also;)
Permanent here, from my side, warlike, equal with any, real as any,
Nor time, nor change, shall ever change me or my words.
Comrade of criminals, brother of slaves,
Crafty, despised, a drudge, ignorant,
With sudra face and worn brow — black, but in the depths of my heart, proud as any;
Lifted, now and always, against whoever, scorning, assumes to rule me;
Morose, full of guile, full of reminiscences, brooding, with many wiles,
(Though it was thought I was baffled and dispell'd, and my wiles done — but that will never be;)
Defiant, I, SATAN, still live — still utter words — in new lands duly appearing, (and old ones also;)
Permanent here, from my side, warlike, equal with any, real as any,
Nor time, nor change, shall ever change me or my words.
4
Santa SPIRITA, breather, life,
Beyond the light, lighter than light,
Beyond the flames of hell — joyous, leaping easily above hell;
Beyond Paradise — perfumed solely with mine own perfume;
Including all life on earth — touching, including God — including Saviour and Satan;
Ethereal, pervading all, (for without me, what were all? what were God?)
Essence of forms — life of the real identities, permanent, positive, (namely the unseen,)
Life of the great round world, the sun and stars, and of man — I, the general Soul,
Here the square finishing, the solid, I the most solid,
Breathe my breath also through these little songs.
Beyond the light, lighter than light,
Beyond the flames of hell — joyous, leaping easily above hell;
17b
Including all life on earth — touching, including God — including Saviour and Satan;
Ethereal, pervading all, (for without me, what were all? what were God?)
Essence of forms — life of the real identities, permanent, positive, (namely the unseen,)
Life of the great round world, the sun and stars, and of man — I, the general Soul,
Here the square finishing, the solid, I the most solid,
Breathe my breath also through these little songs.
I HEARD YOU, SOLEMN-SWEET PIPES OF THE ORGAN.
I HEARD you, solemn-sweet pipes of
the organ, as last
Sunday morn I
pass'd the church;
Winds of autumn! — as I walk'd the woods at dusk, I heard your long-stretch'd sighs, up above, so mournful;
I heard the perfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera — I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing;
. . . Heart of my love! — you too I heard, murmuring low, through one of the wrists around my head;
Heard the pulse of you, when all was still, ringing little bells last night under my ear.
Winds of autumn! — as I walk'd the woods at dusk, I heard your long-stretch'd sighs, up above, so mournful;
I heard the perfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera — I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing;
. . . Heart of my love! — you too I heard, murmuring low, through one of the wrists around my head;
Heard the pulse of you, when all was still, ringing little bells last night under my ear.
NOT MY ENEMIES EVER INVADE ME.
NOT my enemies ever invade me
— no harm to my pride from
them I fear;
But the lovers I recklessly love — lo! how they master me!
Lo! me, ever open and helpless, bereft of my strength!
Utterly abject, grovelling on the ground before them.
But the lovers I recklessly love — lo! how they master me!
Lo! me, ever open and helpless, bereft of my strength!
Utterly abject, grovelling on the ground before them.
18b
O ME! O LIFE!
O ME! O life! . . . of the
questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless — of cities fill'd with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more fool- ish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light — of the objects mean — of the struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all — of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest — with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring — What good amid these, O me, O life?
Of the endless trains of the faithless — of cities fill'd with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more fool- ish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light — of the objects mean — of the struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all — of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest — with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring — What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here — that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
AH POVERTIES, WINCINGS, AND SULKY RETREATS.
AH poverties, wincings, and sulky
retreats!
Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me!
(For what is my life, or any man's life, but a conflict with foes — the old, the incessant war?)
You degradations — you tussle with passions and appetites;
You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds, the sharpest of all;)
You toil of painful and choked articulations — you mean- nesses;
You shallow tongue lowest of any;)
You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smother'd ennuis;
Ah, think not you finally triumph — My real self has yet to come forth;
It shall yet march forth o'ermastering, till all lies beneath me;
It shall yet stand up the soldier of unquestion'd victory.
Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me!
(For what is my life, or any man's life, but a conflict with foes — the old, the incessant war?)
You degradations — you tussle with passions and appetites;
You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds, the sharpest of all;)
You toil of painful and choked articulations — you mean- nesses;
You shallow tongue lowest of any;)
You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smother'd ennuis;
Ah, think not you finally triumph — My real self has yet to come forth;
It shall yet march forth o'ermastering, till all lies beneath me;
It shall yet stand up the soldier of unquestion'd victory.
19b
AS I LAY WITH MY HEAD IN YOUR LAP, CAMERADO.
As I lay with my head in your lap, camerado,
The confession I made I resume — what I said to you and the open air I resume:
I know I am restless, and make others so;
I know my words are weapons, full of danger, full of death;
(Indeed I am myself the real soldier;
It is not he, there, with his bayonet, and not the red-striped artilleryman;)
For I confront peace, security, and all the settled laws, to unsettle them;
I am more resolute because all have denied me, than I could ever have been had all accepted me;
I heed not, and have never heeded, either experience, cau- tions, majorities, nor ridicule;
And the threat of what is call'd hell is little or nothing to me;
And the lure of what is call'd heaven is little or nothing to me;
. . . Dear camerado! I confess I have urged you onward with me, and still urge you, without the least idea what is our destination,
Or whether we shall be victorious, or utterly quell'd and defeated.
The confession I made I resume — what I said to you and the open air I resume:
I know I am restless, and make others so;
I know my words are weapons, full of danger, full of death;
(Indeed I am myself the real soldier;
It is not he, there, with his bayonet, and not the red-striped artilleryman;)
For I confront peace, security, and all the settled laws, to unsettle them;
I am more resolute because all have denied me, than I could ever have been had all accepted me;
I heed not, and have never heeded, either experience, cau- tions, majorities, nor ridicule;
And the threat of what is call'd hell is little or nothing to me;
And the lure of what is call'd heaven is little or nothing to me;
. . . Dear camerado! I confess I have urged you onward with me, and still urge you, without the least idea what is our destination,
Or whether we shall be victorious, or utterly quell'd and defeated.
THIS DAY, O SOUL.
THIS day, O soul, I give you a
wondrous mirror;
Long in the dark, in tarnish and cloud it lay — But the cloud has pass'd, and the tarnish gone;
. . . Behold, O soul! it is now a clean and bright mirror,
Faithfully showing you all the things of the world.
Long in the dark, in tarnish and cloud it lay — But the cloud has pass'd, and the tarnish gone;
. . . Behold, O soul! it is now a clean and bright mirror,
Faithfully showing you all the things of the world.
20b
IN CLOUDS DESCENDING, IN MIDNIGHT SLEEP.
1
IN clouds descending, in midnight sleep, of many a face of
anguish,
Of the look at first of the mortally wounded — of that inde- scribable look;
Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide, I dream, I dream, I dream.
Of the look at first of the mortally wounded — of that inde- scribable look;
Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide, I dream, I dream, I dream.
2
Of scenes of nature, the fields and the mountains;
Of the skies, so beauteous after the storm — and at night the moon so unearthly bright,
Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather the heaps, I dream, I dream, I dream.
Of the skies, so beauteous after the storm — and at night the moon so unearthly bright,
Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather the heaps, I dream, I dream, I dream.
3
Long have they pass'd, long lapsed — faces and trenches
and fields;
Long through the carnage I moved with a callous compos- ure — or away from the fallen,
Onward I sped at the time — But now of their forms at night, I dream, I dream, I dream.
Long through the carnage I moved with a callous compos- ure — or away from the fallen,
Onward I sped at the time — But now of their forms at night, I dream, I dream, I dream.
AN ARMY ON THE MARCH.
WITH its cloud of skirmishers in
advance,
With now the sound of a single shot, snapping like a whip, and now an irregular volley,
The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on;
Glittering dimly, toiling under the sun, the dust-cover'd men,
In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the ground,
With artillery interspers'd — the wheels rumble, the horses sweat,
As the army resistless advances.
With now the sound of a single shot, snapping like a whip, and now an irregular volley,
The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on;
Glittering dimly, toiling under the sun, the dust-cover'd men,
In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the ground,
With artillery interspers'd — the wheels rumble, the horses sweat,
As the army resistless advances.
21b
DIRGE FOR TWO VETERANS.
1
THE last
sunbeam
Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath,
On the pavement here — and there beyond, it is looking, Down a new-made double grave.
Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath,
On the pavement here — and there beyond, it is looking, Down a new-made double grave.
2
Lo! the moon
ascending!
Up from the east, the silvery round moon;
Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon; Immense and silent moon.
Up from the east, the silvery round moon;
Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon; Immense and silent moon.
3
I see a sad
procession,
And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles;
All the channels of the city streets they're flooding, As with voices and with tears.
And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles;
All the channels 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 every blow of the great convulsive drums, Strikes me through and through.
And the small drums steady whirring;
And every blow of the great convulsive drums, Strikes me through and through.
5
For the son is
brought with the father;
(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell;
Two veterans, son and father, dropt together, And the double grave awaits them.)
(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell;
Two veterans, son and father, dropt together, 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 the strong dead-march enwraps me.
And the drums strike more convulsive;
And the day-light o'er the pavement quite has faded, And the strong dead-march enwraps me.
22b
7
In the eastern sky up-buoying,
The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd;
('T is some mother's large, transparent face, In heaven brighter growing.)
The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd;
('T is some mother's large, transparent face, In heaven brighter growing.)
8
O strong dead-march, you please me!
O moon immense, with your silvery face you soothe me!
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial! What I have I also give you.
O moon immense, with your silvery face you soothe me!
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial! What I have I also give you.
9
The moon gives you light,
And the bugles and the drums give you music;
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.
And the bugles and the drums give you music;
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.
HOW SOLEMN, AS ONE BY ONE.
How solemn, as one by one,
As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty — as the men file by where I stand;
As the faces, the masks appear — as I glance at the faces, studying the masks;
(As I glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend, whoever you are;)
How solemn the thought of my whispering soul, to each in the ranks, and to you;
I see behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul:
O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend,
Nor the bayonet stab what you really are: . . . The soul! yourself I see, great as any, good as the best,
Waiting secure and content, which the bullet could never kill,
Nor the bayonet stab, O friend!
As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty — as the men file by where I stand;
As the faces, the masks appear — as I glance at the faces, studying the masks;
(As I glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend, whoever you are;)
How solemn the thought of my whispering soul, to each in the ranks, and to you;
I see behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul:
O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend,
Nor the bayonet stab what you really are: . . . The soul! yourself I see, great as any, good as the best,
Waiting secure and content, which the bullet could never kill,
Nor the bayonet stab, O friend!
23b
LO! VICTRESS ON THE PEAKS!
Lo! Victress on the peaks!
Where thou standest, with mighty brow, regarding the world,
(The world, O Libertad, that vainly conspired against thee;)
Out of its countless, beleaguering toils, after thwarting them all;
Where thou, dominant, with the dazzling sun around thee,
Towerest now unharm'd, in immortal soundness and bloom — lo! in this hour supreme,
No poem proud I, chanting, bring to thee — nor mastery's rapturous verse;
But a little book, containing night's darkness, and blood- dripping wounds,
And psalms of the dead.
Where thou standest, with mighty brow, regarding the world,
(The world, O Libertad, that vainly conspired against thee;)
Out of its countless, beleaguering toils, after thwarting them all;
Where thou, dominant, with the dazzling sun around thee,
Towerest now unharm'd, in immortal soundness and bloom — lo! in this hour supreme,
No poem proud I, chanting, bring to thee — nor mastery's rapturous verse;
But a little book, containing night's darkness, and blood- dripping wounds,
And psalms of the dead.
RECONCILIATION.
WORD over all, beautiful as the sky!
Beautiful that war, and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost;
That the hands of the sisters Death and Night, incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world:
. . . For my enemy is dead — a man divine as myself is dead;
I look where he lies, white-faced and still, in the coffin — I draw near;
I bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.
Beautiful that war, and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost;
That the hands of the sisters Death and Night, incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world:
. . . For my enemy is dead — a man divine as myself is dead;
I look where he lies, white-faced and still, in the coffin — I draw near;
I bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.
24b
TO THE LEAVEN'D SOIL THEY TROD.
To the leaven'd soil they trod, calling, I sing, for the last;
(Not cities, nor man alone, nor war, nor the dead,
But forth from my tent emerging for good — loosing, unty- ing the tent-ropes;)
In the freshness, the forenoon air, in the far-stretching cir- cuits and vistas, again to peace restored,
To the fiery fields emanative, and the endless vistas beyond — to the south and the north;
To the leaven'd soil of the general western world, to attest my songs,
(To the average earth, the wordless earth, witness of war and peace,)
To the Alleghanian hills, and the tireless Mississippi,
To the rocks I, calling, sing, and all the trees in the woods,
To the plain of the poems of heroes, to the prairie spreading wide,
To the far-off sea, and the unseen winds, and the sane im- palpable air;
. . . And responding, they answer all, (but not in words.)
The average earth, the witness of war and peace, acknowl- edges mutely;
The prairie draws me close, as the father, to bosom broad, the son;
The Northern ice and rain, that began me, nourish me to the end;
But the hot sun of the South is to ripen my songs.
(Not cities, nor man alone, nor war, nor the dead,
But forth from my tent emerging for good — loosing, unty- ing the tent-ropes;)
In the freshness, the forenoon air, in the far-stretching cir- cuits and vistas, again to peace restored,
To the fiery fields emanative, and the endless vistas beyond — to the south and the north;
To the leaven'd soil of the general western world, to attest my songs,
(To the average earth, the wordless earth, witness of war and peace,)
To the Alleghanian hills, and the tireless Mississippi,
To the rocks I, calling, sing, and all the trees in the woods,
To the plain of the poems of heroes, to the prairie spreading wide,
To the far-off sea, and the unseen winds, and the sane im- palpable air;
. . . And responding, they answer all, (but not in words.)
The average earth, the witness of war and peace, acknowl- edges mutely;
The prairie draws me close, as the father, to bosom broad, the son;
The Northern ice and rain, that began me, nourish me to the end;
But the hot sun of the South is to ripen my songs.
FINIS.
| Leaves of grass. | |