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

1  STARTING from fish-shape Paumanok, where I was      born,
Well-begotten, and rais'd by a perfect mother;
After roaming many lands — lover of populous pave-     ments;
Dweller in Mannahatta, city of ships, my city — or on      southern savannas;
Or a soldier camp'd, or carrying my knapsack and gun       — or a miner in California;
Or rude in my home in Dakotah's woods, my diet      meat, my drink from the spring;
Or withdrawn to muse and meditate in some deep      recess,
Far from the clank of crowds, intervals passing, rapt      and happy;
Aware of the fresh free giver, the flowing Missouri —      aware of mighty Niagara;
Aware of the buffalo herds, grazing the plains — the      hirsute and strong-breasted bull;
Of earths, rocks, Fifth-month flowers, experienced —      stars, rain, snow, my amaze;
Having studied the mocking-bird's tones, and the      mountain hawk's,
And heard at dusk the unrival'd one, the hermit      thrush from the swamp-cedars,
Solitary, singing in the West, I strike up for a New      World.

2  Victory, union, faith, identity, time,
Yourself, the present and future lands, the indissolu-     ble compacts, riches, mystery,
Eternal progress, the kosmos, and the modern reports.
3  This, then, is life;
Here is what has come to the surface after so many      throes and convulsions.
4  How curious! how real!
Under foot the divine soil — over head the sun.
5  See, revolving, the globe;
The ancestor-continents, away, group'd together;
The present and future continents, north and south,      with the isthmus between.
6  See, vast, trackless spaces;
As in a dream, they change, they swiftly fill;
Countless masses debouch upon them;
They are now cover'd with the foremost people, arts,      institutions, known.
7  See, projected, through time,
For me, an audience interminable.
8  With firm and regular step they wend — they never      stop,
Successions of men, Americanos, a hundred millions;
One generation playing its part, and passing on,
Another generation playing its part, and passing on in      its turn,
With faces turn'd sideways or backward towards me,      to listen,
With eyes retrospective towards me.

9  Americanos! Conquerors! marches humanitarian;
Foremost! century marches! Libertad! masses!
For you a programme of chants.
10  Chants of the prairies;
Chants of the long-running Mississippi, and down to      the Mexican sea;
Chants of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin and      Minnesota;
Chants going forth from the centre, from Kansas, and      thence, equi-distant,
Shooting in pulses of fire, ceaseless, to vivify all.

11  In the Year 80 of The States,
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this      soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here, from parents the same,      and their parents the same,
I, now thirty-six years old, in perfect health, begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
12  Creeds and schools in abeyance,
(Retiring back a while, sufficed at what they are, but      never forgotten,)
I harbor, for good or bad — I permit to speak, at every      hazard,
Nature now without check, with original energy.

13  Take my leaves, America! take them South, and      take them North!
Make welcome for them everywhere, for they are your      own offspring;
Surround them, East and West! for they would sur-     round you;
And you precedents! connect lovingly with them, for      they connect lovingly with you.

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14  I conn'd old times;
I sat studying at the feet of the great masters:
Now, if eligible, O that the great masters might re-     turn and study me!
15  In the name of These States, shall I scorn the      antique?
Why these are the children of the antique, to jus-     tify it.

16   Dead poets, philosophs, priests,
Martyrs, artists, inventors, governments long since,
Language-shapers, on other shores,
Nations once powerful, now reduced, withdrawn, or      desolate,
I dare not proceed till I respectfully credit what you      have left, wafted hither :
I have perused it — own it is admirable, (moving      awhile among it;)
Think nothing can ever be greater — nothing can ever      deserve more than it deserves;
Regarding it all intently a long while, then dismiss-     ing it,
I stand in my place, with my own day, here
17  Here lands female and male;
Here the heirship and heiress-ship of the world — here      the flame of materials;
Here Spirituality, the translatress, the openly-avow'd,
The ever-tending, the finale of visible forms;
The satisfier, after due long-waiting, now advancing,
Yes, here comes my mistress, the Soul.

18 The SOUL!
Forever and forever — longer than soil is brown and solid — longer than water ebbs and flows.

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19   I will make the poems of materials, for I think they      are to be the most spiritual poems;
And I will make the poems of my body and of mor-     tality,
For I think I shall then supply myself with the poems      of my Soul, and of immortality.
20  I will make a song for These States, that no one      State may under any circumstances be sub-     jected to another State;
And I will make a song that there shall be comity by      day and by night between all The States, and      between any two of them;
And I will make a song for the ears of the President,      full of weapons with menacing points,
And behind the weapons countless dissatisfied faces :
And a song make I, of the One form'd out of all;
The fang'd and glittering One whose head is over all;
Resolute, warlike One, including and over all;
(However high the head of any else, that head is over      all.)
21  I will acknowledge contemporary lands;
I will trail the whole geography of the globe, and sa-     lute courteously every city large and small;
And employments! I will put in my poems, that with      you is heroism, upon land and sea — And I will      report all heroism from an American point of      view;
And sexual organs and acts! do you concentrate in      me — for I am determin'd to tell you with cour-     ageous clear voice, to prove you illustrious.
22  I will sing the song of companionship;
I will show what alone must finally compact These;
I believe These are to found their own ideal of      manly love, indicating it in me;
I will therefore let flame from me the burning fires      that were threatening to consume me;

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I will lift what has too long kept down those smoul-     dering fires;
I will give them complete abandonment;
I will write the evangel-poem of comrades and of
  love;
(For who but I should understand love, with all its
  sorrow and joy?
And who but I should be the poet of comrades?)

23   I am the credulous man of qualities, ages, races;
I advance from the people en-masse in their own      spirit;
Here is what sings unrestricted faith.
24  Omnes! Omnes! let others ignore what they may;
I make the poem of evil also — I commemorate that      part also;
I am myself just as much evil as good, and my nation      is — And I say there is in fact no evil,
(Or if there is, I say it is just as important to you, to      the land, or to me, as anything else.)
25  I too, following many, and follow'd by many, inau-     gurate a Religion — I too go to the wars;
(It may be I am destin'd to utter the loudest cries      thereof, the winner's pealing shouts;
Who knows? they may rise from me yet, and soar      above every thing.)
26  Each is not for its own sake;
I say the whole earth, and all the stars in the sky, are      for Religion's sake.
27  I say no man has ever yet been half devout enough
None has ever yet adored or worship'd half enough;

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None has begun to think how divine he himself is, and      how certain the future is.
28  I say that the real and permanent grandeur of      These States must be their religion;
Otherwise there is no real and permanent grandeur;
(Nor character, nor life worthy the name, without Re-     ligion;
Nor land, nor man or woman, without Religion.)

29   What are you doing, young man?
Are you so earnest — so given up to literature, science,      art, amours?
These ostensible realities, politics, points?
Your ambition or business, whatever it may be?
30  It is well — Against such I say not a word — I am      their poet also;
But behold! such swiftly subside — burnt up for Re-     ligion's sake;
For not all matter is fuel to heat, impalpable flame,      the essential life of the earth,
Any more than such are to Religion.

31   What do you seek, so pensive and silent?
What do you need, Camerado?
Dear son! do you think it is love?
32  Listen, dear son — listen, America, daughter or son!
It is a painful thing to love a man or woman to ex-     cess — and yet it satisfies — it is great;
But there is something else very great — it makes the      whole coincide;
It, magnificent, beyond materials, with continuous      hands, sweeps and provides for all.

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33  Know you! to drop in the earth the germs of a      greater Religion,
The following chants, each for its kind, I sing.
34  My comrade!
For you, to share with me, two greatnesses — and a      third one, rising inclusive and more resplen-     dent,
The greatness of Love and Democracy — and the      greatness of Religion.
35  Melange mine own! the unseen and the seen;
Mysterious ocean where the streams empty;
Prophetic spirit of materials shifting and flickering      around me;
Living beings, identities, now doubtless near us, in
  the air, that we know not of;
Contact daily and hourly that will not release me;
These selecting — these, in hints, demanded of me.
36  Not he, with a daily kiss, onward from childhood      kissing me,
Has winded and twisted around me that which holds      me to him,
Any more than I am held to the heavens, to the spir-     itual world,
And to the identities of the Gods, my lovers, faithful      and true,
After what they have done to me, suggesting themes.
37  O such themes! Equalities!
O amazement of things! O divine average!
O warblings under the sun — usher'd, as now, or at      noon, or setting!
O strain, musical, flowing through ages — now reach-     ing hither,
I take to your reckless and composite chords — I add      to them, and cheerfully pass them forward.

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38   As I have walk'd in Alabama my morning walk,
I have seen where the she-bird, the mocking-bird      on her nest in the briers, hatching her brood.
39  I have seen the he-bird also;
I have paused to hear him, near at hand, inflating his      throat, and joyfully singing.
40  And while I paused, it came to me that what he      really sang for was not there only,
Nor for his mate nor himself only, nor all sent back      by the echoes;
But subtle, clandestine, away beyond,
A charge transmitted, and gift occult, for those being      born.

41   Democracy!
Near at hand to you a throat is now inflating itself
  and joyfully singing.
42  Ma femme!
For the brood beyond us and of us,
For those who belong here, and those to come,
I, exultant, to be ready for them, will now shake out      carols stronger and haughtier than have ever      yet been heard upon earth.
43  I will make the songs of passion, to give them their      way,
And your songs, outlaw'd offenders — for I scan you      with kindred eyes, and carry you with me the      >same as any.
44  I will make the true poem of riches,
To earn for the body and the mind, whatever adheres,      and goes forward, and is not dropt by death.

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45   I will effuse egotism, and show it underlying all —      and I will be the bard of personality;
And I will show of male and female that either is but      the equal of the other;
And I will show that there is no imperfection in the      present — and can be none in the future;
And I will show that whatever happens to anybody, it      may be turn'd to beautiful results — and I will      show that nothing can happen more beautiful      than death;
And I will thread a thread through my poems that      time and events are compact,
And that all the things of the universe are perfect      miracles, each as profound as any.
46  I will not make poems with reference to parts;
But I will make leaves, poems, poemets, songs, says,      thoughts, with reference to ensemble:
And I will not sing with reference to a day, but with      reference to all days;
And I will not make a poem, nor the least part of a      poem, but has reference to the Soul;
(Because, having look'd at the objects of the universe,      I find there is no one, nor any particle of one,      but has reference to the Soul.)

47   Was somebody asking to see the Soul?
See! your own shape and countenance — persons, sub-     stances, beasts, the trees, the running rivers, the      rocks and sands. All hold spiritual joys, and afterwards loosen them:
How can the real body ever die, and be buried?
49  Of your real body, and any man's or woman's real      body,
Item for item, it will elude the hands of the corpse-     cleaners, and pass to fitting spheres,

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Carrying what has accrued to it from the moment of      birth to the moment of death.
50  Not the types set up by the printer return their im-     pression, the meaning, the main concern,
Any more than a man's substance and life, or a wo-     man's substance and life, return in the body      and the Soul,
Indifferently before death and after death.
51  Behold! the body includes and is the meaning, the      main concern — and includes and is the Soul;
Whoever you are! how superb and how divine is your      body, or any part of it.

52  Whoever you are! to you endless announcements.
53  Daughter of the lands, did you wait for your poet?
Did you wait for one with a flowing mouth and in-     dicative hand?
54  Toward the male of The States, and toward the      female of The States,
Live words — words to the lands.
55  O the lands! interlink'd, food-yielding lands!
Land of coal and iron! Land of gold! Lands of      cotton, sugar, rice!
Land of wheat, beef, pork! Land of wool and hemp!      Land of the apple and grape!
Land of the pastoral plains, the grass-fields of the      world! Land of those sweet-air'd interminable      plateaus!
Land of the herd, the garden, the healthy house of      adobie!
Lands where the northwest Columbia winds, and      where the southwest Colorado winds!

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Land of the eastern Chesapeake! Land of the Dela-     ware!
Land of Ontario, Erie, Huron, Michigan!
Land of the Old Thirteen! Massachusetts land! Land      of Vermont and Connecticut!
Land of the ocean shores! Land of sierras and peaks!
Land of boatmen and sailors! Fishermen's land!
Inextricable lands! the clutch'd together! the passion-     ate ones!
The side by side! the elder and younger brothers!      the bony-limb'd!
The great women's land! the feminine! the ex-     perienced sisters and the inexperienced sisters!
Far breath'd land! Arctic braced! Mexican breez'd!      the diverse! the compact!
The Pennsylvanian! the Virginian! the double Caro-     linian!
O all and each well-loved by me! my intrepid nations!      O I at any rate include you all with perfect love!
I cannot be discharged from you! not from 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 traveler,
Splashing my bare feet in the edge of the summer      ripples, on Paumanok's sands,
Crossing the prairies — dwelling again in Chicago —      dwelling in every town,
Observing shows, births, improvements, structures,      arts,
Listening to the orators and the oratresses in public      halls,
Of and through The States, as during life — each man      and woman my neighbor,
The Louisianian, the Georgian, as near to me, and I      as near to him and her,
The Mississippian and Arkansian yet with me — and      I yet with any of them;

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Yet upon the plains west of the spinal river — yet in      my house of adobie,
Yet returning eastward — yet in the Sea-Side State, or      in Maryland,
Yet Kanadian, cheerily braving the winter — the snow      and ice welcome to me,
Yet a true son either of Maine, or of the Granite State,      or of the Narragansett Bay State, or of the      Empire State;
Yet sailing to other shores to annex the same — yet      welcoming every new brother;
Hereby applying these leaves to the new ones, from      the hour they unite with the old ones;
Coming among the new ones myself, to be their com-     panion and equal — coming personally to you      now;
Enjoining you to acts, characters, spectacles, with      me.

56  With me, with firm holding — yet haste, haste on.
57  For your life, adhere to me;
Of all the men of the earth, I only can unloose you      and toughen you;
I may have to be persuaded many times before I      consent to give myself to you — but what of      that?
Must not Nature be persuaded many times?
58  No dainty dolce affettuoso I;
Bearded, sunburnt, gray-neck'd, forbidding, I have      arrived,
To be wrestled with as I pass, for the solid prizes of      the universe;
For such I afford whoever can persevere to win them.

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59   On my way a moment I pause;
Here for you! and here for America!
Still the Present I raise aloft — Still the Future of      The States I harbinge, glad and sublime;
And for the Past, I pronounce what the air holds of      the red aborigines.
60  The red aborigines!
Leaving natural breaths, sounds of rain and winds,      calls as of birds and animals in the woods,      syllabled to us for names;
Okonee, Koosa, Ottawa, Monongahela, Sauk, Natchez,      Chattahoochee, Kaqueta, Oronoco,
Wabash, Miami, Saginaw, Chippewa, Oshkosh, Walla-     Walla;
Leaving such to The States, they melt, they depart,      charging the water and the land with names.

61   O expanding and swift! O henceforth,
Elements, breeds, adjustments, turbulent, quick, and      audacious;
A world primal again — Vistas of glory, incessant and      branching;
A new race, dominating previous ones, and grander      far, with new contests,
New politics, new literatures and religions, new in-     ventions and arts.
62  These! my voice announcing — I will sleep no more,      but arise;
You oceans that have been calm within me! how I      feel you, fathomless, stirring, preparing un-     precedented waves and storms.

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63   See! steamers steaming through my poems!
See, in my poems immigrants continually coming and      landing;
See, in arriere, the wigwam, the trail, the hunter's      hut, the flat-boat, the maize-leaf, the claim, the      rude fence, and the backwoods village;
See, on the one side the Western Sea, and on the      other the Eastern Sea, how they advance and      retreat upon my poems, as upon their own      shores;
See, pastures and forests in my poems — See, animals,      wild and tame — See, beyond the Kanzas, count-     less herds of buffalo, feeding on short curly      grass;
See, in my poems, cities, solid, vast, inland, with      paved streets, with iron and stone edifices,      ceaseless vehicles, and commerce;
See, the manypress — See,      the electric telegraph, stretching across the      Continent, from the Western Sea to Man-     hattan;
See, through Atlantica's depths, pulses American,      Europe reaching — pulses of Europe, duly re-     turn'd;
See, the strong and quick locomotive, as it departs,      panting, blowing the steam-whistle;
See, ploughmen, ploughing farms — See, miners, dig-     ging mines — See, the numberless factories;
See, mechanics, busy at their benches, with tools —      See from among them, superior judges, philo-     sophs, Presidents, emerge, drest in working      dresses;
See, lounging through the shops and fields of The      States, me, well-beloved, close-held by day and      night;
Hear the loud echoes of my songs there! Read the      hints come at last.

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64   O Camerado close!
O you and me at last — and us two only.
65  O a word to clear one's path ahead endlessly!
O something extatic and undemonstrable! O music      wild!
O now I triumph — and you shall also;
O hand in hand — O wholesome pleasure — O one more      desirer and lover!
O to haste, firm holding — to haste, haste on, with me.

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1   I CELEBRATE myself;
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to      you.
2  I loafe and invite my Soul;
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of sum-     mer grass.
3  Houses and rooms are full of perfumes — the shelves      are crowded with perfumes;
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it;
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall      not let it.
4  The atmosphere is not a perfume — it has no taste of      the distillation — it is odorless;
It is for my mouth forever — I am in love with it;
I will go to the bank by the wood, and become undis-     guised and naked;
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

5   The smoke of my own breath;
Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread,      crotch and vine;
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my      heart, the passing of blood and air through my      lungs;

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The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the      shore, and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in      the barn;
The sound of the belch'd words of my voice, words      loos'd to the eddies of the wind;
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around      of arms;
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple      boughs wag;
The delight alone, or in the rush of the streets, or      along the fields and hill-sides;
The feeling of health, the full noon trill, the song of      me rising from bed and meeting the sun.
6  Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you      reckon'd the earth much?
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of      poems?
7  Stop this day and night with me, and you shall pos-     sess the origin of all poems;
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun —      (there are millions of suns left;)
You shall no longer take things at second or third      hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead,      nor feed on the spectres in books;
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take      things from me:
You shall listen to all sides, and filter them from your-     self.

8 I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end.
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
9 There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now;

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And will never be any more perfection than there      is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.
10  Urge, and urge, and urge;
Always the procreant urge of the world.
11  Out of the dimness opposite equals advance — always      substance and increase, always sex;
Always a knit of identity — always distinction — always      a breed of life.
12  To elaborate is no avail — learn'd and unlearn'd feel
13       that it is so. Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights,      well entretied, braced in the beams,
Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
I and this mystery, here we stand.
14  Clear and sweet is my Soul, and clear and sweet is      all that is not my Soul.
15  Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by      the seen,
Till that becomes unseen, and receives proof in its      turn.
16  Showing the best, and dividing it from the worst,      age vexes age;
Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things,      while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and      admire myself.
17  Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of      any man hearty and clean;
Not an inch, nor a particle of an inch, is vile, and      none shall be less familiar than the rest.

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18   I am satisfied — I see, dance, laugh, sing;
As the hugging and loving Bed-fellow sleeps at my      side through the night, and withdraws at the      peep of the day, with stealthy tread,
Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels, swell-     ing the house with their plenty,
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization, and      scream at my eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me a cent,
Exactly the contents of one, and exactly the contents      of two, and which is ahead?

19   Trippers and askers su0rround me;
People I meet — the effect upon me of my early life, or      the ward and city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies,      authors old and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman      I love,
The sickness of one of my folks, or of myself, or ill-     doing, or loss or lack of money, or depressions      or exaltations;
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of      doubtful news, the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights, and go from me      again,
But they are not the Me myself.
20  Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I      am;
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle,      unitary;
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpa-     ble certain rest,

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Looking with side-curved head, curious what will come      next;
Both in and out of the game, and watching and won-     dering at it.
21  Backward I see in my own days where I sweated      through fog with linguists and contenders;
I have no mockings or arguments — I witness and wait.

22   I believe in you, my Soul — the other I am must      not abase itself to you;
And you must not be abased to the other.
23  Loafe with me on the grass — loose the stop from      your throat;
Not words, not music or rhyme I want — not custom or      lecture, not even the best;
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
24  I mind how once we lay, such a transparent sum-     mer morning;
How you settled your head athwart my hips, and gently      turn'd over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged      your tongue to my bare-stript heart,
And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you      held my feet.
25  Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and      knowledge that pass all the argument of the      earth;
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my      own;
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of      my own;
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers,      and the women my sisters and lovers;
And that a kelson of the creation is love;

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And limitless are leaves, stiff or drooping in the fields;
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them;
And mossy scabs of the worm-fence, and heap'd stones, elder, mullen and pokeweed.

26   A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with      full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what      it is, any more than he.
27  I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of      hopeful green stuff woven.
28  Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer, designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners,      that we may see and remark, and say, Whose?
29  Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced      babe of the vegetation.
30  Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic;
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and      narrow zones.
Growing among black folks as among white;
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them      the same, I receive them the same.
31  And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of      graves.
32  Tenderly will I use you, curling grass;
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young      men;
It may be if I had known them I would have loved      them.

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It may be you are from old people, and from women,      and from offspring taken soon out of their      mothers' laps;
And here you are the mothers' laps.
33  This grass is very dark to be from the white heads      of old mothers;
Darker than the colorless beards of old men;
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of      mouths.
34  O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of      mouths for nothing.
35  I wish I could translate the hints about the dead      young men and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the      offspring taken soon out of their laps.
36  What do you think has become of the young and      old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and      children?
37  They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death;
And if ever there was, it led forward life, and does      not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.
38  All goes onward and outward — nothing collapses;
And to die is different from what any one supposed,      and luckier.

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39   Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her, it is just as lucky to      die, and I know it.
40  I pass death with the dying, and birth with the new      wash'd babe, and am not contain'd between my-     hat and boots;
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike, and every      one good;
The earth good, and the stars good, and their      adjuncts all good.
41  I am not an earth, nor an adjunct of an earth;
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as      immortal and fathomless as myself;
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)
42  Every kind for itself and its own — for me mine, male      and female;
For me those that have been boys, and that love      women;
For me the man that is proud, and feels how it stings      to be slighted;
For me the sweetheart and the old maid — for me      mothers, and the mothers of mothers;
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed      tears;
For me children, and the begetters of children.
43  Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale, nor      discarded;
I see through the broadcloth and gingham, whether      or no;
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and      cannot be shaken away.

31

44   The little one sleeps in its cradle;
I lift the gauze, and look a long time, and silently      brush away flies with my hand.
45  The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up      the bushy hill;
I peeringly view them from the top.
46  The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the      bedroom;
I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair — I note      where the pistol has fallen.
47  The blab of the pave, the tires of carts, sluff of      boot-soles, talk of the promenaders;
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating      thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the      granite floor;
The snow-sleighs, the clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of      snow-balls;
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous'd      mobs;
The flap of the curtain'd litter, a sick man inside,      borne to the hospital;
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows      and fall;
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star,      quickly working his passage to the centre of      the crowd;
The impassive stones that receive and return so many      echoes;
What groans of over-fed or half-starv'd who fall      sun-struck, or in fits;
What exclamations of women taken suddenly, who      hurry home and give birth to babes;
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here       — what howls restrain'd by decorum,

32

Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances, rejections with convex lips;
I mind them or the show or resonance of them — I come, and I depart.

48   The big doors of the country-barn stand open and      ready;
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-     drawn wagon;
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green in-     tertinged;
The armfuls are packt to the sagging mow.
49  I am there — I help — I came stretcht atop of the      load;
I felt its soft jolts — one leg reclined on the other;
I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and      timothy,
And roll head over heels, and tangle my hair full of      wisps.

50   Alone, far in the wilds and mountains, I hunt,
Wandering, amazed at my own lightness and glee;
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the      night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh kill'd game;
Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves, with my dog and      gun by my side.
51  The Yankee clipper is under her three sky-sails —      she cuts the sparkle and scud;
My eyes settle the land — I bend at her prow, or shout      joyously from the deck.
52  The boatman and clam-diggers arose early and stopt      for me;

33

I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots, and went and      had a good time:
You should have been with us that day round the      chowder-kettle.
53  I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in      the far-west — the bride was a red girl;
Her father and his friends sat near, cross-legged and      dumbly smoking — they had moccasins to their      feet, and large thick blankets hanging from their      shoulders;
On a bank lounged the trapper — he was drest mostly      in skins — his luxuriant beard and curls pro-     tected his neck — he held his bride by the hand;
She had long eye-lashes — her head was bare — her      coarse straight locks descended upon her volup-     tuous limbs and reach'd to her feet.
54  The runaway slave came to my house and stopt out-     side;
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the wood-     pile;
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him      limpsy and weak,
And went where he sat on a log, and led him in and      assured him,
And brought water, and fill'd a tub for his sweated      body and bruis'd feet,
And gave him a room that enter'd from my own, and      gave him some coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and      his awkwardness,
And remember putting plasters on the galls of his      neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated      and pass'd north;
(I had him sit next me at table — my fire-lock lean'd      in the corner.)

34

55   Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore;
Twenty-eight young men, and all so friendly:
Twenty-eight years of womanly life, and all so lone-     some.
56  She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank;
She hides, handsome and richly drest, aft the blinds      of the window.
57  Which of the young men does she like the best?
Ah, the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.
58  Where are you off to, lady? for I see you;
You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in      your room.
59  Dancing and laughing along the beach came the      twenty-ninth bather;
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved      them.
60  The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it      ran from their long hair;
Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.
61  An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies;
It descended tremblingly from their temples and      ribs.
62  The young men float on their backs — their white      bellies bulge to the sun — they do not ask who      seizes fast to them;
They do not know who puffs and declines with pen-     dant and bending arch;
They do not think whom they souse with spray.

35

63   The butcher-boy puts off his killing clothes, or      sharpens his knife at the stall in the market;
I loiter, enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and      break-down.
64  Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ      the anvil;
Each has his main-sledge — they are all out — (there is      a great heat in the fire.)
65  From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their      movements;
The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their      massive arms;
Overhand the hammers swing — overhand so slow —      overhand so sure:
They do not hasten — each man hits in his place.

66   The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses       — the block swags underneath on its tied-over      chain;
The negro that drives the dray of the stone-yard —      steady and tall he stands, poised on one leg on      the string-piece;
His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast, and      loosens over his hip-band;
His glance is calm and commanding — he tosses the      slouch of his hat away from his forehead;
The sun falls on his crispy hair and moustache — falls      on the black of his polish'd and perfect limbs.
67  I behold the picturesque giant, and love him — and I      do not stop there;
I go with the team also.

36

68   In me the caresser of life wherever moving — back-     ward as well as forward slueing;
To niches aside and junior bending.
69  Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain, or halt in the      leafy shade! what is that you express in your      eyes?
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in      my life.
70  My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck, on      my distant and day-long ramble;
They rise together — they slowly circle around.
71  I believe in those wing'd purposes,
And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within      me,
And consider green and violet, and the tufted crown,      intentional,
And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is      not something else;
And the jay in the woods never studied the gamut,      yet trills pretty well to me;
And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of      me.

72   The wild gander leads his flock through the cool      night;
Ya-honk! he says, and sounds it down to me like an      invitation;
(The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen      close;
I find its purpose and place up there toward the      wintry sky.)
73  The sharp hoof'd moose of the north, the cat on the      house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie-dog,

37

The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats,
The brood of the turkey      spread wings;
I see in them and myself the same old law.
74  The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred      affections;
They scorn the best I can do to relate them.
75  I am enamour'd of growing outdoors,
Of men that live among cattle, or taste of the ocean      or woods,
Of the builders and steerers of ships, and the wielders      of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses;
I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out.
76  What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is      Me;
Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns;
Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that      will take me;
Not asking the sky to come down to my good will;
Scattering it freely forever.

77   The pure contralto sings in the organ loft;
The carpenter dresses his plank — the tongue of his      foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp;
The married and unmarried children ride home to      their Thanksgiving dinner;
The pilot seizes the king-pin — he heaves down with a      strong arm;
The mate stands braced in the whale-boat — lance and      harpoon are ready;
The duck-shooter walks by silent and cautious      stretches;
The deacons are ordain'd with cross'd hands at the      altar;

38

The spinning-girl retreats and advances to the hum of      the big wheel;
The farmer stops by the bars, as he walks on a First-     day loafe, and looks at the oats and rye;
The lunatic is carried at last to the asylum, a confirm'd      case,
(He will never sleep any more as he did in the cot in      his mother's bed-room;)
The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works      at his case,
He turns his quid of tobacco, while his eyes blurr with      the manuscript;
The malform'd limbs are tied to the surgeon's table,
What is removed drops horribly in a pail;
The quadroon girl is sold at the stand — the drunkard.      nods by the bar-room stove;
The machinist rolls up his sleeves — the policeman      travels his beat — the gate-keeper marks who pass;
The young fellow drives the express-wagon — (I love      him, though I do not know him;)
The half-breed straps on his light boots to compete in      the race;
The western turkey-shooting draws old and young —      some lean on their rifles, some sit on logs,
Out from the crowd steps the marksman, takes his      position, levels his piece;
The groups of newly-come immigrants cover the      wharf or levee;
As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer      views them from his saddle;
The bugle calls in the ball-room, the gentlemen run for      their partners, the dancers bow to each other;
The youth lies awake in the cedar-roof'd garret, and      harks to the musical rain;
The Wolverine sets traps on the creek that helps fill the      Huron;
The squaw, wrapt in her yellow-hemm'd cloth, is      offering moccasins and bead-bags for sale;

39

The connoisseur peers along the exhibition-gallery with      half-shut eyes bent side-ways;
As the deck-hands make fast the steamboat, the plank      is thrown for the shore-going passengers;
The young sister holds out the skein, while the elder      sister winds it off in a ball, and stops now and      then for the knots;
The one-year wife is recovering and happy, having a      week ago borne her first child;
The clean-hair'd Yankee girl works with her sewing-     machine, or in the factory or mill;
The nine months' gone is in the parturition chamber,      her faintness and pains are advancing;
The paving-man leans on his two handed rammer —      the reporter's lead flies swiftly over the note-book       — the sign-painter is lettering with red and gold;
The canal boy trots on the tow path — the bookkeeper      counts at his desk, the shoemaker waxes his      thread;
The conductor beats time for the band, and all the      performers follow him;
The child is baptized — the convert is making his first      professions;
The regatta is spread on the bay — the race is begun       — how the white sails sparkle!
The drover, watching his drove, sings out to them that      would stray;
The pedler sweats with his pack on his back, (the pur-     chaser higgling about the odd cent;)
The camera and plate are prepared, the lady must sit      for her daguerreotype;
The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand      of the clock moves slowly;
The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-     open'd lips;
The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on      her tipsy and pimpled neck;
The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men      jeer and wink to each other;

40

(Miserable! I do not laugh at your oaths, nor jeer you;)
The President, holding a cabinet council, is surrounded      by the Great Secretaries;
On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly      with twined arms;
The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of      halibut in the hold;
The Missourian crosses the plains, toting his wares and      his cattle;
As the fare-collector goes through the train, he gives      notice by the jingling of loose change;
The floor-men are laying the floor — the tinners are      tinning the roof — the masons are calling for      mortar;
In single file, each shouldering his hod, pass onward      the laborers;
Seasons pursuing each other, the indescribable crowd      is gather'd — it is the Fourth of Seventh-month       — (What salutes of cannon and small arms!)
Seasons pursuing each other, the plougher ploughs, the      mower mows, and the winter-grain falls in the      ground;
Off on the lakes the pike-fisher watches and waits by      the hole in the frozen surface;
The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter      strikes deep with his axe;
Flatboatmen make fast, towards dusk, near the cotton-     wood or pekan-trees;
Coon-seekers go through the regions of the Red river,      or through those drain'd by the Tennessee, or      through those of the Arkansaw;
Torches shine in the dark that hangs on the Chatta-     hooche or Altamahaw;
Patriarchs sit at supper with sons and grandsons and      great-grandsons around them;
In walls of adobie, in canvas tents, rest hunters and      trappers after their day's sport;
The city sleeps, and the country sleeps;

41

The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their      time;
The old husband sleeps by his wife, and the young      husband sleeps by his wife;
And these one and all tend inward to me, and I tend      outward to them;
And such as it is to be of these, more or less, I am.

78   I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the      wise;
Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,
Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse, and stuff'd with      the stuff that is fine;
One of the great nation, the nation of many nations,      the smallest the same, and the largest the same;
A southerner soon as a northerner — a planter non-     chalant and hospitable, down by the Oconee I      live;
A Yankee, bound my own way, ready for trade, my      joints the limberest joints on earth, and the      sternest joints on earth;
A Kentuckian, walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my      deer-skin leggings — a Louisianian or Georgian;
A boatman over lakes or bays, or along coasts — a      Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye;
At home on Kanadian snow-shoes, or up in the bush,      or with fishermen off Newfoundland;
At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest      and tacking;
At home on the hills of Vermont, or in the woods of      Maine, or the Texan ranch;
Comrade of Californians — comrade of free north-west-     erners, (loving their big proportions;)
Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen — comrade of all who      shake hands and welcome to drink and meat;
A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thought-     fullest;

42

A novice beginning, yet experient of myriads of sea-     sons;
Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and re-     ligion;
A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker;
A prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician,      priest.
79  I resist anything better than my own diversity;
I breathe the air, but leave plenty after me,
And am not stuck up, and am in my place.
80  (The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place;
The suns I see, and the suns I cannot see, are in their      place;
The palpable is in its place, and the impalpable is in its      place.)

81   These are the thoughts of all men in all ages and      lands — they are not original with me;
If they are not yours as much as mine, they are      nothing, or next to nothing;
If they are not the riddle and the untying of the rid-     dle, they are nothing;
If they are not just as close as they are distant, they      are nothing.
82  This is the grass that grows wherever the land is,      and the water is;
This is the common air that bathes the globe.

83 With music strong I come — with my cornets and my drums,
I play not marches for accepted victors only — I play great marches for conquer'd and slain persons.

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84   Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
I also say it is good to fall — battles are lost in the same      spirit in which they are won.
85  I beat and pound for the dead;
I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gay-     est for them.
86  Vivas to those who have fail'd!
And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!
And to those themselves who sank in the sea!
And to all generals that lost engagements! and all      overcome heroes!
And the numberless unknown heroes, equal to the      greatest heroes known.

87   This is the meal pleasantly set — this is the meat for      natural hunger;
It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous — I      make appointments with all;
I will not have a single person slighted or left away;
The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited;
The heavy-lipp'd slave is invited — the venerealee is      invited:
There shall be no difference between them and the rest.
88  This is the press of a bashful hand — this is the float      and odor of hair;
This is the touch of my lips to yours — this is the mur-     mur of yearning;
This is the far-off depth and height reflecting my own      face;
This is the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet      again.
89  Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?
Well, I have — for the Fourth-month showers have,      and the mica on the side of a rock has.

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90   Do you take it I would astonish?
Does the daylight astonish? Does the early redstart,      twittering through the woods?
Do I astonish more than they?
91  This hour I tell things in confidence;
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

92   Who goes there? hankering, gross, mystical, nude;
How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?
93  What is a man, anyhow? What am I? What are you?
94  All I mark as my own, you shall offset it with your      own;
Else it were time lost listening to me.
95  I do not snivel that snivel the world over,
That months are vacuums, and the ground but wal-     low and filth;
That life is a suck and a sell, and nothing remains at      the end but threadbare crape, and tears.
96  Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for      invalids — conformity goes to the fourth-remov'd;
I wear my hat as I please, indoors or out.
97  Why should I pray? Why should I venerate and
  be ceremonious?
98  Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair,      counsell'd with doctors, and calculated close,
I find no sweeter fat then sticks to my own bones.

45

99   In all people I see myself — none more, and not one      a barley-corn less;
And the good or bad I say of myself, I say of them.
100  And I know I am solid and sound;
To me the converging objects of the universe perpetu-     ally flow;
All are written to me, and I must get what the writing      means.
101  I know I am deathless;
I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by the car-     penter's compass;
I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with      a burnt stick at night.
102  I know I am august;
I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be      understood;
I see that the elementary laws never apologize;
(I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant      my house by, after all.)
103  I exist as I am — that is enough;
If no other in the world be aware, I sit content;
And if each and all be aware, I sit content.
104  One world is aware, and by far the largest to me,      and that is myself;
And whether I come to my own to-day, or in ten      thousand or ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerful-     ness I can wait.
105  My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite;
I laugh at what you call dissolution;
And I know the amplitude of time.

46

106   I am the poet of the Body;
And I am the poet of the Soul.
107  The pleasures of heaven are with me, and the pains      of hell are with me;
The first I graft and increase upon myself — the latter      I translate into a new tongue.
108  I am the poet of the woman the same as the man;
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man;
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of      men.
109  I chant the chant of dilation or pride;
We have had ducking and deprecating about enough;
I show that size is only development.
110  Have you outstript the rest? Are you the Presi-     dent?
It is a trifle — they will more than arrive there, every      one, and still pass on.
I am he that walks with the tender and growing      night;
I call to the earth and sea, half-held by the night.
112  Press close, bare-bosom'd night! Press close, mag-     netic, nourishing night!
Night of south winds! night of the large few stars!
Still, nodding night! mad, naked, summer night.
113  Smile, O voluptuous, cool-breath'd earth!
Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees;
Earth of departed sunset! earth of the mountains,      misty-topt!
Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon, just      tinged with blue!

47

Earth of shine and dark, mottling the tide of the      river!
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds, brighter and      clearer for my sake!
Farblossom'd      earth!
Smile, for your lover comes!
114  Prodigal, you have given me love! Therefore I to      you give love!
O unspeakable, passionate love!

115   You sea! I resign myself to you also — I guess      what you mean;
I behold from the beach your crooked inviting fingers;
I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me;
We must have a turn together — I undress — hurry me      out of sight of the land;
Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse;
Dash me with amorous wet — I can repay you.
116  Sea of stretch'd ground-swells!
Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths!
Sea of the brine of life! sea of unshovell'd yet always-     ready graves!
Howler and scooper of storms! capricious and dainty sea!
I am integral with you — I too am of one phase, and of      all phases.
117  Partaker of influx and efflux I — extoller of hate and      conciliation;
Extoller of amies, and those that sleep in each others'      arms.
118  I am he attesting sympathy;
(Shall I make my list of things in the house, and skip      the house that supports them?)

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119   I am not the poet of goodness only — I do not de-     cline to be the poet of wickedness also.
120  Washes and razors for foofoos — for me freckles and      a bristling beard.
121  What blurt is this about virtue and about vice?
Evil propels me, and reform of evil propels me — I      stand indifferent;
My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait;
I moisten the roots of all that has grown.
122  Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging      pregnancy?
Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd      over and rectified?
123  I find one side a balance, and the antipodal side a      balance;
Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine;
Thoughts and deeds of the present, our rouse and      early start.
124  This minute that comes to me over the past decil-     lions,
There is no better than it and now.
125  What behaved well in the past, or behaves well      to-day, is not such a wonder;
The wonder is, always and always, how there can be      a mean man or an infidel.

126   Endless unfolding of words of ages!
And mine a word of the modern — the word En-     masse.
127  A word of the faith that never balks;
Here or henceforward, it is all the same to me —      I accept time, absolutely.

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128   It alone is without flaw — it rounds and completes all;
That mystic, baffling wonder I love, alone completes all.
129  I accept reality, and dare not question it;
Materialism first and last imbuing.
130  Hurrah for positive science! long live exact demon-     stration!
Fetch stonecrop, mixt with cedar and branches of      lilac;
This is the lexicographer — this the chemist — this      made a grammar of the old cartouches;
These mariners put the ship through dangerous un-     known seas;
This is the geologist — this works with the scalpel —      and this is a mathematician.
131  Gentlemen! to you the first honors always:
Your facts are useful and real — and yet they are not      my dwelling;
(I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.)
132  Less the reminders of properties told, my words;
And more the reminders, they, of life untold, and of      freedom and extrication,
And make short account of neuters and geldings, and      favor men and women fully equipt,
And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives,      and them that plot and conspire.

133   Walt Whitman am I, of mighty Manhattan the son,
Turbulent, fleshy and sensual, eating, drinking and      breeding;
No sentimentalist — no stander above men and women,      or apart from them;
No more modest than immodest.

50

134   Unscrew the locks from the doors!
Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!
135  Whoever degrades another degrades me;
And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
136  Through me the afflatus surging and surging —      through me the current and index.
137  I speak the pass-word primeval — I give the sign of      democracy;
By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have      their counterpart of on the same terms.
138  Through me many long dumb voices;
Voices of the interminable generations of slaves;
Voices of prostitutes, and of deform'd persons;
Voices of the diseas'd and despairing, and of thieves      and dwarfs;
Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion,
And of the threads that connect the stars — and of      wombs, and of the fatherstuff,
And of the rights of them the others are down upon;
Of the trivial, flat, foolish, despised,
Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.
139  Through me forbidden voices;
Voices of sexes and lusts — voices veil'd, and I remove      the veil;
Voices indecent, by me clarified and transfigur'd.
140  I do not press my fingers across my mouth;
I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the      head and heart;
Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.
141  I believe in the flesh and the appetites;
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part      and tag of me is a miracle.

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142   Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy what-     ever I touch or am touch'd from;
The scent of these arm-pits, aroma finer than prayer;
This head more than churches, bibles, and all the      creeds.
143  If I worship one thing more than another, it shall      be the spread of my own body, or any part of it.
144  Translucent mould of me, it shall be you!
Shaded ledges and rests, it shall be you!
Firm masculine colter, it shall be you.
145  Whatever goes to the tilth of me, it shall be you!
You my rich blood! Your milky stream, pale strip-     pings of my life.
146  Breast that presses against other breasts, it shall be      you!
My brain, it shall be your occult convolutions.
147  Root of wash't sweet-flag! timorous pond-snipe!      nest of guarded duplicate eggs! it shall be you!
Mix't tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be      you!
Trickling sap of maple! fibre of manly wheat! it shall      be you!
148  Sun so generous, it shall be you!
Vapors lighting and shading my face, it shall be you!
You sweaty brooks and dews, it shall be you!
Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me, it      shall be you!
Broad, muscular fields! branches of live oak! lov-     ing lounger in my winding paths! it shall be      you!
Hands I have taken — face I have kiss'd — mortal I      have ever touch'd! it shall be you.

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149   I dote on myself — there is that lot of me, and all so      luscious;
Each moment, and whatever happens, thrills me with      joy.
150  O I am wonderful!
I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause      of my faintest wish;
Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause      of the friendship I take again.
151  That I walk up my stoop! I pause to consider if it      really be;
A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than      the metaphysics of books.
152  To behold the day-break!
The little light fades the immense and diaphanous      shadows;
The air tastes good to my palate.
153  Hefts of the moving world, at innocent gambols      silently rising, freshly exuding,
Scooting obliquely high and low.
154  Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous      prongs;
Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.
155  The earth by the sky staid with — the daily close of      their junction;
The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over      my head;
The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be      master!

53

156   Dazzling and tremendous, how quick the sun-rise      would kill me,
If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of      me.
157  We also ascend, dazzling and tremendous as the      sun;
We found our own, O my Soul, in the calm and cool      of the day-break.
158  My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach;
With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds, and      volumes of worlds.
159  Speech is the twin of my vision — it is unequal to      measure itself;
It provokes me forever;
It says sarcastically, Walt, you contain enough — why      don't you let it out then?
160  Come now, I will not be tantalized — you conceive      too much of articulation.
161  Do you not know, O speech, how the buds beneath      you are folded?
Waiting in gloom, protected by frost;
The dirt receding before my prophetical screams;
I underlying causes, to balance them at last;
My knowledge my live parts — it keeping tally with      the meaning of things;
Happiness — which, whoever hears me, let him or her      set out in search of this day.
162  My final merit I refuse you — I refuse putting from      me what I really am;
Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me;
I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking to-     ward you.

54

163   Writing and talk do not prove me;
I carry the plenum of proof, and everything else, in      my face;
With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skep-     tic.

164   I think I will do nothing now but listen,
To accrue what I hear into myself — to let sounds con-     tribute toward me.
165  I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat,      gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my      meals;
I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human      voice;
I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused      or following;
Sounds of the city, and sounds out of the city — sounds      of the day and night;
Talkative young ones to those that like them — the      loud laugh of work-people at their meals;
The angry base of disjointed friendship — the faint      tones of the sick;
The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips      pronouncing a death-sentence;
The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the      wharves — the refrain of the anchor-lifters;
The ring of alarm-bells — the cry of fire — the whirr of      swift-streaking engines and hose-carts, with      premonitory tinkles, and color'd lights;
The steam-whistle — the solid roll of the train of ap-     proaching cars;
The slow-march play'd at the head of the association,      marching two and two;
(They go to guard some corpse — the flag-tops are      draped with black muslin.)

55

166   I hear the violoncello, ('tis the young man's heart's      complaint;)
I hear the key'd cornet — it glides quickly in through      my ears;
It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and      breast.
167  I hear the chorus — it is a grand opera;
Ah, this indeed is music! This suits me.
168  A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me;
The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me      full.
169  I hear the train'd soprano — (what work, with hers,      is this?)
The orchestra wrenches such ardors from me, I did      not know I possess'd them;
It sails me — I dab with bare feet — they are lick'd by      the indolent waves;
I am exposed, cut by bitter and angry hail — I lose my      breath,
Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throt-     tled in fakes of death;
At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles,
And that we call BEING.

170   To be, in any form — what is that?
(Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come      back thither;)
If nothing lay more develop't, the quahaug in its cal-     lous shell were enough.
171  Mine is no callous shell;
I have instant conductors all over me, whether I pass      or stop;

56

They seize every object, and lead it harmlessly through      me.
172  I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am      happy;
To touch my person to some one else's is about as      much as I can stand.

173   Is this then a touch? quivering me to a new      identity,
Flames and ether making a rush for my veins,
Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help      them,
My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike      what is hardly different from myself;
On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs,
Straining the udder of my heart for its withheld drip,
Behaving licentious toward me, taking no denial,
Depriving me of my best, as for a purpose,
Unbuttoning my clothes, holding me by the bare      waist,
Deluding my confusion with the calm of the sunlight      and pasture-fields,
Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away,
They bribed to swap off with touch, and go and graze      at the edges of me;
No consideration, no regard for my draining strength      or my anger;
Fetching the rest of the herd around to enjoy them a      while,
Then all uniting to stand on a headland and worry      me.
174  The sentries desert every other part of me;
They have left me helpless to a red marauder;
They all come to the headland, to witness and assist      against me.

57

175   I am given up by traitors;
I talk wildly — I have lost my wits — I and nobody else      am the greatest traitor;
I went myself first to the headland — my own hands      carried me there.
176  You villain touch! what are you doing? My breath      is tight in its throat;
Unclench your floodgates! you are too much for me.

177   Blind, loving, wrestling touch! sheath'd, hooded,      sharp-tooth'd touch!
Did it make you ache so, leaving me?
178  Parting, track't by arriving — perpetual payment of      perpetual loan;
Rich, showering rain, and recompense richer after-     ward.
179  Sprouts take and accumulate — stand by the curb      prolific and vital;
Landscapes, projected, masculine, full-sized, and      golden.

180   All truths wait in all things;
They neither hasten their own delivery, nor resist it;
They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon;
The insignificant is as big to me as any;
(What is less or more than a touch?)
181  Logic and sermons never convince;
The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.
182  Only what proves itself to every man and woman      is so;
Only what nobody denies is so.

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183   A minute and a drop of me settle my brain;
I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and      lamps,
And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or      woman,
And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have      for each other,
And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson,      until it becomes omnific,
And until every one shall delight us, and we them.

184   I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-     work of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of      sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors      of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all      machinery,
And the cow crunching with depres't head surpasses      any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions      of infidels,
And I could come every afternoon of my life to look      at the farmer's girl boiling her iron ten-kettle      and baking short-cake.
185  I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss,      fruits, grains, esculent roots,
And am stuccoed with quadrupeds and birds all over,
And have distanced what is behind me for good      reasons,
And call anything close again, when I desire it.
186  In vain the speeding or shyness;

59

In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against      my approach;
In vain the mastadon retreats beneath its own pow-     der'd bones;
In vain objects stand leagues off, and assume manifold      shapes;
In vain the ocean settling in hollows, and the great      monsters lying low;
In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky;
In vain the snake slides through the creepers and      logs;
In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods;
In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador;
I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of      the cliff.

187   I think I could turn and live with animals, they are      so placid and self-contain'd;
I stand and look at them long and long.
188  They do not sweat and whine about their condition;
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their      sins;
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to      God;
Not one is dissatisfied — not one is demented with the      mania of owning things;
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived      thousands of years ago;
Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole      earth.
189  So they show their relations to me, and I accept      them;
They bring me tokens of myself — they evince them      plainly in their possession.

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190   I wonder where they get those tokens:
Did I pass that way huge times ago, and negligently      drop them?
Myself moving forward then and now and forever,
Gathering and showing more always and with velocity,
Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among      them;
Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remem-     brancers;
Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him      on brotherly terms.
191  A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive      to my caresses,
Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears,
Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground,
Eyes well apart, full of sparkling wickedness — ears      finely cut, flexibly moving.
192  His nostrils dilate, as my heels embrace him;
His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure, as we speed      around and return.
193  I but use you a moment, then I resign you, stallion;
Why do I need your paces, when I myself out-gallop      them?
Even, as I stand or sit, passing faster than you.

194 O swift wind! O space and time! now I see it is true, what I guess'd at;
What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass;
What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed,
And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the morning.

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195   My ties and ballasts leave me — I travel — I sail — my      elbows rest in the sea-gaps;
I skirt the sierras — my palms cover continents;
I am afoot with my vision.
196  By the city's quadrangular houses — in log huts —      camping with lumbermen;
Along the ruts of the turnpike — along the dry gulch      and rivulet bed;
Weeding my onion-patch, or hoeing rows of carrots      and parsnips — crossing savannas — trailing in      forests;
Prospecting — gold-digging — girdling the trees of a      new purchase;
Scorch'd ankle-deep by the hot sand — hauling my boat      down the shallow river;
Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb over-     head — where the buck turns furiously at the      hunter;
Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock       — where the otter is feeding on fish;
Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the      bayou;
Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey       — where the beaver pats the mud with his      paddle-shaped tail;
Over the growing sugar — over the yellow-flower'd cot-     ton plant — over the rice in its low moist field;
Over the sharp-peak'd farm house, with its scallop'd      scum and slender shoots from the gutters;
Over the western persimmon — over the long-leav'd      corn — over the delicate blue-flower flax;
Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and      buzzer there with the rest;
Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and      shades in the breeze;

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Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, hold-     ing on by low scragged limbs;
Walking the path worn in the grass, and beat through      the leaves of the brush;
Where the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and      the wheat-lot;
Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve — where      the great gold-bug drops through the dark;
Where the flails keep time on the barn floor;
Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree      and flows to the meadow;
Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the      tremulous shuddering of their hides;
Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen — where      andirons straddle the hearth      webs fall in festoons from the rafters;
Where trip-hammers crash — where the press is whirl-     ing its cylinders;
Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes      out of its ribs;
Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, float-     ing in it myself, and looking composedly down;
Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose — where      the heat hatches pale-green eggs in the dented      sand;
Where the she-whale swims with her calf, and never      forsakes it;
Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant      of smoke;
Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out      of the water;
Where the half-burn'd brig is riding on unknown cur-     rents,
Where shells grow to her slimy deck — where the dead      are corrupting below;
Where the dense-starr'd flag is borne at the head of the      regiments;
Approaching Manhattan, up by the long-stretching      island;

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Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my      countenance;
Upon a doorblock of hard wood      outside;
Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs, or a      good game of base-ball;
At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license,      bull-dances, drinking, laughter;
At the cider-mill, tasting the sweets of the brown      mash, sucking the juice through a straw;
At apple-peelings, wanting kisses for all the red fruit      I find;
At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings,      house-raisings:
Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles,      cackles, screams, weeps;
Where the hayyard — where      the dry-stalks are scatter'd — where the brood      cow waits in the hovel;
Where the bull advances to do his masculine work —      where the stud to the mare — where the cock is      treading the hen;
Where the heifers browse — where geese nip their food      with short jerks;
Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limit-     less and lonesome prairie;
Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the      square miles far and near;
Where the humming-bird shimmers — where the neck      of the long-lived swan is curving and winding;
Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where      she laughs her near-human laugh;
Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden,      half hid by the high weeds;
Where band-neck'd partridges roost in a ring on the      ground with their heads out;
Where burial coaches enter the arch'd gates of a      cemetery;

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Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and      icicled trees;
Where the yellow-crown'd heron comes to the edge of      the marsh at night and feeds upon small crabs;
Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the      warm noon;
Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the      walnut-tree over the well;
Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-     wired leaves;
Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under con-     ical firs;
Through the gymnasium — through the curtain'd saloon       — through the office or public hall;
Pleas'd with the native, and pleas'd with the foreign       — pleas'd with the new and old;
Pleas'd with women, the homely as well as the hand-     some;
Pleas'd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet      and talks melodiously;
Pleas'd with the tune of the choir of the white-washt      church;
Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Meth-     odist preacher, or any preacher — imprest seri-     ously at the camp-meeting:
Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the      whole forenoon — flatting the flesh of my nose      on the thick plate-glass;
Wandering the same afternoon with my face turn'd up      to the clouds,
My right and left arms round the sides of two friends,      and I in the middle:
Coming home with the silent and dark-cheek'd bush-     boy — behind me he rides at the drape of the      day;
Far from the settlements, studying the print of ani-     mals' feet, or the moccasin print;
By the cot in the hospital, reaching lemonade to a      feverish patient;

65

Nigh the coffin'd corpse when all is still, examining      with a candle:
Voyaging to every port, to dicker and adventure;
Hurrying with the modern crowd, as eager and fickle      as any;
Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife      him;
Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts      gone from me a long while;
Walking the old hills of Judea, with the beautiful      gentle God by my side;
Speeding through space — speeding through heaven and      the stars;
Speeding amid the seven satellites, and the broad      ring, and the diameter of eighty thousand      miles;
Speeding with tail'd meteors — throwing fire-balls like      the rest;
Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full      mother in its belly;
Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning,
Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing;
I tread day and night such roads.
197  I visit the orchards of spheres, and look at the      product;
And look at quintillions ripen'd, and look at quintil-     lions green.
198  I fly the flight of the fluid and swallowing soul;
My course runs below the soundings of plummets.
199  I help myself to material and immaterial;
No guard can shut me off, nor law prevent me.

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200   I anchor my ship for a little while only;
My messengers continually cruise away, or bring their      returns to me.
201  I go hunting polar furs and the seal — leaping      chasms with a pike-pointed staff — clinging to      topples of brittle and blue.
202  I ascend to the foretruck;
I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest;
We sail the arctic sea — it is plenty light enough;
Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on      the wonderful beauty;
The enormous masses of ice pass me, and I pass them       — the scenery is plain in all directions;
The white-topt mountains show in the distance — I      fling out my fancies toward them;
(We are approaching some great battle-field in which      we are soon to be engaged;
We pass the colossal out-posts of the encampment —      we pass with still feet and caution;
Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and      ruin'd city;
The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the      living cities of the globe.)
203  I am a free companion — I bivouac by invading      watchfires.
204  I turn the bridegroom out of bed, and stay with the      bride myself;
I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips.
205  My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail      of the stairs;
They fetch my man's body up, dripping and drown'd.

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206   I understand the large hearts of heroes,
The courage of present times and all times;
How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless      wreck of the steam-ship, and Death chasing it      up and down the storm;
How he knuckled tight, and gave not back one inch,      and was faithful of days and faithful of nights,
And chalk'd in large letters, on a board, Be of good      cheer, we will not desert you:
How he follow'd with them, and tack'd with them —      and would not give it up;
How he saved the drifting company at last:
How the lank loose-gown'd women look'd when      boated from the side of their prepared graves;
How the silent old-faced infants, and the lifted sick,      and the sharp-lipp'd unshaved men:
All this I swallow — it tastes good — I like it well — it      becomes mine;
I am the man — I suffer'd — I was there.
207  The disdain and calmness of martyrs;
The mother, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry      wood, her children gazing on;
The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the      fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat;
The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck       — the murderous buckshot and the bullets;
All these I feel or am.
208  I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the      dogs,
Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack      the marksmen;
I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd      with the ooze of my skin;
I fall on the weeds and stones;
The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close,

68

Taunt my dizzy ears, and beat me violently over the      head with whip-stocks.
209  Agonies are one of my changes of garments;
I do not ask the wounded person how he feels — I my-     self become the wounded person;
My hurts turns livid upon me as I lean on a cane and      observe.
210  I am the mash'd fireman with breastbone broken:
Tumbling walls buried me in their debris;
Heat and smoke I inspired — I heard the yelling shouts      of my comrades;
I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels;
They have clear'd the beams away — they tenderly lift      me forth.
211  I lie in the night air in my red shirt — the pervading      hush is for my sake;
Painless after all I lie, exhausted but not so unhappy;
White and beautiful are the faces around me — the      heads are bared of their fire-caps;
The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the      torches.
212  Distant and dead resuscitate;
They show as the dial or move as the hands of me —      I am the clock myself.
213  I am an old artillerist — I tell of my fort's bombard-     ment;
I am there again.
214  Again the long roll of the drummers;
Again the attacking cannon, mortars;
Again the cannon responsive.

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215   I take part — I see and hear the whole;
The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aim'd      shots;
The ambulanza slowly passing, trailing its red drip ;
Workmen searching after damages, making indispen-     sable repairs ;
The fall of grenades through the rent roof — the fan-     shaped explosion ;
The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in      the air.
216  Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general — he      furiously waves with his hand ;
He gasps through the clot, Mind not me — mind — the      entrenchments.

217   Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth ;
(I tell not the fall of Alamo,
Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo,
The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo;)
Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hun-     dred and twelve young men.
218  Retreating, they had form'd in a hollow square, with      their baggage for breastworks ;
Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemy's,      nine times their number, was the price they took      in advance ;
Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition      gone ;
They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv'd      writing and seal, gave up their arms, and      march'd back prisoners of war.
219  They were the glory of the race of rangers ;
Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship,

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Large, turbulent, generous, brave, handsome, proud,      and affectionate,
Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of      hunters,
Not a single one over thirty years of age.
220  The second First-day morning they were brought      out in squads, and massacred — it was beautiful      early summer ;
The work commenced about five o'clock, and was over      by eight.
221  None obey'd the command to kneel;
Some made a mad and helpless rush — some stood      stark and straight ;
A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart — the      living and dead lay together ;
The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt — the new-     comers saw them there ;
Some, half-kill'd, attempted to crawl away ;
These were despatch'd with bayonets, or batter'd with      the blunts of muskets ;
A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till      two more came to release him ;
The three were all torn, and cover'd with the boy's      blood.
222  At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies:
That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred      and twelve young men.

223   Would you hear of an old-fashion'd sea-fight?
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon      and stars?
List to the story as my grandmother's father, the      sailor, told it to me.

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224   Our foe was no skulk in his ship, I tell you, (said he;)
His was the surly English pluck — and there is no      tougher or truer, and never was, and never will      be;
Along the lower'd eve he came, horribly raking us.
225  We closed with him — the yards entangled — the      cannon touch'd;
My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.
226  We had receiv'd some eighteen-pound shots under      the water;
On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at      the first fire, killing all around, and blowing up      overhead.
227  Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark;
Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks      on the gain, and five feet of water reported;
The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in      the after-hold, to give tem a chance for them-     selves.
228  The transit to and from the magazine is now      stopt by the sentinels,
They see so many strange faces, they do not know      whom to trust.
229  Our frigate takes fire ;
The other asks if we demand quarter?
If our colors are struck, and the fighting is done?
230  Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my      little captain, (says my grandmother's father ;)
We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just      begun our part of the fighting.

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231   Only three guns are in use ;
One is directed by the captain himself against the      enemy's main-mast ;
Two, well served with grape and canister, silence his      musketry and clear his decks.
232  The tops alone second the fire of this little battery,      especially the main-top ;
They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.
233  Not a moment's cease ;
The leaks gain fast on the pumps — the fire eats toward      the powder-magazine ;
One of the pumps has been shot away — it is generally      thought we are sinking.
234  Serene stands the little captain ;
He is not hurried — his voice is neither high nor low ;
His eyes give more light to us than our battle-     lanterns.
235  Toward twelve at night, there in the beams of the      moon, they surrender to us.

236   O now it is not my grandmother's father there in      the fight ;
I feel it is I myself.
237  Stretch'd and still lies the midnight ;
Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the      darkness ;
Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking — preparations      to pass to the one we have conquer'd ;
The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his      orders through a countenance white as a sheet;
Near by, the corpse of the child that serv'd in the      cabin;

73

The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and      carefully curl'd whiskers;
The flames, spite of all that can be done, flickering      aloft and below;
The husky voices of the two or three officer yet fit      for duty; Formless stacks of bodies, and bodies by themselves —      dabs of flesh upon the masts and spars, Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the      soothe of waves,
Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels,      strong scent, Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and      fields by the shore, death-messages given in      charge to survivors,
The hiss of the surgeon's knife, the gnawing teeth of      his saw,
Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild      scream, and long, dull, tapering groan ;
These so — these irretrievable.

238   O Christ ! This is mastering me!
Through the conquer'd doors they crowd. I am      possess'd.
239  I embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering;
See myself in prison shaped like another man,
And feel the dull unintermitted pain.
240  For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their ear-     bines and keep watch;
It is I let out in the morning, and barr'd at night.
241  Not a mutineer walks handcuff'd to jail, but I am      handcuff'd to him and walk by his side;
(I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one,      with sweat on my twitching lips.)

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242   Not a youngster is taken for larceny, but I go up too,      and am tried and sentenced.
243  Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp, but I also      lie at the last gasp;
My face is ash-color'd — my sinews gnarl — away from      me people retreat.
244  Askers embody themselves in me, and I am embo-     died in them;
I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg.

245   Enough! enough! enough!
Somehow I have been stunn'd. Stand back!
Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers,      dreams, gaping;
I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.
246  That I could forget the mockers and insults!
That I could forget the trickling tears, and the blows      of the bludgeons and hammers!
That I could look with a separate look on my own      crucifixion and bloody crowning.
247  I remember now;
I resume the overstaid fraction;
The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided      to it, or to any graves;
Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me.
248  I troop forth replenish't with supreme power, one of      an average unending procession;
Inland and sea-coast we go, and we pass all boundary      lines;

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Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole      earth;
The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thous-     ands of years.
249  Eleves, I salute you! come forward!
Continue your annotations, continue your question-     ings.

250   The friendly and flowing savage, Who is he?
Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and master-     ing it?
251  Is he some south-westerner, rais'd out-doors? Is      he Kanadian?
Is he from the Mississippi country? Iowa, Oregon,      California? the mountains? prairie-life, bush-     life? or from the sea?
252  Wherever he goes, men and women accept and de-     sire him;
They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to      them, stay with them.
253  Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as      grass, uncomb'd head, laughter, and naiveté,
Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes      and emanations;
They descend in new forms from the tips of his      fingers;
They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath       — they fly out of the glance of his eyes.

254 Flaunt of the sunshine, I need not your bask, — lie over!
You light surface only — I force surfaces and depths also.

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255   Earth! you seem to look for something at my hands;
Say, old Top-knot! what do you want?
256  Man or woman! I might tell how I like you, but      cannot;
And might tell what it is in me, and what it is in you,      but cannot;
And might tell that pining I have — that pulse of my      nights and days.
257  Behold! I do not give lectures or a little charity;
What I give, I give out of myself.
258  You there, impotent, loose in the knees!
Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you;
Spread your palms, and lift the flaps of your pockets;
I am not to be denied — I compel — I have stores      plenty and to spare;
And anything I have I bestow.
259  I do not ask who you are — that is not so important      to me;
You can do nothing, and be nothing, but what I will      infold you.
260  To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean;
On his right cheek I put the family kiss,
And deep in my soul I swear, I never will deny him.
261  On women fit for conception I start bigger and nim-     bler babes;
This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant      republics.
262  To any one dying — thither I speed, and twist the      knob of the door;
Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed;
Let the physician and the priest go home.

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263   I seize the descending man, and raise him with re-     sistless will.
264  O despairer, here is my neck;
By God! you shall not go down! Hang your whole      weight upon me.
265  I dilate you with tremendous breath — I buoy you      up;
Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force,
Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.
266  Sleep! I and they keep guard all night;
Not doubt — not decease shall dare to lay finger upon      you;
I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to      myself; And when you rise in the morning you will find what      I tell you is so.

267   I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on      their backs;
And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed      help.
268  I heard what was said of the universe;
Heard it and heard it of several thousand years:
It is middling well as far as it goes, — But is that all?
269  Magnifying and applying come I,
Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters,
Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah,
Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules      his grandson;
Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha,
In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf,      the crucifix engraved,
With Odin, and the hideous-faced Mexitli, and every      idol and image;

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Taking them all for what they are worth, and not a      cent more;
Admitting they were alive and did the work of their      days;
They bore mites, as for unfledg'd birds, who have now      to rise and fly and sing for themselves;
Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better      in myself — bestowing them freely on each man      and woman I see;
Discovering as much, or more, in a framer framing a      house;
Putting higher claims for him there with his roll'd up      sleeves, driving the mallet and chisel;
Not objecting to special revelations — considering a      curl of smoke or a hair on the back of my hand      just as curious as any revelation;
Lads ahold of fire-engines and hook-and-ladder ropes      no less to me than the Gods of the antique wars;
Minding their voices peal through the crash of de-     struction,
Their brawny limbs passing safe over charr'd laths —      their white foreheads whole and unhurt out of      the flames:
By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple      interceding for every person born;
Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three      lusty angels with shirts bagg'd out at their      waists;
The snag-tooth'd hostler with red hair redeeming sins      past and to come,
Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee law-     yers for his brother, and sit by him while he is      tried for forgery;
What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square      rod about me, and not filling the square rod      then;
The bull and the bug never worship'd half enough;
Dung and dirt more admirable than was dream'd;

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The supernatural of no account — myself waiting my      time to be one of the Supremes;
The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much      good as the best, and be as prodigious:
By my life-lumps! becoming already a creator;
Putting myself here and now to the ambush't womb      of the shadows.

270   A call in the midst of the crowd;
My own voice, orotund, sweeping, and final.
271  Come my children;
Come my boys and girls, my women, household, and      intimates;
Now the performer launches his nerve — he has pass'd      his prelude on the reeds within.
272  Easily written, loose-finger'd chords! I feel the      thrum of your climax and close.
273  My head slues round on my neck;
Music rolls, but not from the organ;
Folks are around me, but they are no household of      mine.
274  Ever the hard unsunk ground;
Ever the eaters and drinkers — ever the upward and      downward sun — ever the air and the ceaseless      tides;
Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked,      real;
Ever the old inexplicable query — ever that thorn'd      thumb — that breath of itches and thirsts;
Ever the vexer's hoot! hoot! till we find where the sly      one hides, and bring him forth;
Ever love — ever the sobbing liquid of life;
Ever the bandage under the chin — ever the tressels of      death.

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275   Here and there, with dimes on the eyes walking;
To feed the greed of the belly, the brains liberally      spooning;
Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never      once going;
Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff      for payment receiving;
A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually      claiming.
276  This is the city, and I am one of the citizens;
Whatever interests the rest interests me — politics,      markets, newspapers, schools,
Benevolent societies, improvements, banks, tariffs,      steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate,      and personal estate.
277  The little plentiful mannikins, skipping around in      collars and tail'd coats,
I am aware who they are — (they are actually not worms      or fleas.)
278  I acknowledge the duplicates of myself — the weakest      and shallowest is deathless with me;
What I do and say, the same waits for them;
Every thought that flounders in me, the same flounders      in them.
279  I know perfectly well my own egotism;
I know my omnivorous lines, and cannot write any less;
And would fetch you, whoever you are, flush with my-     self.
280  No words of routine are mine,
But abruptly to question, to leap beyond, yet nearer      bring:
This printed and bound book — but the printer, and the      printing-office boy?

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The well-taken photographs — but your wife or friend      close and solid in your arms?
The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in      her turrets — but the pluck of the captain and      engineers?
In the houses, the dishes and fare and furniture — but      the host and hostess, and the look out of their      eyes?
The sky up there — yet here, or next door, or across the      way?
The saints and sages in history — but you yourself?
Sermons, creeds, theology — but the fathomless human      brain,
And what is reason? and what is love? and what is life?

281   I do not despise you, priests;
My faith is the greatest of faiths, and the least of      faiths,
Enclosing worship ancient and modern, and all between      ancient and modern,
Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five      thousand years,
Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the Gods,      saluting the sun,
Making a fetish of the first rock or stump, powwowing      with sticks in the circle of obis,
Helping the lama or brahmin as he trims the lamps of      the idols,
Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic proces-     sion — rapt and austere in the woods, a gymno-     sophist,
Drinking mead from the skull-cup — to Shastas and      Vedas admirant — minding the Koran,
Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone      and knife, beating the serpent-skin drum,
Accepting the Gospels — accepting him that was cruci-     fied, knowing assuredly that he is divine,

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To the mass kneeling, or the puritan's prayer rising,      or sitting patiently in a pew,
Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting      dead-like till my spirit arouses me,
Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of      pavement and land,
Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits.
282  One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang, I turn      and talk like a man leaving charges before a      journey.
283  Down-hearted doubters, dull and excluded,
Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, disheart-     en'd, atheistical;
I know every one of you — I know the sea of torment,      despair and unbelief.
284  How the flukes splash!
How they contort, rapid as lightning, with spasms,      and spouts of blood!
285  Be at peace, bloody flukes of doubters and sullen      mopers;
I take my place among you as much as among any;
The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the      same,
And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me,      all, precisely the same.
286  I do not know what is untried and afterward;
But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and can-     not fail.
287  Each who passes is consider'd — each who stops is      consider'd — not a single one can it fail.

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288   It cannot fail the young man who died and was      buried,
Nor the young woman who died and was put by his      side,
Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and      then drew back, and was never seen again,
Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and      feels it with bitterness worse than gall,
Nor him in the poor house, turbercled by rum and the      bad disorder,
Nor the numberless slaughter'd and wreck'd — nor the      brutish koboo call'd the ordure of humanity,
Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for      food to slip in,
Nor anything in the earth, or down in the oldest      graves of the earth,
Nor anything in the myriads of spheres — nor one of      the myriads of myriads that inhabit them,
Nor the present — nor the least wisp that is known.

289  It is time to explain myself — Let us stand up.
290  What is known I strip away;
I launch all men and women forward with me into      THE UNKNOWN.
291  The clock indicates the moment — but what does      eternity indicate?
292  We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and      summers;
There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.
293  Births have brought us richness and variety,
And other births will bring us richness and variety.

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294   I do not call one greater and one smaller;
That which fills its period and place is equal to any.
295  Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my      brother, my sister?
I am sorry for you — they are not murderous or jeal-     ous upon me;
All has been gentle with me — I keep no account with      lamentation;
(What have I to do with lamentation?)
296  I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an      encloser of things to be.
297  My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs;
On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches      between the steps;
All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.
298  Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me;
Afar down I see the huge first Nothing — I know I was      even there;
I waited unseen and always, and slept through the      lethargic mist,
And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid      carbon.
299  Long I was hugg'd close — long and long.
300  Immense have been the preparations for me,
Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me.
301  Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like      cheerful boatmen;
For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings;
They sent influences to look after what was to hold      me.

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302   Before I was born out of my mother, generations      guided me;
My embryo has never been torpid — nothing could      overlay it.
303  For it the nebula cohered to an orb,
The long slow strata piled to rest it on,
Vast vegetables gave it sustenance,
Monstrous sauroids transported it in their months,      and deposited it with care.
304  All forces have been steadily employ'd to complete      and delight me;
Now on this spot I stand with my robust Soul.

305   O span of youth! Ever-push't elasticity!
O manhood, balanced, florid, and full.
306  My lovers suffocate me!
Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin,
Jostling me through streets and public halls — coming      naked to me at night,
Crying by day Ahoy! from the rocks of the river —      swinging and chirping over my head,
Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled      under-brush,
Lighting on every moment of my life,
Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses,
Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts, and      giving them to be mine.
307  Old age superbly rising! O welcome, ineffable grace      of dying days!
308  Every condition promulges not only itself — it pro-     mulges what grows after and out of itself,
And the dark hush promulges as much as any.

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309   I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled      systems,
And all I see, multiplied as high as I can cipher, edge      but the rim of the farther systems.
310  Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always      expanding,
Outward and outward, and forever outward.
311  My sun has his sun, and round him obediently      wheels,
He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit,
And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest      inside them.
312  There is no stoppage, and never can be stoppage;
If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon      their surfaces, were this moment reduced back      to a pallid float, it would not avail in the long run;
We should surely bring up again where we now      stand,
And as surely go as much farther — and then farther      and farther.
313  A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic      leagues, do not hazard the span, or make it      impatient;
They are but parts — anything is but a part.
314  See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of      that;
Count ever so much, there is limitless time around      that.
315  My rendezvous is appointed — it is certain;
The Lord will be there, and wait till I come, on perfect      terms;
(The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine,      will be there.)

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316   I know I have the best of time and space, and was      never measured, and never will be measured.
317  I tramp a perpetual journey — (come listen all!)
My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff      cut from the woods;
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair;
I have no chair, no church, no philosophy;
I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, or exchange;
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a      knoll,
My left hand hooking you round the waist,
My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents,      and a plain public road.
318  Not I — not any one else, can travel that road for      you,
You must travel it for yourself.
319  It is not far — it is within reach;
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and      did not know;
Perhaps it is every where on water and on land.
320  Shoulder your duds, dear son, and I will mine, and      let us hasten forth,
Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as      we go.
321  If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff      of your hand on my hip,
And in due time you shall repay the same service to      me;
For after we start, we never lie by again.

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322   This day before dawn I ascended a hill, and look'd      at the crowded heaven,
And I said to my Spirit, When we become the enfolders      of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of      everything in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied      then?
And my Spirit said No, we but level that lift, to pass and      continue beyond.
323  You are also asking me questions, and I hear you;
I answer that I cannot answer — you must find out for      yourself.
324  Sit a while, dear son;
Here are biscuits to eat, and here is milk to drink;
But as soon as you sleep, and renew yourself in sweet      clothes, I kiss you with a good-bye kiss, and      open the gate for your egress hence.
325  Long enough have you dream'd contemptible      dreams;
Now I wash the gum from your eyes;
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light,      and of every moment of your life.
326  Long have you timidly waded, holding a plank by      the shore;
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod      to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your      hair.

327   I am the teacher of athletes;
He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own,      proves the width of my own;
He most honors my style who learns under it to      destroy the teacher.

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328   The boy I love, the same becomes a man, not      through derived power, but in his own right,
Wicked, rather than virtuous out of conformity or      fear,
Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak,
Unrequited love, or a slight, cutting him worse than      sharp steel cuts,
First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's-eye, to sail      a skiff, to sing a song, or play on the banjo,
Preferring scars, and the beard, and faces pitted with      small-pox, over all latherers,
And those well tann'd to those that keep out of the sun.
329  I teach straying from me — yet who can stray from      me?
I follow you, whoever you are, from the present      hour;
My words itch at your ears till you understand them.
330  I do not say these things for a dollar, or to fill up      the time while I wait for a boat;
It is you talking just as much as myself — I act as the      tongue of you;
Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd.
331  I swear I will never again mention love or death in-     side a house,
And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only      to him or her who privately stays with me in      the open air.
332  If you would understand me, go to the heights or      water-shore;
The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or mo-     tion of waves a key;
The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words.

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333   No shutter'd room or school can commune with me,
But roughs and little children better than they.
334  The young mechanic is closest to me — he knows me      well;
The woodman, that takes his axe and jug with him,      shall take me with him all day;
The farm-boy, ploughing in the field, feels good at the      sound of my voice;
In vessels that sail, my words sail — I go with fisher-     men and seamen, and love them.
335  The soldier camp'd, or upon the march, is mine;
On the night ere the pending battle, many seek me,      and I do not fail them;
On the solemn night (it may be their last,) those that      know me, seek me.
336  My face rubs to the hunter's face, when he lies down      alone in his blanket;
The driver, thinking of me, does not mind the jolt of      his wagon;
The young mother and old mother comprehend me;
The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment, and      forget where they are;
They and all would resume what I have told them.

337   I have said that the soul is not more than the body,
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul:
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's      self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy, walks      to his own funeral, drest in his shroud,
And I or you, pocketless of a dime, may purchase the      pick of the earth,

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And to glance with an eye, or show a bean in its pod,      confounds the learning of all times,
And there is no trade or employment but the young      man following it may become a hero,
And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for      the wheel'd universe,
And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand      cool and composed before a million universes.
338  And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God,
For I, who am curious about each, am not curious      about God;
(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace      about God, and about death.)
339  I hear and behold God in every object, yet under-     stand God not in the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonder-     ful than myself.
340  Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four,      and each moment then;
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my      own face in the glass;
I find letters from God drop't in the street — and every      one is sign'd by God's name,
And I leave them where they are, for I know that      wheresoe'er I go,
Others will punctually come forever and ever.

341 And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mor- tality, it is idle to try to alarm me.
342 To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes;
I see the elder hand, pressing, receiving, supporting;
I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors,
And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape.

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343   And as to you, Corpse, I think you are good man-     nure — but that does not offend me;
I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing,
I reach to the leafy lips — I reach to the polish't breasts      of melons.
344  And as to you Life, I reckon you are the leavings of      many deaths;
(No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times      before.)
345  I hear you whispering there, O stars of heaven;
O suns! O grass of graves! O perpetual transfers and      promotions!
If you do not say anything, how can I say anything.
346  Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest,
Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing      twilight,
Toss, sparkles of day and dusk! toss on the black      stems that decay in the muck!
Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.
347  I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night;
I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sun-     beams reflected;
And debouch to the steady and central from the off-     spring great or small.

348   There is that in me — I do not know what it is — but      I know it is in me.
349  Wrench't and sweaty — calm and cool then my body      becomes;
I sleep — I sleep long.
350  I do not know it — it is without name — it is a word      unsaid;
It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.

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351   Something it swings on more than the earth I swing      on;
To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes      me.
352  Perhaps I might tell more. Outlines! I plead for      my brothers and sisters.
353  Do you see, O my brothers and sisters?
It is not chaos or death — it is form, union, plan — it is      eternal life — it is HAPPINESS.
354  The past and present wilt — I have fill'd them, emp-     tied them,
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

355   Listener up there! Here you! What have you to      confide to me?
Look in my face, while I snuff the sidle of evening;
Talk honestly — no one else hears you, and I stay only      a minute longer.
356  Do I contradict myself?
Very well, then, I contradict myself;
I am large — I contain multitudes.
357  I concentrate toward them that are nigh — I wait on      the door-slab.
358  Who has done his day's work? Who will soonest be      through with his supper?
Who wishes to walk with me?
359  Will you speak before I am gone? Will you prove      already too late?

360 The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me — he complains of my gab and my loitering.

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361   I too am not a bit tamed — I too am untranslatable;
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
362  The last scud of day holds back for me;
It flings my likeness after the rest, and true as any, on      the shadow'd wilds;
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
363  I depart as air — I shake my white Jocks at the run-     away sun;
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
364  I bequeathe myself to the dirt, to grow from the      grass I love;
If you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles.
365  You will hardly know who I am, or what I mean;
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
366  Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged;
Missing me one place, search another;
I stop somewhere, waiting for you.

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To THE garden, the world, anew ascending,
Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding,
The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being,
Curious, here behold my resurrection, after slumber;
The revolving cycles, in their wide sweep, having brought me again,
Amorous, mature — all beautiful to me — all wondrous;
My limbs, and the quivering fire that ever plays through them, for reasons, most wondrous;
Existing, I peer and penetrate still,
Content with the present — content with the past,
By my side, or back of me, Eve following,
Or in front, and I following her just the same.

FROM pent-up, aching rivers;
From that of myself, without which I were nothing;
From what I am determin'd to make illustrious, even if I stand sole among men;
From my own voice resonant — singing the phallus,
Singing the song of procreation,

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Singing the need of superb children, and therein superb      grown people,
Singing the muscular urge and the blending,
Singing the bedfellow's song, (O resistless yearning!
O for any and each, the body correlative attracting!
O for you, whoever you are, your correlative body! O      it, more than all else, you delighting!)
— From the hungry gnaw that eats me night and day;
From native moments — from bashful pains — singing      them;
Singing something yet unfound, though I have dili-     gently sought it, many a long year;
Singing the true song of the Soul, fitful, at random;
Singing what, to the Soul, entirely redeem'd her, the      faithful one, even the prostitute, who detain'd      me when I went to the city;
Singing the song of prostitutes;
Renascent with grossest Nature, or among animals;
Of that — of them, and what goes with them, my poems      informing;
Of the smell of apples and lemons — of the pairing of      birds,
Of the wet of woods — of the lapping of waves,
Of the mad pushes of waves upon the land — I them      chanting;
The overture lightly sounding — the strain anticipat-     ing;
The welcome nearness — the sight of the perfect body;
The swimmer swimming naked in the bath, or motion-     less on his back lying and floating;
The female form approaching — I, pensive, love-flesh      tremulous, aching;
— The slave's body for sale, — I, sternly, with harsh      voice, auctioneering;
The divine list, for myself or you, or for any one, mak-     ing;
The face — the limbs — the index from head to foot, and      what it arouses;

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The mystic deliria — the madness amorous — the utter      abandonment;
(Hark close, and still, what I now whisper to you,
I love you — O you entirely possess me,
O I wish that you and I escape from the rest, and go      utterly off — O free and lawless,
Two hawks in the air — two fishes swimming in the sea      not more lawless than we;)
— The furious storm through me careering — I passion-     ately trembling;
The oath of the inseparableness of two together — of      the woman that loves me, and whom I love more      than my life — that oath swearing;
(O I willingly stake all, for you!
O let me be lost, if it must be so!
O you and I — what is it to us what the rest do or      think?
What is all else to us? only that we enjoy each other,      and exhaust each other, if it must be so;)
— From the master — the pilot I yield the vessel to;
The general commanding me, commanding all — from      him permission taking;
From time the programme hastening, (I have loiter'd      too long, as to is;)
From sex — From the warp and from the woof;
(To talk to the perfect girl who understands me,
To waft to her these from my own lips — to effuse them      from my own body;)
From privacy — from frequent repinings alone;
From plenty of persons near, and yet the right person      not near;
From the soft sliding of hands over me, and thrusting      of fingers through my hair and beard;
From the long sustain'd kiss upon the mouth or bosom;
From the close pressure that makes me or any man      drunk, fainting with excess;
From what the divine husband knows — from the work      of fatherhood;

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From exultation, victory, and relief — from the bedfel-     low's embrace in the night;
From the act-poems of eyes, hands, hips, and bosoms,
From the cling of the trembling arm,
From the bending curve and the clinch,
From side by side, the pliant coverlid off-throwing,
From the one so unwilling to have me leave — and me      just as unwilling to leave,
(Yet a moment, O tender waiter, and I return;)
— From the hour of shining stars and dropping dews,
From the night, a moment, I, emerging, flitting out,
Celebrate you, act divine — and you, children prepared      for,
And you, stalwart loins.

1   I SING the Body electric;
The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth      them;
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond      to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the      charge of the Soul.
2  Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own      bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they      who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do as much as the Soul?
And if the body were not the Soul, what is the Soul?

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3   The love of the Body of man or woman balks ac-     count — the body itself balks account;
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is      perfect.
4  The expression of the face balks account;
But the expression of a well-made man appears not      only in his face;
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the      joints of his hips and wrists;
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of      his waist and knees — dress does not hide him;
The strong, sweet, supple quality he has, strikes      through the cotton and flannol;
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem,      perhaps more;
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck      and shoulder-side.
5  The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and      heads of women, the folds of their dress, their      style as we pass in the street, the contour of      their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming bath, seen as he      swims through the transparent green-shine, or      lies with his face up, and rolls silently to and      fro in the heave of the water,
The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-     boats — the horseman in his saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their perform-     ances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their      open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,
The female soothing a child — the farmer's daughter in      the garden or cow-yard,
The young fellow hoeing corn — the sleigh-driver      guiding his six horses through the crowd,

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The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite      grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on      the vacant lot at sun-down, after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love      and resistance,
The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled      over and blinding the eyes;
The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play      of masculine muscle through clean-setting      trowsers and waist-straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell      strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the      alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes — the bent head,      the curv'd neck, and the counting;
Such-like I love — I loosen myself, pass freely, am at      the mother's breast with the little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march      in line with the firemen, and pause, listen,      and count.

6   I knew a man, a common farmer — the father of      five sons;
And in them were the fathers of sons — and in them      were the fathers of sons.
7  This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty      of person;
The shape of his head, the richness and breadth of      his manners, the pale yellow and white of his      hair and beard, and the immeasurable meaning      of his black eyes,
These I used to go and visit him to see — he was wise      also;
He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old — his      sons were massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced,      handsome;

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They and his daughters loved him — all who saw him      loved him;
They did not love him by allowance — they loved him      with personal love;
He drank water only — the blood show'd like scarlet      through the clear-brown skin of his face;
He was a frequent gunner and fisher — he sail'd his      boat himself — he had a fine one presented to      him by a ship-joiner — he had fowling-pieces,      presented to him by men that loved him;
When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons      to hunt or fish, you would pick him out as the      most beautiful and vigorous of the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with him — you      would wish to sit by him in the boat, that you      and he might touch each other.

8   I have perceiv'd that to be with those I like is      enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is      enough,
To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing,      laughing flesh is enough,
To pass among them, or touch any one, or rest my      arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a      moment — what is this then?
I do not ask any more delight — I swim in it, as in a      sea.
9  There is something in staying close to men and wo-     men, and looking on them, and in the contact      and odor of them, that pleases the soul well;
All things please the soul — but these please the soul      well.

10 This is the female form;
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot;

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It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction!
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a      helpless vapor — all falls aside but myself and it;
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth,      the atmosphere and the clouds, and what was      expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are now      consumed;
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the      response likewise ungovernable!
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling      hands, all diffused — mine too diffused;
Ebb stung by the flow, and flow stung by the ebb —      love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching;
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous,      quivering jelly of love, white-blow and deliri-     ous juice;
Bridegroom night of love, working surely and softly      into the prostrate dawn;
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh'd      day.
11  This is the nucleus — after the child is born of      woman, the man is born of woman;
This is the bath of birth — this is the merge of small      and large, and the outlet again.
12  Be not ashamed, women — your privilege encloses      the rest, and is the exit of the rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates      of the soul.
13  The female contains all qualities, and tempers them       — she is in her place, and moves with perfect      balance;
She is all things duly veil'd — she is both passive and      active;
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons      as well as daughters.

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14   As I see my soul reflected in nature;
As I see through a mist, one with inexpressible com-     pleteness and beauty,
See the bent head, and arms folded over the breast —      the female I see.

15   The male is not less the soul, nor more — he too is      in his place;
He too is all qualities — he is action and power;
The flush of the known universe is in him;
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance      become him well;
The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sor-     row that is utmost, become him well — pride is      for him;
The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent      to the soul;
Knowledge becomes him — he likes it always — he      brings everything to the test of himself;
Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail, he      strikes soundings at last only here;
Where else does he strike soundings, except here?
16  The man's body is sacred, and the woman's body is      sacred;
No matter who it is, it is sacred;
Is it a slave? Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants      just landed on the wharf?
Each belongs here or anywhere, just as much as the      well-off — just as much as you;
Each has his or her place in the procession.
17  All is a procession;
The universe is a procession, with measured and beau-     tiful motion.

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18   Do you know so much yourself, that you call the slave      or the dull-face ignorant?
Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and      he or she has no right to a sight?
Do you think matter has cohered together from its      diffuse float — and the soil is on the surface,      and water runs, and vegetation sprouts,
For you only, and not for him and her?

19   A man's Body at auction;
I help the auctioneer — the sloven does not half know      his business.
20  Gentlemen, look on this wonder!
Whatever the bids of the bidders, they cannot be high      enough for it;
For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years,      without one animal or plant;
For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll'd.
21  In this head the all-baffling brain;
In it and below it, the makings of heroes.
22  Examine these limbs, red, black, or white — they are      so cunning in tendon and nerve;
They shall be stript, that you may see them.
23  Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant back-bone and neck,      flesh not flabby, good sized arms and legs,
And wonders within there yet.
24  Within there runs blood,
The same old blood!
The same red-running blood!
There swells and jets a heart — there all passions, de-     sires, reachings, aspirations;
Do you think they are not there because they are not      express'd in parlors and lecture — rooms?

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25   This is not only one man — this is the father of those      who shall be fathers in their turns;
In him the start of populous states and rich republics;
Of him countless immortal lives, with countless em-     bodiments and enjoyments.
26  How do you know who shall come from the off-     spring of his offspring through the centuries?
Who might you find you have come from yourself, if      you could trace back through the centuries?

27   A woman's Body at auction!
She too is not only herself — she is the teeming      mother of mothers;
She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be      mates to the mothers.
28  Have you ever loved the Body of a woman?
Have you ever loved the Body of a man?
Your father — where is your father?
Your mother — is she living? have you been much      with her? and has she been much with you?
Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all,      in all nations and times, all over the earth?
29  If any thing is sacred, the human body is sacred,
And the glory and sweet of a man, is the token of man-     hood untainted;
And in man or woman, a clean, strong, firm-fibred      body, is beautiful as the most beautiful face.
30  Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live      body? or the fool that corrupted her own live      body?
For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot con-     ceal themselves.

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31   O my Body! I dare not desert the likes of you in      other men and women, nor the likes of the      parts of you ;
I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the      likes of the Soul, (and that they are the Soul;)
I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my      poems — and that they are poems,
Man's, woman's, child's, youth's, wife's, husband's,      mother's, father's, young man's, young woman's      poems ;
Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,
Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eye-brows, and the      waking or sleeping of the lids,
Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws,      and the jaw-hinges,
Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,
Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the      neck, neck-slue,
Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoul-     ders, and the ample side-round of the chest,
Upper-arm, arm-pit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-     sinews, arm-bones,
Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb,      fore-finger, finger-balls, finger-joints, finger-     nails,
Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-     bone, breast-side,
Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the back-bone,
Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward      round, man-balls, man-root,
Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,
Leg-fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,
Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel ;
All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of      my or your body, or of any one's body, male or      female,

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The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet      and clean,
The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,
Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, ma-     ternity,
Womanhood, and all that is a woman — and the man      that comes from woman,
The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laugh-     ter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and      risings,
The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shout-     ing aloud,
Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking,      swimming,
Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-     curving and tightening,
The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and      around the eyes,
The skin, the sun-burnt shade, freckles, hair,
The curious sympathy one feels, when feeling with the      hand the naked meat of the body,
The circling rivers, the breath, and breathing it in      and out,
The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and      thence downward toward the knees,
The thin red jellies within you, or within me — the      bones, and the marrow in the bones,
The exquisite realization of health ;
O I say, these are not the parts and poems of the Body      only, but of the Soul,
O I say now these are the Soul!

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1  A WOMAN waits for me — she contains all, nothing is      lacking,
Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if the      moisture of the right man were lacking.
2  Sex contains all,
Bodies, Souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies,      results, promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery,      the semitic milk,
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals,
All the passions, loves, beauties, delights of the      earth,
All the governments, judges, gods, follow'd persons of      the earth,
These are contain'd in sex, as parts of itself, and jus-     tifications of itself.
3  Without shame the man I like knows and avows the      deliciousness of his sex,
Without shame the woman I like knows and avows      hers.
4  Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with      those women that are warm-blooded and suffi-     cient for me:
I see that they understand me, and do not deny me :
I see that they are worthy of me — I will be the robust      husband of those women.
5  They are not one jot less than I am,
They are tann'd in the face by shining suns and      blowing winds,
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,

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They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run,      strike, retreat, advance, resist, defend them-     selves,
They are ultimate in their own right — they are calm,      clear, well-possess'd of themselves.
6  I draw you close to me, you women!
I cannot let you go, I would do you good,
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our      own sake, but for others' sakes;
Evelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards,
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me:
7  It is I, you women — I make my way,
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable — but I love you,
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for      These States — I press with slow rude muscle,
I brace myself effectually — I listen to no entreaties,
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long      accumulated within me.
8  Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,
In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me      and America,
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and ath-     letic girls, new artists, musicians, and singers,
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in      their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my      love-spendings,
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I      and you interpenetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of      them, as I count on the fruits of the gushing      showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,      immortality, I plant so lovingly now.

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SPONTANEOUS Me, Nature,
The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am      happy with,
The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder,
The hill-side whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain      ash,
The same, late in autumn — the hues of red, yellow,      drab, purple, and light and dark green,
The rich coverlid of the grass — animals and birds —      the private untrimm'd bank — the primitive      apples — the pebble-stones,
Beautiful dripping fragments — the negligent list of      one after another, as I happen to call them to      me, or think of them,
The real poems, (what we call poems being merely      pictures,)
The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men      like me,
This poem, drooping shy and unseen, that I always      carry, and that all men carry,
(Know, once for all, avow'd on purpose, wherever are      men like me, are our lusty, lurking, masculine      poems;)
Love-thoughts, love-juice, love-odor, love-yielding,      love-climbers, and the climbing sap,
Arms and hands of love — lips of love — phallic thumb      of love — breasts of love — bellies press'd and      glued together with love,
Earth of chaste love — life that is only life after love,
The body of my love — the body of the woman I      love — the body of the man — the body of the      earth,
Soft forenoon airs that blow from the south-west,

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The hairy wild-bee that murmurs and hankers up and      down — that gripes the full-grouwn lady-flower,      curves upon her with amorous firm legs, takes      his will of her, and holds himself tremulous      and tight till he is satisfied,
The wet of woods through the early hours,
Two sleepers at night lying close together as they      sleep, one with an arm slanting down across      and below the waist of the other,
The smell of apples, aromas from crush'd sage-plant,      mint, birch-bark,
The boy's longings, the glow and pressure as he con-     fides to me what he was dreaming,
The dead leaf whirling its spiral whirl, and falling      still and content to the ground,
The no-form'd stings that sights, people, objects, sting      me with,
The hubb'd sting of myself, stinging me as much as it      ever can any one,
The sensitive, orbic, underlapp'd brothers, that only      privileged feelers may be intimate where they      are,
The curious roamer, the hand, roaming all over the      body — the bashful withdrawing of flesh where      the fingers soothingly pause and edge them-     selves,
The limpid liquid within the young man,
The vexed corrosion, so pensive and so painful,
The torment — the irritable tide that will not be at rest,
The like of the same I feel — the like of the same in      others,
The young man that flushes and flushes, and the      young woman that flushes and flushes,
The young man that wakes, deep at night, the hot      hand seeking to repress what would master      him;
The mystic amorous night — the strange half-welcome      pangs, visions, sweats,

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The pulse pounding through palms and trembling      encircling fingers — the young man all color'd,      red, ashamed, angry;
The souse upon me of my lover the sea, as I lie willing      and naked,
The merriment of the twin-babes that crawl over the      grass in the sun, the mother never turning her      vigilant eyes from them,
The walnut-trunk, the walnut-husks, and the ripening      or ripen'd long-round walnuts;
The continence of vegetables, birds, animals,
The consequent meanness of me should I skulk or find      myself indecent, while birds and animals never      once skulk or find themselves indecent;
The great chastity of paternity, to match the great      chastity of maternity,
The oath of procreation I have sworn — my Adamic      and fresh daughters,
The greed that eats me day and night with hungry      gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to      fill my place when I am through,
The wholesome relief, repose, content;
And this bunch, pluck'd at random from myself;
It has done its work — I toss to carelessly to fall where      it may.

1 ONE hour to madness and joy!
O furious! O confine me not!
(What is this that frees me so in storms?
What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?)

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2   O to drink the mystic deliria deeper than any      other man!
O savage and tender achings!
(I bequeath them to you, my children,
I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and      bride.)
3  O to be yielded to you, whoever you are, and you to      be yielded to me, in defiance of the world!
O to return to Paradise! O bashful and feminine!
O to draw you to me — to plant on you for the first      time the lips of a determin'd man!
4  O the puzzle — the thrice-tied knot — the deep and      dark pool! O all untied and illumin'd!
O to speed where there is space enough and air      enough at last!
O to be absolv'd from previous ties and conventions —      I from mine, and you from yours!
O to find a new unthought-of nouchalance with the      best of nature!
O to have the gag remov'd from one's mouth!
O to have the feeling, to-day or any day, I am suffi-     cient as I am!
5  O something unprov'd! something in a trance!
O madness amorous! O trembling!
O to escape utterly from others' anchors and holds!
To drive free! to love free! to dash reckless and dan-     gerous!
To court destruction with taunts — with invitations!
To ascend — to leap to the heavens of the love indicated      to me!
To rise thither with my inebriate Soul!
To be lost, if it must be so!
To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness      and freedom!
With one brief hour of madness and joy.

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WE two — how long we were fool'd!
Now transmuted, we swiftly escape, as Nature escapes;
We are Nature — long have we been absent, but now      we return;
We become plants, leaves, foliage, roots, bark;
We are bedded in the ground — we are rocks;
We are oaks — we grow in the openings side by side;
We browse — we are two among the wild herds, spon-     taneous as any;
We are two fishes swimming in the sea together;
We are what the locust blossoms are — we drop scent      around the lanes, mornings and evenings;
We are also the coarse smut of beats, vegetables,      minerals;
We are two predatory hawks — we soar above, and look      down;
We are two resplendent suns — we it is who balance      ourselves, orbic and stellar — we are as two      comets;
We prowl fang'd and four-footed in the woods — we      spring on prey;
We are two clouds, forenoons and afternoons, driving      overhead;
We are seas mingling — we are two of those cheerful      waves, rolling over each other, and interwetting      each other;
We are what the atmosphere is, transparent, receptive,      pervious, impervious;
We are snow, rain, cold, darkness — we are each pro-     duct and influence of the globe;
We have circled and circled till we have arrived home      again — we two have;
We have voided all but freedom, and all but our own      joy.

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NATIVE moments! when you come upon me — Ah you      are here now!
Give me now libidinous joys only!
Give me the drench of my passions! Give me life      coarse and rank!
To-day, I go consort with nature's darlings — to-night too;
I am for those who believe in loose delights — I share      the midnight orgies of young men;
I dance with the dancers, and drink with the drinkers;
The echoes ring with our indecent calls;
I take for my love some prostitute — I pick out some      low person for my dearest friend,
He shall be lawless, rude, illiterate — he shall be one      condemn'd by others for deeds done;
I will play a part no longer — Why should I exile my-     self from my companions?
O you shunn'd persons! I at least do not shun you,
I come forthwith in your midst — I will be your poet,
I will be more to you than to any of the rest.

ONCE I pass'd through a populous city, imprinting my      brain, for future use, with its shows, architec-     ture, customs, and traditions;
Yet now, of all that city, I remember only a woman I      casually met there, who detain'd me for love of      me;
Day by day and night by night we were together, — All      else has long been forgotten by me;
I remember, I say, only that woman who passionately      clung to me;
Again we wander — we love — we separate again;
Again she holds me by the hand — I must not go!
I see her close beside me, with silent lips, sad and      tremulous.

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FACING west, from California's shores,
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,
I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of      maternity, the land of migrations, look afar,
Look off the shores of my Western Sea — the circle      almost circled;
For, starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales      of Kashmere,
From Asia — from the north — from the God, the sage,      and the hero,
From the south — from the flowery peninsulas, and the      spice islands;
Long having wander'd since — round the earth having      wander'd,
Now I face home again — very pleas'd and joyous;
(But where is what I started for, so long ago?
And why is it yet unfound?)

AGES and ages, returning at intervals,
Undestroy'd, wandering immortal,
Lusty, phallic, with the potent original loins, perfectly      sweet,
I, chanter of Adamic songs,
Through the new garden, the West, the great cities      calling,
Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these,      offering myself,
Bathing myself, bathing my songs in Sex,
Offspring of my loins.

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O HYMEN! O Hymenee!
Why do you tantalize me thus?
O why sting me for a swift moment only?
Why can you not continue? O why do you now cease?
Is it because, if you continued beyond the swift mo- ment, you would soon certainly kill me?

I AM he that aches with amorous love;
Does the earth gravitate? Does not all matter, aching, attract all matter?
So the Body of me, to all I meet, or know.

As Adam, early in the morning,
Walking forth from the bower, refresh'd with sleep;
Behold me where I pass — hear my voice — approach,
Touch me — touch the palm of your hand to my Body as I pass;
Be not afraid of my Body.

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WHO has gone farthest? For I swear I will go farther;
And who has been just? For I would be the most just      person of the earth;
And who most cautious? For I would be more      cautious;
And who has been happiest? O I think it is I! I      think no one was ever happier than I;
And who has lavish'd all? For I lavish constantly the      best I have;
And who has been firmest? For I would be firmer;
And who proudest? For I think I have reason to be      the proudest son alive — for I am the son of the      brawny and tall-topt city;
And who has been bold and true? For I would be      the boldest and truest being of the universe;
And who benevolent? For I would show more be-     nevolence than all the rest;
And who has projected beautiful words through the      longest time? By God! I will outvie him! I      will say such words, they shall stretch through      longer time!
And who has receiv'd the love of the most friends?      For I know what it is to receive the passionate      love of many friends;
And to whom has been given the sweetest from      women, and paid them in kind? For I will      take the like sweets and pay them in kind;
And who possesses a perfect and enamour'd body?      For I do not believe any one possesses a more      perfect or enamour'd body than mine;
And who thinks the amplest thoughts? For I will      surround those thoughts;
And who has made hymns fit for the earth? For I      am mad with devouring extacy to make joyous      hymns for the whole earth!

119

IN paths untrodden,
In the growth by margins of pond-waters,
Escaped from the life that exhibits itself,
From all the standards hitherto publish'd — from the      pleasures, profits, conformities,
Which too long I was offering to feed my Soul ;
Clear to me, now, standards not yet publish'd — clear      to me that my Soul,
That the Soul of the man I speak for, feeds, rejoices      in comrades ;
Here, by myself, away from the clank of the world,
Tallying and talk'd to here by tongues aromatic,
No longer abash'd — for in this secluded spot I can      respond as I would not dare elsewhere,
Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself,      yet contains all the rest,
Resolv'd to sing no songs to-day but those of manly      attachment,
Projecting them along that substantial life,
Bequeathing, hence, types of athletic love,
Afternoon, this delicious Ninth-month, in my forty-     first year,
I proceed, for all who are, or have been, young men,
To tell the secret of my nights and days,
To celebrate the need of comrades.

120

SCENTED herbage of my breast,
Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best      afterwards,
Tombleaves, growing up above me, above      death,
Perennial roots, tall leaves — O the winter shall not      freeze you, delicate leaves,
Every year shall you bloom again — Out from where      you retired, you shall emerge again ;
O I do not know whether many, passing by, will dis-     cover you, or inhale your faint odor — but I      believe a few will ;
O slender leaves! O blossoms of my blood! I permit      you to tell, in your own way, of the heart that      is under you ;
O burning and throbbing — surely all will one day be      accomplish'd ;
O I do not know what you mean, there underneath      yourselves — you are not happiness,
You are often more bitter than I can bear — you burn      and sting me,
Yet you are very beautiful to me, you faint-tinged      roots — you make me think of Death,
Death is beautiful from you — (what indeed is beauti-     ful, except Death and Love?)
O I think it is not for life I am chanting here my      chant of lovers — I think it must be for Death,
For how calm, how solemn it grows, to ascend to the      atmosphere of lovers,
Death or life I am then indifferent — my Soul declines      to prefer,
I am not sure but the high Soul of lovers welcomes      death most ;
Indeed, O Death, I think now these leaves mean pre-     cisely the same as you mean ;

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Grow up taller, sweet leaves, that I may see! grow      up out of my breast!
Spring away from the conceal'd heart there!
Do not fold yourself so in your pink-tinged roots,      timid leaves!
Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my      breast!
Come, I am determin'd to unbare this broad breast of      mine — I have long enough stifled and choked:
Emblematic and capricious blades, I leave you — now      you serve me not;
Away! I will say what I have to say, by itself,
I will escape from the sham that was proposed to      me,
I will sound myself and comrades only — I will never      again utter a call, only their call,
I will raise with it, immortal reverberations through      The States,
I will give an example to lovers, to take permanent      shape and will through The States;
Through me shall the words be said to make death      exhilarating;
Give me your tone therefore, O Death, that I may      accord with it,
Give me yourself — for I see that you belong to me      now above all, and are folded inseparably to-     gether — you Love and Death are;
Nor will I allow you to balk me any more with what I      was calling life,
For now it is convey'd to me that you are the pur-     ports essential,
That you hide in these shifting forms of life, for reasons       — and that they are mainly for you,
That you, beyond them, come forth, to remain, the      real reality,
That behind the mask of materials you patiently wait,      no matter how long,
That you will one day, perhaps take control of all,

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That you will perhaps dissipate this entire show of appearance,
That may be you are what it is all for — but it does not last so very long,
But you will last very long.

1  WHOEVER you are, holding me now in hand,
Without one thing, all will be useless,
I give you fair warning, before you attempt me      further,
I am not what you supposed, but far different.
2  Who is he that would become my follower?
Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?
3  The way is suspicious — the result uncertain, perhaps      destructive;
You would have to give up all else — I alone would ex-     pect to be your God, sole and exclusive,
Your novitiate would even then be long and exhaust-     ing,
The whole past theory of your life, and all conformity      to the lives around you, would have to be aban-     doned;
Therefore release me now, before troubling yourself      any further — Let go your hand from my      shoulders,
Put me down, and depart on your way.
4  Or else, by stealth, in some wood, for trial,
Or back of a rock, in the open air,
(For in any roof'd room of a house I emerge not — nor      in company,

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And in libraries I lie as one dumb, a gawk, or unborn,      or dead,)
But just possibly with you on a high hill — first watch-     ing lest any person, for miles around, ap-     proach unawares,
Or possibly with you sailing at sea, or on the beach of      the sea, or some quiet island,
Here to put your lips upon mine I permit you,
With the comrade's long-dwelling kiss, or the new      husband's kiss,
For I am the new husband, and I am the comrade.
5  Or, if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing,
Where I may feel the throbs of your heart, or rest      upon your hip,
Carry me when you go forth over land or sea;
For thus, merely touching you, is enough — is best,
And thus, touching you, would I silently sleep and be      carried eternally.
6  But these leaves conning, you con at peril,
For these leaves, and me, you will not understand,
They will elude you at first, and still more afterward       — I will certainly elude you,
Even while you should think you had unquestionably      caught me, behold!
Already you see I have escaped from you.
7  For it is not for what I have put into it that I have      written this book,
Nor is it by reading it you will acquire it,
Nor do those know me best who admire me, and      vauntingly praise me,
Nor will the candidates for my love, (unless at most a      very few,) prove victorious,
Nor will my poems do good only — they will do just as      much evil, perhaps more;
For all is useless without that which you may guess at      many times and not hit — that which I hinted at;
Therefore release me, and depart on your way.

124

THESE, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers,
(For who but I should understand lovers, and all their      sorrow and joy?
And who but I should be the poet of comrades?)
Collecting, I traverse the garden, the world — but soon      I pass the gates,
Now along the pond-side — now wading in a little,      fearing not the wet,
Now by the post-and-rail fences, where the old stones      thrown there, pick'd from the fields, have accu-     mulated,
Wild-flowers and vines and weeds come up through      the stones, and partly cover them — Beyond      these I pass,
Far, far in the forest, before I think where I go,
Solitary, smelling the earthy smell, stopping now and      then in the silence,
Alone I had thought — yet soon a silent troop gathers      around me,
Some walk by my side, and some behind, and some      embrace my arms or neck,
They, the spirits of friends, dead or alive — thicker      they come, a great crowd, and I in the middle,
Collecting, dispensing, singing in spring, there I wan-     der with them,
Plucking something for tokens — tossing toward who-     ever is near me;
Here! lilac, with a branch of pine,
Here out of my pocket, some moss which I pull'd off      a live-oak in Florida, as it hung trailing down,
Here, some pinks and laurel leaves, and a handful of      sage,
And here what I now draw from the water, wading in      the pond-side,
(O here I last saw him that tenderly loves me — and      returns again, never to separate from me,

125

And this, O this shall henceforth be the token of com-     rades — this Calamus-root shall,
Interchange it, youths, with each other! Let none      render it back!)
And twigs of maple, and a bunch of wild orange, and      chestnut,
And stems of currants, and plum-blows, and the aro-     matic cedar:
These, I, compass'd around by a thick cloud of spirits,
Wandering, point to, or touch as I pass, or throw them      loosely from me,
Indicating to each one what he shall have — giving      something to each;
But what I drew from the water by the pond-side,      that I reserve,
I will give of it — but only to them that love, as I my-     self am capable of loving.

COME, I will make the continent indissoluble;
I will make the most splendid race the sun ever yet shone upon;
I will make divine magnetic lands, With the love of comrades, With the life-long love of comrades.

I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the rivers of America, and along the shores of the great lakes, and all over the prairies;
I will make inseparable cities, with their arms about each other's necks; By the love of comrades, By the manly love of comrades.

126

For you these, from me, O Democracy, to serve you, ma femme!
For you! for you, I am trilling these songs, In the love of comrades, In the high-towering love of comrades.

NOT heaving from my ribb'd breast only;
Not in sighs at night, in rage, dissatisfied with myself;
Not in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs;
Not in many an oath and promise broken;
Not in my wilful and savage soul's volition;
Not in the subtle nourishment of the air;
Not in this beating and pounding at my temples and      wrists;
Not in the curious systole and diastole within, which      will one day cease;
Not in many a hungry wish, told to the skies only;
Not in cries, laughter, defiances, thrown from me when      alone, far in the wilds;
Not in husky pantings through clench'd teeth;
Not in sounded and resounded words — chattering      words, echoes, dead words;
Not in the murmurs of my dreams while I sleep,
Nor the other murmurs of these incredible dreams of      every day;
Nor in the limbs and senses of my body, that take you      and dismiss you 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.

127

OF the terrible doubt of appearances,
Of the uncertainty after all — that we may be deluded,
That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations      after all,
That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful      fable only,
May-be the things I perceive — the animals, plants, men,      hills, shining and flowing waters,
The skies of day and night — colors, densities, forms —      May-be these are, (as doubtless they are,) only      apparitions, and the real something has yet to be      known;
(How often they dart out of themselves, as if to con-     found me and mock me!
How often I think neither I know, nor any man knows,      aught of them;)
May-be seeming to me what they are, (as doubtless      they indeed but seem,) as from my present point      of view — And might prove, (as of course they      would,) naught of what they appear, or naught      any how, from entirely changed points of view;
— To me, these, and the like of these, are curiously      answer'd by my lovers, my dear friends;
When he whom I love travels with me, or sits a long      while holding me by the hand,
When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that      words and reason hold not, surround us and      pervade us,
Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom       — I am silent — I require nothing further,
I cannot answer the question of appearances, or that      of identity beyond the grave;
But I walk or sit indifferent — I am satisfied,
He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.

128

RECORDERS ages hence!
Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive      exterior — I will tell you what to say of me;
Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of      the tenderest lover,
The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom his friend,      his lover, was fondest,
Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measure-     less ocean of love within him — and freely      pour'd it forth,
Who often walk'd lonesome walks, thinking of his      dear friends, his lovers,
Who pensive, away from one he lov'd, often lay sleep-     less and dissatisfied at night,
Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one      he lov'd might secretly be indifferent to him,
Whose happiest days were far away, through fields,      in woods, on hills, he and another, wandering      hand in hand, they twain, apart from other      men,
Who oft as he saunter'd the streets, curved with his      arm the shoulder of his friend — while the arm      of his friend rested upon him also.

WHEN I heard at the close of the day how my name      had been receiv'd with plaudits in the capitol,      still it was not a happy night for me that fol-     low'd;
And else, when I carous'd, or when my plans were      accomplish'd, still I was not happy;
But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of      perfect health, refresh'd, singing, inhaling the      ripe breath of autumn,

129

When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and      disappear in the morning light,
When I wander'd alone over the beach, and undress-     ing, bathed, laughing with the cool waters, and      saw the sun rise,
And when I thought how my dear friend, my lover,      was on his way coming, O then I was happy;
O then each breath tasted sweeter — and all that day      my food nourish'd me more — and the beautiful      day pass'd well,
And the next came with equal joy — and with the next,      at evening, came my friend;
And that night, while all was still, I heard the waters      roll slowly continually up the shores,
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands, as      directed to me, whispering, to congratulate me,
For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the      same cover in the cool night,
In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face      was inclined toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast — and that      night I was happy.

ARE you the new person drawn toward me?
To begin with, take warning — I am surely far differ-     ent from what you suppose;
Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?
Do you think it so easy to have me become your      lover?
Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy'd      satisfaction?
Do you think I am trusty and faithful?

130

Do you see no further than this façade — this smooth      and tolerant manner of me?
Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground      toward a real heroic man?
Have you no thought, O dreamer, that it may be all      maya, illusion?

ROOTS and leaves themselves alone are these;
Scents brought to men and women from the wild      woods, and from the pond-side,
Breast-sorrel and pinks of love — fingers that wind      around tighter than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds, hid in the foliage      of trees, as the sun is risen;
Breezes of land and love — breezes set from living      shores out to you on the living sea — to you,      O sailors!
Frost-mellow'd berries, and Third-month twigs,      offer'd fresh to young persons wandering out      in the fields when the winter breaks up,
Love-buds, put before you and within you, whoever      you are,
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms;
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them, they      will open, and bring form, color, perfume, to      you;
If you become the aliment and the wet, they will      become flowers, fruits, tall branches and trees.

131

NOT heat flames up and consumes,
Not sea-waves hurry in and out,
Not the air, delicious and dry, the air of the ripe      summer, bears lightly along white down-balls      of myriads of seeds,
Wafted, sailing gracefully, to drop where they may;
Not these — O none of these, more than the flames of      me, consuming, burning for his love whom I      love!
O none, more than I, hurrying in and out;
Does the tide hurry, seeking something, and never      give up? O I the same;
O nor down-balls, nor perfumes, nor the high, rain-     emitting clouds, are borne through the open      air,
Any more than my Soul is borne through the open      air,
Wafted in all directions, O love, for friendship, for      you.

TRICKLE, drops! my blue veins leaving!
O drops of me! trickle, slow drops,
Candid, from me falling — drip, bleeding drops,
From wounds made to free you whence you were      prison'd,
From my face — from my forehead and lips,
From my breast — from within where I was conceal'd       — press forth, red drops — confession drops;
Stain every page — stain every song I sing, every word      I say, bloody drops;

132

Let them know your scarlet heat — let them glisten;
Saturate them with yourself, all ashamed and wet;
Glow upon all I have written or shall write, bleeding drops;
Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.

OF him I love day and night, I dream'd I heard he was      dead;
And I dream'd I went where they had buried him I love       — but he was not in that place;
And I dream'd I wander'd, searching among burial-     places, to find him;
And I found that every place was a burial-place;
The houses full of life were equally full of death, (this      house is now;)
The streets, the shipping, the places of amusement,      the Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, the Manna-     hatta, were as full of the dead as of the living,
And fuller, O vastly fuller, of the dead than of the      living;
— And what I dream'd I will henceforth tell to every      person and age,
And I stand henceforth bound to what I dream'd;
And now I am willing to disregard burial-places, and      dispense with them;
And if the memorials of the dead were put up indif-     ferently everywhere, even in the room where I      eat or sleep, I should be satisfied;
And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my own      corpse, be duly render'd to powder, and pour'd      in the sea, I shall be satisfied;
Or if it be distributed to the winds, I shall be sat-     isfied.

133

CITY of orgies, walks and joys!
City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst      will one day make you illustrious,
Not the pageants of you — not your shifting tableaux,      your spectacles, repay me;
Not the interminable rows of your houses — nor the      ships at the wharves,
Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright win-     dows, with goods in them;
Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my share      in the soiree or feast;
Not those — but, as I pass, O Manhattan! your fre-     quent and swift flash of eyes offering me love,
Offering response to my own — these repay me;
Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.

BEHOLD this swarthy face, this unrefined face — these      gray eyes,
This beard — the white wool, unclipt upon my neck,
My brown hands, and the silent manner of me, with-     out charm;
Yet comes one, a Manhattanese, and ever at parting,      kisses me lightly on the lips with robust love,
And I, in the public room, or on the crossing of the      street, or on the ship's deck, kiss him in return;
We observe that salute of American comrades, land      and sea,
We are those two natural and nonchalant persons.

134

I SAW in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it, and the moss hung down from the      branches;
Without any companion it grew there, uttering joyous      leaves of dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think      of myself;
But I wonder'd how it could utter joyous leaves,      standing alone there, without its friend, its      lover near — for I knew I could not;
And I broke off a twig with a certain number of      leaves upon it, and twined around it a little      moss,
And brought it away — and I have placed it in sight in      my room;
It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear      friends,
(For I believe lately I think of little else than of      them;)
Yet it remains to me a curious token — it makes me      think of manly love;
— For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there      in Louisiana, solitary, in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life, without a friend, a      lover, near,
I know very well I could not.

THAT music always round me, unceasing, unbeginning — yet long untaught I did not hear;
But now the chorus I hear, and am elated;
A tenor, strong, ascending, with power and health, with glad notes of day-break I hear,

135

A soprano, at intervals, sailing buoyantly over the      tops of immense waves,
A transparent base, shuddering lusciously under and      through the universe,
The triumphant tutti — the funeral wailings, with      sweet flutes and violins — all these I fill myself      with;
I hear not the volumes of sound merely — I am moved      by the exquisite meanings,
I listen to the different voices winding in and out,      striving, contending with fiery vehemence to      excel each other in emotion,
I do not think the peformers know themselves — but      now I think I begin to know them.

PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I      look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking,      (it comes to me, as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affection-     ate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl      with me,
I ate with you, and slept with you — your body has      become not yours only, nor left my body mine      only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as      we pass — you take of my beard, breast, hands,      in return,
I am not to speak to you — I am to think of you when      I sit alone, or wake at night alone,
I am to wait — I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

136

THIS moment yearning and thoughtful, sitting alone,
It seems to me there are other men in other lands,      yearning and thoughtful;
It seems to me I can look over and behold them, in      Prussia, Italy, France, Spain — or far, far away,      in China, or in Russia or India — talking other      dialects;
And it seems to me if I could know those men, I      should become attached to them, as I do to men      in my own lands;
O I know we should be brethren and lovers,
I know I should be happy with them.

I HEAR it was charged against me that I sought to      destroy institutions;
But really I am neither for nor against institutions;
(What indeed have I in common with them? — Or      what with the destruction of them?)
Only I will establish in the Mannahatta, and in every      city of These States, inland and seaboard,
And in the fields and woods, and above every keel      little or large, that dents the water,
Without edifices, or rules, or trustees, or any argu-     ment,
The institution of the dear love of comrades.

137

THE prairie-grass dividing — its special odor breathing,
I demand of it the spiritual corresponding,
Demand the most copious and close companionship      of men,
Demand the blades to rise of words, acts, beings,
Those of the open atmosphere, coarse, sunlit, fresh,      nutritious,
Those that go their own gait, erect, stepping with      freedom and command — leading, not following,
Those with a never-quell'd audacity — those with sweet      and lusty flesh, clear of taint,
Those that look carelessly in the faces of Presidents      and Governors, as to say, Who are you?
Those of earth-born passion, simple, never constrain'd'      never obedient,
Those of inland America.

WE two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going — North and South      excursions making,
Power enjoying — elbows stretching — fingers clutch-      ing,
Armed and fearless — eating, drinking, sleeping, lov-     ing,
No law less than ourselves owning — sailing, soldiering,      thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming — air breathing, water      drinking, on the turf of the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking,      feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.

138

O LIVING always — always dying!
O the burials of me, past and present!
O me, while I stride ahead, material, visible, imperi-     ous as ever!
O me, what I was for years, now dead, (I lament not       — I am content;)
O to disengage myself from those corpses of me,      which I turn and look at, where I cast them!
To pass on, (O living! always living!) and leave the      corpses behind!

WHEN I peruse the conquer'd fame of heroes, and the      victories of mighty generals, I do not envy the      generals,
Nor the President in his Presidency, nor the rich in      his great house;
But when I read of the brotherhood of lovers, how it      was with them,
How through life, through dangers, odium, unchang-     ing, long and long,
Through youth, and through middle and old age, how      unfaltering, how affectionate and faithful they      were,
Then I am pensive — I hastily put down the book, and      walk away, fill'd with the bitterest envy.

A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove, late of a winter night — And I unremark'd, seated in a corner;

139

Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently      approaching, and seating himself near, that he      may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going —      of drinking and oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together,      speaking little, perhaps not a word.

A PROMISE to California,
Also to the great Pastoral Plains, and for Oregon:
Sojourning east a while longer, soon I travel toward      you, to remain, to teach robust American love;
For I know very well that I and robust love belong      among you, inland, and along the Western      Sea;
For These States tend inland, and toward the Western      Sea — and I will also.

WHAT ship, puzzled at sea, cons for the true reckon-     ing?
Or, coming in, to avoid the bars, and follow the chan-     nel, a perfect pilot needs?
Here, sailor! Here, ship! take aboard the most perfect      pilot,
Whom, in a little boat, putting off, and rowing, I,      hailing you, offer.

140

HERE the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest-     lasting:
Here I shade down and hide my thoughts — I do not      expose them,
And yet they expose me more than all my other      poems.

WHAT think you I take my pen in hand to record?
The battle-ship, perfect-model'd, majestic, that I saw      pass the offing to-day under full sail?
The splendors of the past day? Or the splendor of the      night that envelops me?
Or the vaunted glory and growth of the great city      spread around me? — No;
But I record of two simple men I saw to-day, on the      pier, in the midst of the crowd, parting the part-     ing of dear friends;
The one to remain hung on the other's neck, and pas-     sionately kiss'd him,
While the one to depart, tightly prest the one to      remain in his arms.

No labor-saving machine,
Nor discovery have I made;
Nor will I be able to leave behind me any wealthy bequest to found a hospital or library,
Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage, for America,
Nor literary success, nor intellect — nor book for the book-shelf;
Only a few carols, vibrating through the air, I leave,
For comrades and lovers.

141

I DREAM'D in a dream, I saw a city invincible to the      attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth;
I dream'd that was the new City of Friends;
Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust      love — it led the rest;
It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of      that city,
And in all their looks and words.

To the East and to the West;
To the man of the Seaside State, and of Pennsylvania,
To the Kanadian of the North — to the Southerner I      love;
These, with perfect trust, to depict you as myself — the      germs are in all men;
I believe the main purport of These States is to found      a superb friendship, exalté, previously unknown,
Because I perceive it waits, and has been always wait-     ing, latent in all men.

EARTH! my likeness!
Though you look so impassive, ample and spheric      there,
I now suspect that is not all;
I now suspect there is something fierce in you, eligible      to burst forth;
For an athlete is enamour'd of me — and I of him,
But toward him there is something fierce and terrible      in me, eligible to burst forth,
I dare not tell it in words — not even in these songs.

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A LEAF for hand in hand!
You natural persons old and young!
You on the Mississippi, and on all the branches and      bayous of the Mississippi!
You friendly boatmen and mechanics! You roughs!
You twain! And all processions moving along the      streets!
I wish to infuse myself among you till I see it com-     mon for you to walk hand in hand!

FAST-ANCHOR'D, eternal, O love! O woman I love;
O bride! O wife! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of you!
Then separate, as disembodied, or another born,
Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation;
I ascend — I float in the regions of your love, O man,
O sharer of my roving life.

SOMETIMES with one I love, I fill myself with rage, for      fear I effuse unreturn'd love;
But now I think there is no unreturn'd love — the pay      is certain, one way or another;
(I loved a certain person ardently, and my love was      not return'd;
Yet out of that, I have written these songs.)

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THAT shadow, my likeness, that goes to and fro, seek-     ing a livelihood, chattering, chaffering;
How often I find myself standing and looking at it      where it flits;
How often I question and doubt whether that is really      me;
But in these, and among my lovers, and carolling my      songs,
O I never doubt whether that is really me.

1  AMONG the men and women, the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine      signs,
Acknowledging none else — not parent, wife, husband,      brother, child, any nearer than I am;
Some are baffled — But that one is not — that one knows      me.
2  Ah, lover and perfect equal!
I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint      indirections;
And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the      like in you.

O BOY of the West!
To you many things to absorb, I teach, to help you      become eleve of mine:
Yet if blood like mine circle not in your veins;
If you be not silently selected by lovers, and do not      silently select lovers,
Of what use is it that you seek to become eleve of      mine?

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O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are,      that I may be with you;
As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the      same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your      sake is playing within me.

1  FULL of life, now, compact, visible,
I, forty years old the Eighty-third Year of The States,
To one a century hence, or any number of centuries      hence,
To you, yet unborn, these seeking you.
2  When you read these, I, that was visible, am become      invisible;
Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems,      seeking me;
Fancying how happy you were, if I could be with you,      and become your loving comrade;
Be it as if I were with you. Be not too certain but I      am now with you.

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1   O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!
Such join'd unended links, each hook'd to the next!
Each answering all — each sharing the earth with all.
2  What widens within you, Walt Whitman?
What waves and soils exuding?
What climes? what persons and lands are here?
Who are the infants? some playing, some slumbering?
Who are the girls? who are the married women?
Who are the three old men going slowly with their      arms about each others' necks?
What rivers are these? what forests and fruits are      these?
What are the mountains call'd that rise so high in the      mists?
What myriads of dwellings are they, fill'd with      dewellers?

3   Within me latitude widens, longitude lengthens;
Asia, Africa, Europe, are to the east — America is pro-     vided for in the west;
Banding the bulge of the earth winds the hot equator,
Curiously north and south turn the axis-ends;
Within me is the longest day — the sun wheels in slant-     ing rings — it does not set for months?

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Stretch'd in due time within me the midnight sun just      rises above the horizon, and sinks again;
Within me zones, seas, cataracts, plants, volcanoes,      groups,
Malaysia, Polynesia, and the great West Indian      islands.

4  What do you hear, Walt Whitman?
5  I hear the workman singing, and the farmer's wife      singing;
I hear in the distance the sounds of children, and of      animals early in the day;
I hear quick rifle-cracks from the riflemen of East      Tennessee and Kentucky, hunting on hills;
I hear emulous shouts of Australians, pursuing the      wild horse;
I hear the Spanish dance, with castanets, in the chest-     nut shade, to the rebeck and guitar;
I hear continual echoes from the Thames;
I hear fierce French liberty songs;
I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recita-     tive of old poems;
I hear the Virginia plantation chorus of negroes, of a      harvest night, in the glare of pine knots;
I hear the strong baritone of the 'long-shore-men of      Mannahatta;
I hear the stevedores unlading the cargoes, and sing-     ing;
I hear the screams of the water-fowl of solitary north-     west lakes;
I hear the rustling pattering of locusts, as they strike      the grain and grass with the showers of their      terrible clouds;
I hear the Coptic refrain, toward sundown, pensively      falling on the breast of the black venerable vast      mother, the Nile;

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I hear the bugles of raft-tenders on the streams of      Kanada;
I hear the chirp of the Mexican muleteer, and the      bells of the mule;
I hear the Arab muezzin, calling from the top of the      mosque;
I hear the Christian priests at the altars of their      churches — I hear the responsive base and      soprano;
I hear the wail of utter despair of the white-hair'd      Irish grand-parents, when they learn the death      of their grandson;
I hear the cry of the Cossack, and the sailor's voice,      putting to sea at Okotsk;
I hear the wheeze of the slave-coffle, as the slaves      march on — as the husky gangs pass on by twos      and threes, fasten'd together with wrist-chains      and ankle-chains;
I hear the entreaties of women tied up for punishment       — I hear the sibilant whisk of thongs through      the air;
I hear the Hebrew reading his records and psalms;
I hear the rhythmic myths of the Greeks, and the      strong legends of the Romans;
I hear the tale of the divine life and bloody death of      the beautiful God, the Christ;
I hear the Hindoo teaching his favorite pupil the      loves, wars, adages, transmitted safely to this      day from poets who wrote three thousand years      ago.

6   What do you see, Walt Whitman?
Who are they you salute, and that one after another      salute you?
7  I see a great round wonder rolling through the air;
I see diminute farms, hamlets, ruins, grave-yards,      jails, factories, palaces, hovels, huts of barba-     rians, tents of nomads, upon the surface;

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I see the shaded part on one side, where the sleepers      are sleeping — and the sun-lit part on the other      side,
I see the curious silent change of the light and shade,
I see distant lands, as real and near to the inhabitants      of them, as my land is to me,
8  I see plenteous waters;
I see mountain peaks — I see the sierras of Andes and      Alleghanies, where they range;
I see plainly the Himalayas, Chian Shahs, Altays,      Ghauts;
I see the Rocky Mountains, and the Peak of Winds;
I see the Styrian Alps, and the Karnac Alps;
I see the Pyrenees, Balks, Carpathians — and to the      north the Dofrafields, and off at sea Mount      Hecla;
I see Vesuvius and Etna — I see the Anahuacs;
I see the Mountains of the Moon, and the Snow      Mountains, and the Red Mountains of Mada-     gascar;
I see the Vermont hills, and the long string of Cor-     dilleras;
I see the vast deserts of Western America;
I see the Lybian, Arabian, and Asiatic deserts;
I see huge dreadful Arctic and Antartic icebergs;
I see the superior oceans and the inferior ones — the      Atlantic and Pacific, the sea of Mexico, the      Brazilian sea, and the sea of Peru,
The Japan waters, those of Hindostan, the China Sea,      and the Gulf of Guinea,
The spread of the Baltic, Caspian, Bothnia, the British      shores, and the Bay of Biscay,
The clear-sunn'd Mediterranean, and from one to an-     other of its islands,
The inland fresh-tasted seas of North America,
The White Sea, and the sea around Greenland.

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9   I behold the mariners of the world;
Some are in storms — some in the night, with the      watch on the lookout;
Some drifting helplessly — some with contagious dis-     eases.
10  I behold the sail and steamships of the world, some      in clusters in port, some on their voyages;
Some double the Cape of Storms — some Cape Verde,       — others Cape Guardafui, Bon, or Bajadore;
Others Dondra Head — others pass the Straits of Sun-     da — others Cape Lopatka — others Behring's      Straits;
Others Cape Horn — others the Gulf of Mexico, or      along Cuba or Hayti — others Hudson's Bay or      Baffin's Bay;
Others pass the Straits of Dover — others enter the      Wash — others the Firth of Solway — others      round Cape Clear — others the Land's End;
Others traverse the Zuyder Zee, or the Scheld;
Others add to the exits and entrances at Sandy Hook;
Others to the comers and goers at Gibraltar, or the      Dardanelles;
Others sternly push their way through the northern      winter-packs;
Others descend or ascend the Obi or the Lena:
Others the Niger or the Congo — others the Indus, the      Burampooter and Cambodia;
Others wait at the wharves of Manhattan, steam'd up,      ready to start;
Wait, swift and swarthy, in the ports of Australia;
Wait at Liverpool, Glasgow, Dublin, Marseilles, Lis-     bon, Naples, Hamburg, Bremen, Bordeaux, the      Hague, Copenhagen;
Wait at Valparaiso, Rio Janeiro, Panama;
Wait at their moorings at Boston, Philadelphia, Balti-     more, Charleston, New Orleans, Galveston, San      Francisco.

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11   I see the tracks of the rail-roads of the earth;
I see them welding State to State, city to city, through      North America;
I see them in Great Britain, I see them in Europe;
I see them in Asia and in Africa.
12  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.
13  I see the long river-stripes of the earth;
I see where the Mississippi flows — I see where the      Columbia flows;
I see the Great River, and the Falls of Niagara;
I see the Amazon and the Paraguay;
I see the four great rivers of China, the Amour, the      Yellow River, the Yiang-tse, and the Pearl;
I see where the Seine flows, and where the Loire, the      Rhone, and the Guadalquiver flow;
I see the windings of the Volga, the Dnieper, the      Oder;
I see the Tuscan going down the Arno, and the Vene-     tian along the Po;
I see the Greek seaman sailing out of Egina bay.

14   I see the site of the old empire of Assyria, and that      of Persia, and that of India;
I see the falling of the Ganges over the high rim of      Saukara.
15  I see the place of the idea of the Deity incarnated      by avatars in human forms;
I see the spots of the successions of priests on the earth       — oracles, sacrificers, brahmins, sabians, lamas,      monks, muftis, exhorters;

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I see where druids walked the groves of Mona — I see      the mistletoe and vervain;
I see the temples of the deaths of the bodies of Gods       — I see the old signifiers.
16  I see Christ once more eating the bread of his last      supper, in the midst of youths and old persons;
I see where the strong divine young man, the Hercu-     les, toil'd faithfully and long, and then died;
I see the place of the innocent rich life and hapless      fate of the beautiful nocturnal son, the full-     limb'd Bacchus;
I see Kneph, blooming, drest in blue, 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 lived banish'd from      my true country — I now go back there,
I return to the celestial sphere, where every one goes in      his turn.

17   I see the battle-fields of the earth — grassgrows up-     on them, and blossoms and corn;
I see the tracks of ancient and modern expeditions.
18  I see the nameless masonries, venerable messages of      the unknown events, heroes, records of the earth.
19  I see the places of the sagas;
I see pine-trees and fir-trees torn by northern blasts;
I see granite boulders and cliffs — I see green meadows      and lakes;
I see the burial-cairns of Scandinavian warriors;
I see them raised high with stones, by the marge of      restless oceans, that the dead men's spirits,      when they wearied of their quiet graves, might      rise up through the mounds, and gaze on the      tossing billows, and be refresh'd by storms, im-     mensity, liberty, action.

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20   I see the steppes of Asia;
I see the tumuli of Mongolia — I see the tents of Kal-     mucks and Baskirs;
I see the nomadic tribes, with herds of oxen and cows;
I see the table-lands notch'd with ravines — I see the      jungles and deserts;
I see the camel, the wild steed, the bustard, the fat-     tail'd sheep, the antelope, and the burrowing      wolf.
21  I see the high-lands of Abyssinia;
I see flocks of goats feeding, and see the fig-tree,      tamarind, date,
And see fields of teff-wheat, and see the places of      verdure and gold.
22  I see the Brazilian vaquero;
I see the Bolivian ascending Mount Sorata;
I see the Wacho crossing the plains — I see the incom-     parable rider of horses with his lasso on his      arm;
I see over the pampas the pursuit of wild cattle for      their hides.

23   I see little and large sea-dots, some inhabited, some      uninhabited;
I see two boats with nets, lying off the shore of Pau-     manok, quite still;
I see ten fishermen waiting — they discover now a      thick school of mossbonkers — they drop the      join'd sein-ends in the water,
The boats separate — they diverge and row off, each on      its rounding course to the beach, enclosing the      mossbonkers;
The net is drawn in by a windlass by those who stop      ashore,
Some of the fishermen lounge in their boats — others      stand negligently ankle -deep in the water,      poised on strong legs;

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The boats are partly drawn up — the water slaps against them;
On the sand, in heaps and winrows, well out from the water, lie the green-back'd spotted mossbonkers.

24   I see the despondent red man in the west, lingering      about the banks of Moingo, and about Lake      Pepin;
He has heard the quail and beheld the honey-bee, and      sadly prepared to depart.
25  I see the regions of snow and ice;
I see the sharp-eyed Samoiede and the Finn;
I see the seal-seeker in his boat, poising his lance;
I see the Siberian on his slight-built sledge, drawn by      dogs;
I see the porpoise-hunters — I see the whale-crews of      the South Pacific and the North Atlantic;
I see the cliffs, glaciers, torrents, valleys, of Switzer-     land — I mark the long winters, and the iso-     lation.
26  I see the cities of the earth, and make myself at      random a part of them;
I am a real Parisian;
I am a habitan of Vienna, St. Petersburg, Berlin, Con-     stantinople;
I am of Adelaide, Sidney, Melbourne;
I am of London, Manchester, Bristol, Edinburgh,      Limerick;
I am of Madrid, Cadiz, Barcelona, Oporto, Lyons,      Brussels, Berne, Frankfort, Stuttgart, Turin,      Florence;
I belong in Moscow, Cracow, Warsaw — or northward      in Christiania or Stockholm — or in Siberian      Irkutsk — or in some street in Iceland;
I descend upon all those cities, and rise from them      again.

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27   I see vapors exhaling from unexplored countries;
I see the savage types, the bow and arrow, the pois-     on'd splint, the fetish, and the obi.
28  I see African and Asiatic towns;
I see Algiers, Tripoli, Derne, Mogadore, Timbuctoo,      Monrovia;
I see the swarms of Pekin, Canton, Benares, Delhi,      Calcutta, Yedo;
I see the Kruman in his hut, and the Dahoman and      Ashantee-man in their huts;
I see the Turk smoking opium in Aleppo;
I see the picturesque crowds at the fairs of Khiva, and      those of Herat;
I see Teheran — I see Muscat and Medina, and the      intervening sands — I see the caravans toiling      onward;
I see Egypt and the Egyptians — I see the pyramids      and obelisks;
I look on chisel'd histories, songs, philosophies, cut      in slabs of sand-stone, or on granite blocks;
I see at Memphis mummy-pits, containing mummies.      embalm'd, swathed in linen cloth, lying there      many centuries;
I look on the fall'n Theban, the large-ball'd eyes, the      side-drooping neck, the hands folded across the      breast.
29  I see the menials of the earth, laboring;
I see the prisoners in the prisons;
I see the defective human bodies of the earth;
I see the blind, the deaf and dumb, idiots, hunch-     backs, lunatics;
I see the pirates, thieves, betrayers, murderers, slave-     makers of the earth;
I see the helpless infants, and the helpless old men      and women.

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30   I see male and female everywhere;
I see the serene brotherhood of philosophs;
I see the constructiveness of my race;
I see the results of the perseverance and industry of      my race;
I see ranks, colors, barbarisms, civilizations — I go      among them — I mix indiscriminately,
And I salute all the inhabitants of the earth.

31   You, where you are!
You daughter or son of England!
You of the mighty Slavic tribes and empires! you      Russ in Russia!
You dim-descended, black, divine-soul'd African, large,      fine-headed, nobly-form'd, superbly destin'd, on      equal terms with me!
You Norwegian! Swede! Dane! Icelander! you      Prussian!
You Spaniard of Spain! you Portuguese!
You Frenchwoman and Frenchman of France!
You Belge! you liberty-lover of the Netherlands!
You sturdy Austrian! you Lombard! Hun! Bohe-     mian! farmer of Styria!
You neighbor of the Danube!
You working-man of the Rhine, the Elbe, or the      Weser! you working-woman too!
You Sardinian! you Bavarian! Swabian! Saxon!      Wallachian! Bulgarian!
You citizen of Prague! Roman! Neapolitan! Greek!
You lithe matador in the arena at Seville!
You mountaineer living lawlessly on the Taurus or      Caucasus!
You Bokh horse-herd, watching your mares and stal-     lions feeding!
You beautiful-bodied Persian, at full speed in the sad-     dle, shooting arrows to the mark!
You Chinaman and Chinawoman of China! you Tar-     tar of Tartary!

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You women of the earth subordinated at your tasks!
You Jew journeying in your old age through every      risk, to stand once on Syrian ground!
You other Jews waiting in all lands for your Messiah!
You thoughtful Armenian, pondering by some stream      of the Euphrates! you peering amid the ruins      of Nineveh! you ascending Mount Ararat!
You foot-worn pilgrim welcoming the far-away sparkle      of the minarets of Mecca!
You sheiks along the stretch from Suez to Babelman-     deb, ruling your families and tribes!
You olive-grower tending your fruit on fields of Naz-     areth, Damascus, or Lake Tiberias!
You Thibet trader on the wide inland, or bargaining      in the shops of Lassa!
You Japanese man or woman! you liver in Madagas-     car, Ceylon, Sumatra, Borneo!
All you continentals of Asia, Africa, Europe, Austra-     lia, indifferent of place!
All you on the numberless islands of the archipela-     goes of the sea!
And you of centuries hence, when you listen to me!
And you, each and everywhere, whom I specify not,      but include just the same!
Health to you! Good will to you all — from me and      America sent.
32  Each of us inevitable;
Each of us limitless — each of us with his or her right      upon the earth;
Each of us allow'd the eternal purports of the earth;
Each of us here as divinely as any is here.

33 You Hottentot with clicking palate! You wolly- hair'd hordes!
You own'd persons, dropping sweat-drops or blood- drops!

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You human forms with the fathomless ever-impressive      countenances of brutes!
I dare not refuse you — the scope of the world, and of      time and space, are upon me.
34  You poor koboo whom the meanest of the rest look      down upon, for all your glimmering language      and spirituality!
You low expiring aborigines of the hills of Utah,      Oregon, California!
You dwarf'd Kamtschatkan, Greenlander, Lapp!
You Austral negro, naked, red, sooty, with protrusive      lip, grovelling, seeking your food!
You Caffre, Berber, Soudanese!
You haggard, uncouth, untutor'd Bedowee!
You plague-swarms in Madras, Nankin, Kaubul, Cairo!
You bather bathing in the Ganges!
You benighted roamer of Amazonia! you Patagonian!      you Fejee-man!
You peon of Mexico! you slave of Carolina, Texas,      Tennessee!
I do not prefer others so very much before you either;
I do not say one word against you, away back there,      where you stand;
(You will come forward in due time to my side.)
35  My spirit has pass'd in compassion and determina-     tion around the whole earth;
I have look'd for equals and lovers, and found them      ready for me in all lands;
I think some divine rapport has equalized me with      them.

36 O vapors! I think I have risen with you, and moved away to distant continents, and fallen down there, for reasons;
I think I have blown with you, O winds;
O waters, I have finger'd every shore with you.

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37   I have run through what any river or strait of the      globe has run through;
I have taken my stand on the bases of peninsulas, and      on the highest embedded rocks, to cry thence.
38  Salut au Monde!
What cities the light or warmth penetrates, I pen-     etrate those cities myself;
All islands to which birds wing their way, I wing my      way myself.
39  Toward all,
I raise high the perpendicular hand — I make the      signal,
To remain after me in sight forever,
For all the haunts and homes of men.

WHAT place is besieged, and vainly tries to raise the siege?
Lo! I send to that place a commander, swift, brave, immortal;
And with him horse and foot — and parks of artillery,
And artillerymen, the deadliest that ever fired gun.

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1  THERE was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he be-     came;
And that object became part of him for the day, or a      certain part of the day, or for many years, or      stretching cycles of years.
2  The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and      white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-     bird,
And the Third-month lambs, and the sow's pink-faint      litter, and the mare's foal, and the cow's calf,
And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire      of the pond-side,
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below      there — and the beautiful curious liquid,
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads —      all became part of him.
3  The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month      became part of him;
Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow      corn, and the esculent roots of the garden,
And the apple-trees cover'd with blossoms, and the      fruit afterward, and wood-berries, and the com-     monest weeds by the road;

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And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-     house of the tavern, whence he had lately risen,
And the school-mistress that pass'd on her way to the      school,
And the friendly boys that pass'd — and the quarrel-     some boys,
And the tidy and fresh-cheek'd girls — and the bare-     foot negro boy and girl,
And all the changes of city and country, wherever he      went.
4  His own parents ;
He that had father'd him, and she that had conceiv'd      him in her womb, and birth'd him,
They gave this child more of themselves than that ;
They gave him afterward every day — they became part      of him.
5  The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on      the supper-table ;
The mother with mild words — clean her cap and gown.      a wholesome odor falling off her person and      clothes as she walks by ;
The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger'd.      unjust ;
The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the      crafty lure,
The family usages, the language, the company, the fur-     niture — the yearning and swelling heart,
Affection that will not be gainsay'd — the sense of what      is real — the thought if, after all, it should prove      unreal,
The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time       — the curious whether and how,
Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes      and specks?
Men and women crowding fast in the streets — if they      are not flashes and specks, what are they?

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The streets themselves, and the façades of houses, and      goods in the windows,
Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank'd wharves — the      huge crossing at the ferries,
The village on the highland, seen from afar at sun-     set — the river between,
Shadows, aureola and mist, light falling on roofs and      gables of white or brown, three miles off,
The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the      tide — the little boat slack-tow'd astern,
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests,      slapping,
The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon-     tint, away solitary by itself — the spread of pur-     ity it lies motionless in,
The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance      of saltmud ;
These became part of that child who went forth every      day, and who now goes, and will always go forth      every day.

1  MYSELF and mine gymnastic ever,
To stand the cold or heat — to take good aim with a      gun — to sail a boat — to manage horses — to be-     get superb children,
To speak readily and clearly — to feel at home among      common people,
And to hold our own in terrible positions, on land      and sea.
2  Not for an embroiderer ;
(There will always be plenty of embroiderers — I wel-     come them also ;)
But for the fibre of things, and for inherent men and      women.
3  Not to chisel ornaments,

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But to chisel with free stroke the heads and limbs of      plenteous Supreme Gods, that The States may      realize them, walking and talking.
4  Let me have my own way ;
Let others promulge the laws — I will make no account      of the laws ;
Let others praise eminent men and hold up peace —      I hold up agitation and conflict ;
I praise no eminent man — I rebuke to his face the one      that was thought most worthy.
5  (Who are you? you mean devil! And what are you      secretly guilty of, all your life?
Will you turn aside all your life? Will you grub and      chatter all your life?)
6  (And who are you — blabbing by rote, years, pages,      languages, reminiscences,
Unwitting to-day that you do not know how to speak      a single word?)
7  Let others finish specimens — I never finish speci-     mens ;
I shower them by exhaustless laws, as nature does,      fresh and modern continually.
8  I give nothing as duties ;
What others give as duties, I give as living impulses ;
(Shall I give the heart's action as a duty?)
9  Let others dispose of questions — I dispose of noth-     ing — I arouse unanswerable questions ;
Who are they I see and touch, and what about them?
What about these likes of myself, that draw me so close      by tender directions and indirections?
10  I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my      friends, but listen to my enemies — as I myself do;

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I charge you, too, forever, reject those who would ex-     pound me — for I cannot expound myself ;
I charge that there be no theory or school founded out      of me ;
I charge you to leave all free, as I have left all free.
11  After me, vista!
O, I see life is not short, but immeasurably long;
I henceforth tread the world, chaste, temperate, an      early riser, a steady grower,
Every hour the semen of centuries — and still of cen-     turies.
12  I will follow up these continual lessons of the air,      water, earth;
I perceive I have no time to lose.

1  WHO learns my lesson complete?
Boss, journeyman, apprentice — churchman and athe-     ist,
The stupid and the wise thinker — parents and off-     spring — merchant, clerk, porter, and customer,
Editor, author, artist, and schoolboy — Draw nigh and      commence;
It is no lesson — it lets down the bars to a good lesson,
And that to another, and every one to another still.
2  The great laws take and effuse without argument;
I am of the same style, for I am their friend,
I love them quits and quits — I do not halt and make      salaams.
3  I lie abstracted, and hear beautiful tales of things,      and the reasons of things;
They are so beautiful, I nudge myself to listen.

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4   I cannot say to any person what I hear — I cannot      say it to myself — it is very wonderful.
5  It is no small matter, this round and delicious globe.      moving so exactly in its orbit forever and ever,      without one jolt, or the untruth of a single      second;
I do not think it was made in six days, nor in ten      thousand years, nor ten billions of years,
Nor plann'd and built one thing after another, as an      architect plans and builds a house.
6  I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or      woman,
Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a      man or woman,
Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me, or      any one else.
7  Is it wonderful that I should be immortal? as every      one is immortal;
I know it is wonderful — but my eye-sight is equally      wonderful, and how I was conceived in my      mother's womb is equally wonderful;
And pass'd from a babe, in the creeping trance of      a couple of summers and winters, to articulate      and walk — All this is equally wonderful.
8  And that my Soul embraces you this hour, and we      affect each other without ever seeing each other,      and never perhaps to see each other, is every      bit as wonderful.
9  And that I can think such thoughts as these, is just      as wonderful;
And that I can remind you, and you think them and      know them to be true, is just as wonderful.

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10 And that the moon spins round the earth, and on with the earth, is equally wonderful;
And that they balance themselves with the sun and stars, is equally wonderful.

1  WHOEVER you are, I fear you are walking the walks of      dreams,
I fear those supposed realities are to melt from under      your feet and hands;
Even now, your features, joys, speech, house, trade,      manners, troubles, follies, costume, crimes,      dissipate away from you,
Your true Soul and Body appear before me,
They stand forth out of affairs — out of commerce,      shops, law, science, work, farms, clothes, the      house, medicine, print, buying, selling, eating,      drinking, suffering, dying.
2  Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you,      that you be my poem;
I whisper with my lips close to your ear,
I have loved many women and men, but I love none      better than you.
3  O I have been dilatory and dumb;
I should have made my way straight to you long ago;
I should have blabb'd nothing but you, I should have      chanted nothing but you.
4  I will leave all, and come and make the hymns of      you;
None have understood you, but I understand you;
None have done justice to you — you have not done      justice to yourself;

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None but have found you imperfect — I only find no      imperfection in you;
None but would subordinate you — I only am he who      will never consent to subordinate you;
I only am he who places over you no master, owner,      better, God, beyond what waits intrinsically in      yourself.
5  Painters have painted their swarming groups, and      the centre figure of all;
From the head of the centre figure spreading a nim-     bus of gold-color'd light;
But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head with-     out its nimbus of gold-color'd light;
From my hand, from the brain of every man and      woman it streams, effulgently flowing forever.
6  O I could sing such grandeurs and glories about      you!
You have not known what you are — you have slum-     ber'd upon yourself all your life;
Your eye-lids have been the same as closed most of      the time;
What you have done returns already in mockeries;
(Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not return      in mockeries, what is their return?)
7  The mockeries are not you;
Underneath them, and within them, I see you lurk;
I pursue you where none else has pursued you;
Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night,      the accustom'd routine, if these conceal you from      others, or from yourself, they do not conceal you      from me;
The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure com-     plexion, if these balk others, they do not balk      me,
The pert apparel, the deform'd attitude, drunkenness,      greed, premature death, all these I part aside.

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8   There is no endowment in man or woman that is      not tallied in you;
There is no virtue, no beauty, in man or woman, but as      good is in you;
No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in      you;
No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure      waits for you.
9  As for me, I give nothing to any one, except I give      the like carefully to you;
I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner      than I sing the songs of the glory of you.
10  Whoever you are! claim your own at any hazard!
These shows of the east and west are tame compared      to you;
These immense meadows — these interminable rivers —      you are immense and interminable as they;
These furies, elements, storms, motions of Nature,      throes of apparent dissolution — you are he or      she who is master or mistress over them,
Master or mistress in your own right over Nature,      elements, pain, passion, dissolution.
11  The hopples fall from your ankles — you find an un-     failing sufficiency;
Old or young, male or female, rude, low, rejected by      the rest, whatever you are promulges itself;
Through birth, life, death, burial, the means are pro-     vided, nothing is scanted;
Through angers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui,      what you are picks it way.

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How they are provided for upon the earth, (appearing      at intervals;)
How dear and dreadful they are to the earth;
How they inure to themselves as much as to any —      What a paradox appears, their age;
How people respond to them, yet know them not;
How there is something relentless in their fate, all      times;
How all times mischoose the objects of their adulation      and reward,
And how the same inexorable price must still be paid      for the same great purchase.

ALL submit to them, where they sit, inner, secure,      unapproachable to analysis, in the Soul;
Not traditions — not the outer authorities are the      judges — they are the judges of outer authori-     ties, and of all traditions;
They corroborate as they go, only whatever corrobo-     rates themselves, and touches themselves;
For all that, they have it forever in themselves to      corroborate far and near, without one excep-     tion.

ONLY themselves understand themselves, and the like of themselves,
As Souls only understand Souls.

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1   WEAPON, shapely, naked, wan;
Head from the mother's bowels drawn!
Wooded flesh and metal bone! limb only one, and lip      only one!
Gray-blue leaf by red-heat grown! helve produced from      a little seed sown!
Resting the grass amid and upon,
To be lean'd, and to lean on.
2  Strong shapes, and attributes of strong shapes —      masculine trades, sights and sounds;
Long varied train of an emblem, dabs of music;
Fingers of the organist skipping staccato over the keys      of the great organ.

3   Welcome are all earth's lands, each for its kind;
Welcome are lands of pine and oak;
Welcome are lands of the lemon and fig;
Welcome are lands of gold;
Welcome are lands of wheat and maize — welcome      those of the grape;
Welcome are lands of sugar and rice;
Welcome the cotton-lands — welcome those of the white      potato and sweet potato;
Welcome are mountains, flats, sands, forests, prairies;
Welcome the rich borders of rivers, table-lands,      openings;

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Welcome the measureless grazing-lands — welcome the teeming soil of orchards, flax, honey, hemp;
Welcome just as much the other more hard-faced lands;
Lands rich as lands of gold, or wheat and fruit lands;
Lands of mines, lands of the manly and rugged ores;
Lands of coal, copper, lead, tin, zinc;
LANDS OF IRON! lands of the make of the axe!

4   The log at the wood-pile, the axe supported by it;
The sylvan hut, the vine over the doorway, the space      clear'd for a garden,
The irregular tapping of rain down on the leaves,      after the storm is lull'd,
The wailing and moaning at intervals, the thought of      the sea,
The thought of ships struck in the storm, and put on      their beam-ends, and the cutting away of      masts;
The sentiment of the huge timbers of old-fashion'd      houses and barns;
The remember'd print or narrative, the voyage at a      venture of men, families, goods,
The disembarkation, the founding of a new city,
The voyage of those who sought a New England and      found it — the outset anywhere,
The settlements of the Arkansas, Colorado, Ottawa,      Willamette,
The slow progress, the scant fare, the axe, rifle, saddle-     bags;
The beauty of all adventurous and daring persons,
The beauty of wood-boys and wood-men, with their      clear untrimm'd faces,
The beauty of independence, departure, actions that      rely on themselves,
The American contempt for statutes and ceremonies,      the boundless impatience of restraint,

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The loose drift of character, the inkling through ran-     dom types, the solidification;
The butcher in the slaughter-house, the hands aboard      schooners and sloops, the raftsman, the pioneer,
Lumbermen in their winter camp, day-break in the      woods, stripes of snow on the limbs of trees,      the occasional snapping,
The glad clear sound of one's own voice, the merry      song, the natural life of the woods, the strong      day's work,
The blazing fire at night, the sweet taste of supper      the talk, the bed of hemlock boughs, and the      bear-skin;
— The house-builder at work in cities or anywhere,
The preparatory jointing, squaring, sawing, mortising,
The hoist-up of beams, the push of them in their      places, laying them regular,
Setting the studs by their tenons in the mortises, ac-     cording as they were prepared,
The blows of mallets and hammers, the attitudes of      the men, their curv'd limbs,
Bending, standing, astride the beams, driving in pins,      holding on by posts and braces,
The hook'd arm over the plate, the other arm wielding      the axe,
The floor-men forcing the planks close, to be nail'd,
Their postures bringing their weapons downward on      the bearers,
The echoes resounding through the vacant building;
The huge store-house carried up in the city, well      under way,
The six framing-men, two in the middle, and two at      each end, carefully bearing on their shoulders      a heavy stick for a cross-beam,
The crowded line of masons with trowels in their      right hands, rapidly laying the long side-wall,      two hundred feet from front to rear,
The flexible rise and fall of backs, the continual click      of the trowels striking the bricks,

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The bricks, one after another, each laid so workman-     like in its place, and set with a knock of the      trowel-handle,
The piles of materials, the mortar on the mortar-     boards, and the steady replenishing by the hod-     men;
— Spar-makers in the spar-yard, the swarming row of      well-grown apprentices,
The swing of their axes on the square-hew'd log,      shaping it toward the shape of a mast,
The brisk short crackle of the steel driven slantingly      into the pine,
The butter-color'd chips flying off in great flakes and      slivers,
The limber motion of brawny young arms and hips in      easy costumes;
The constructor of wharves, bridges, piers, bulk-heads,      floats, stays against the sea;
— The city fireman — the fire that suddenly bursts forth      in the close-pack'd square,
The arriving engines, the hoarse shouts, the nimble      stepping and daring,
The strong command through the fire-trumpets, the      falling in line, the rise and fall of the arms      forcing the water,
The slender, spasmic blue-white jets — the bringing to      bear of the hooks and ladders, and their      execution,
The crash and cut away of connecting wood-work, or      through floors, if the fire smoulders under      them,
The crowd with their lit faces, watching — the glare      and dense shadows;
— The forger at his forge-furnace, and the user of iron      after him,
The maker of the axe large and small, and the welder      and temperer,
The chooser breathing his breath on the cold steel.      and trying the edge with his thumb,

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The one who clean-shapes the handle and sets it      firmly in the socket;
The shadowy processions of the portraits of the past      users also,
The primal patient mechanics, the architects and      engineers,
The far-off Assyrian edifice and Mizra edifice,
The Roman lictors preceding the consuls,
The antique European warrior with his axe in combat,
The uplifted arm, the clatter of blows on the helmeted      head,
The death-howl, the limpsey tumbling body, the rush      of friend and foe thither,
The seige of revolted lieges determin'd for liberty,
The summons to surrender, the battering at castle      gates, the truce and parley;
The sack of an old city in its time,
The bursting in of mercenaries and bigots tumultuously      and disorderly,
Roar, flames, blood, drunkenness, madness,
Goods freely rifled from houses and temples, screams      of women in the gripe of brigands,
Craft and thievery of camp-followers, men running, old      persons despairing,
The hell of war, the cruelties of creeds,
The list of all executive deeds and words, just or un-     just,
The power of personality, just or unjust.

5 Muscle and pluck forever!
What invigorates life, invigorates death,
And the dead advance as much as the living advance,
And the future is no more uncertain than the present,
And the roughness of the earth and of man encloses as much as the delicatesse of the earth and of man,
And nothing endures but personal qualities.

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6   What do you think endures?
Do you think the great city endures?
Or a teeming manufacturing state? or a prepared con-     stitution? or the best built steamships?
Or hotels of granite and iron? or any chef-d'eouvres of      engineering, forts, armaments?
7  Away ! These are not to be cherish'd for themselves;
They fill their hour, the dancers dance, the musicians      play for them;
The show passes, all does well enough of course,
All does very well till one flash of defiance.
8  The great city is that which has the greatest man or      woman;
If it be a few ragged huts, it is still the greatest city in      the whole world.

9   The place where the great city stands is not the      place of stretch'd wharves, docks, manufactures,      deposits of produce,
Nor the place of ceaseless salutes of new comers, or      the anchor-lifters of the departing,
Nor the place of the tallest and costliest buildings, or      shops selling goods from the rest of the earth,
Nor the place of the best libraries and schools — nor      the place where money is plentiest,
Nor the place of the most numerous population.
10  Where the city stands with the brawniest breed of      orators and bards;
Where the city stands that is beloved by these, and      loves them in return, and understands them;
Where no monuments exist to heroes, but in the      common words and deeds;
Where thrift is in its place, and prudence is in its      place;

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Where the men and women think lightly of the laws;
Where the slave ceases, and the master of slaves ceases;
Where the populace rise at once against the never-     ending audacity of elected persons;
Where fierce men and women pour forth, as the sea      to the whistle of death pours its sweeping and      unript waves;
Where outside authority enters always after the pre-     cedence of inside authority;
Where the citizen is always the head and ideal — and      President, Mayor, Governor, and what not, are      agents for pay;
Where children are taught to be laws to themselves,      and to depend on themselves;
Where equanimity is illustrated in affairs;
Where speculations on the Soul are encouraged;
Where women walk in public processions in the streets,      the same as the men,
Where they enter the public assembly and take places      the same as the men;
Where the city of the faithfulest friends stands;
Where the city of the cleanliness of the sexes stands;
Where the city of the healthiest fathers stands;
Where the city of the best-bodied mothers stands,
There the great city stands.

11   How beggarly appear arguments, before a defiant      deed!
How the floridness of the materials of cities shrivels      before a man's or woman's look!
12  All waits, or goes by default, till a strong being ap-     pears;
A strong being is the proof of the race, and of the      ability of the universe;
When he or she appears, materials are overaw'd,
The dispute on the Soul stops,

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The old customs and phrases are confronted, turn'd      back, or laid away.
13  What is your money-making now? What can it do      now?
What is your respectability now?
What are your theology, tuition, society, traditions,      statute-books, now?
Where are your jibes of being now?
Where are your cavils about the Soul now?
14  Was that your best? Were those your vast and      solid?
Riches, opinions, politics, institutions, to part obedi-     ently from the path of one man or woman!
The centuries, and all authority, to be trod under the      foot-soles of one man or woman!

15   A sterile landscape covers the ore — there is as good      as the best, for all the forbidding appearance;
There is the mine, there are the miners;
The forge-furnace is there, the melt is accomplish'd;      the hammers-men are at hand with their tongs      and hammers;
What always served and always serves, is at hand.
16  Than this nothing has better served — it has served      all:
Served the fluent-tongued and subtle-sensed Greek,      and long ere the Greek:
Served in building the buildings that last longer than      any;
Served the Hebrew, the Persian, the most ancient      Hindostanee;
Served the mound-raiser on the Mississippi — served      those whose relics remain in Central America;

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Served Albic temples in woods or on plains, with un-     hewn pillars, and the druids;
Served the artificial clefts, vast, high, silent, on the      snow-cover'd hills of Scandinavia;
Served those who, time out of mind, made on the      granite walls rough sketches of the sun, moon,      stars, ships, ocean-waves;
Served the paths of the irruptions of the Goths —      served the pastoral tribes and nomads;
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 plea-     sure, and the making of those for war;
Served all great works on land, and all great works on      the sea;
For the mediæval ages, and before the mediæval ages;
Served not the living only, then as now, but served the      dead.

17   I see the European headsman;
He stands mask'd, clothed in red, with huge legs, and      strong naked arms,
And leans on a ponderous axe.
18  Whom have you slaughter'd lately, European heads-     man?
Whose is that blood upon you, so wet and sticky?
19  I see the clear sunsets of the martyrs;
I see from the scaffolds the descending ghosts,
Ghosts of dead lords, uncrown'd ladies, impeach'd      ministers, rejected kings,
Rivals, traitors, poisoners, disgraced chieftains, and      the rest.

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20   I see those who in any land have died for the      good cause;
The seed is spare, nevertheless the crop shall never run      out;
(Mind you, O foreign kings, O priests, the crop shall      never run out.)
21  I see the blood wash'd entirely away from the axe;
Both blade and helve are clean;
They spirt no more the blood of European nobles —      they clasp no more the necks of queens.
22  I see the headsman withdraw and become useless;
I see the scaffold untrodden and mouldy — I see no      longer any axe upon it;
I see the mighty and friendly emblem of the power of      my own race — the newest, largest race.

23   America! I do not vaunt my love for you;
I have what I have.
24  The axe leaps!
The solid forest gives fluid utterances;
They tumble forth, they rise and form,
Hut, tent, landing, survey,
Flail, plough, pick, crowbar, spade,
Shingle, rail, prop, wainscot, jamb, lath, panel, gable,
Citadel, ceiling, saloon, academy, organ, exhibition-     house, library,
Cornice, trellis, pilaster, balcony, window, shutter, tur-     ret, porch,
Hoe, rake, pitch-fork, pencil, wagon, staff, saw, jack-     plane, mallet, wedge, rounce,
Chair, tub, hoop, table, wicket, vane, sash, floor,
Work-box, chest, string'd instrument, boat, frame, and      what not,
Capitols of States, and capitol of the nation of States,

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Long stately rows in avenues, hospitals for orphans, or      for the poor or sick,
Manhattan steamboats and clippers, taking the meas-     ure of all seas.
25  The shapes arise!
Shapes of the using of axes anyhow, and the users,      and all that neighbors them,
Cutters down of wood, and haulers of it to the Penob-     scot or Kennebec,
Dwellers in cabins among the Californian mountains,      or by the little lakes, or on the Columbia,
Dwellers south on the banks of the Gila or Rio Grande       — friendly gatherings, the characters and fun,
Dwellers up north in Minnesota and by the Yellow-     stone river — dwellers on coasts and off coasts,
Seal-fishers, whalers, arctic seamen breaking passages      through the ice.
26  The shapes arise!
Shapes of factories, arsenals, foundries, markets;
Shapes of the two-threaded tracks of railroads;
Shapes of the sleepers of bridges, vast frameworks,      girders, arches;
Shapes of the fleets of barges, tows, lake craft, river      craft.
27  The shapes arise!
Ship-yards and dry-docks along the Eastern and West-     ern Seas, and in many a bay and by-place,
The live-oak kelsons, the pine planks, the spars, the      hackmatack-roots for knees,
The ships themselves on their ways, the tiers of scaf-     folds, the workmen busy outside and inside,
The tools lying around, the great auger and little au-     ger, the adze, bolt, line, square, gouge, and bead-     plane.

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28   The shapes arise!
The shape measur'd, saw'd, jack'd, join'd, stain'd,
The coffin-shape for the dead to lie within in his      shroud;
The shape got out in posts, in the bedstead posts, in      the posts of the bride's bed;
The shape of the little trough, the shape of the rockers      beneath, the shape of the babe's cradle;
The shape of the floor-planks, the floor-planks for      dancers' feet;
The shape of the planks of the family home, the      home of the friendly parents and children,
The shape of the roof of the home of the happy      young man and woman, the roof over the well-     married young man and woman,
The roof over the supper joyously cook'd by the chaste      wife, and joyously eaten by the chaste husband,      content after his day's work.
29  The shapes arise!
The shape of the prisoner's place in the court-room,      and of him or her seated in the place;
The shape of the liquor-bar lean'd against by the      young rum-drinker and the old rum drinker;
The shape of the shamed and angry stairs, trod by      sneaking footsteps;
The shape of the sly settee, and the adulterous un-     wholesome couple;
The shape of the gambling-board with its devilish      winnings and losings;
The shape of the step-ladder for the convicted and      sentenced murderer, the murderer with hag-     gard face and pinion'd arms,
The sheriff at hand with his deputies, the silent and      white-lipp'd crowd, the sickening dangling of      the rope.

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30   The shapes arise!
Shapes of doors giving many exits and entrances;
The door passing the dissever'd friend, flush'd and in      haste;
The door that admits good news and bad news;
The door whence the son left home, confident and      puff'd up;
The door he enter'd again from a long and scandalous      absence, diseas'd, broken down, without inno-     cence, without means.

31   Her shape arises,
She, less guarded than ever, yet more guarded than      ever;
The gross and soil'd she moves among do not make      her gross and soil'd;
She knows the thoughts as she passes — nothing is con-     ceal'd from her;
She is none the less considerate or friendly therefor;
She is the best-beloved — it is without exception — she      has no reason to fear, and she does not fear;
Oaths, quarrels, hiccupp'd songs, smutty expressions,      are idle to her as she passes;
She is silent — she is possess'd of herself — they do not      offend her;
She receives them as the laws of nature receive them       — she is strong,
She too is a law of nature — there is no law stronger      than she is.

32 The main shapes arise!
Shapes of Democracy, total — result of centuries;
Shapes, ever projecting other shapes;
Shapes of a hundred Free States, begetting another hundred;
Shapes of turbulent manly cities;
Shapes of the women fit for These States,

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Shapes of the friends and home-givers of the whole earth,
Shapes bracing the earth, and braced with the whole earth.

1  WITH antecedents;
With my fathers and mothers, and the accumulations      of past ages;
With all which, had it not been, I would not now be      here, as I am:
With Egypt, India, Phenicia, Greece and Rome;
With the Kelt, the Scandinavian, the Alb, and the      Saxon;
With antique maritime ventures, — with laws, artizan-     ship, wars and journeys;
With the poet, the skald, the saga, the myth, and the      oracle;
With the sale of slaves — with enthusiasts — with the      troubadour, the crusader, and the monk;
With those old continents whence we have come to this      new continent;
With the fading kingdoms and kings over there;
With the fading religions and priests;
With the small shores we look back to from our own      large and present shores;
With countless years drawing themselves onward, and      arrived at these years;
You and Me arrived — America arrived, and making      this year;
This year! sending itself ahead countless years to      come.

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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, and the      knight — we easily include them, and more;
We stand amid time, beginningless and endless — we      stand amid evil and good;
All swings around us — there is as much darkness as      light;
The very sun swings itself and its system of planets      around us:
Its sun, and its again, all swing around us.
3  As for me, (torn, stormy, even as I, amid these ve-     hement days;)
I have the idea of all, and am all, and believe in all;
I believe materialism is true, and spiritualism is true —      I reject no part.
4  Have I forgotten any part?
Come to me, whoever and whatever, till I give you      recognition.
5  I respect Assyria, China, Teutonia, and the He-     brews;
I adopt each theory, myth, god, and demi-god;
I see that the old accounts, bibles, genealogies, are      true, without exception;
I assert that all past days were what they should have      been;
And that they could no-how have been better than      they were,
And that to-day is what it should be — and that      America is,
And that to-day and America could no-how be better      than they are.
6  In the name of These States, and in your and my      name, the Past,

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And in the name of These States, and in your and my      name, the Present time.
7  I know that the past was great, and the future will      be great,
And I know that both curiously conjoint in the pres-     ent time,
(For the sake of him I typify — for the common aver-     age man's sake — your sake, if you are he;)
And that where I am, or you are, this present 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.

THITHER, as I look, I see each result and glory re-     tracing itself and nestling close, always obli-     gated;
Thither hours, months, years — thither trades, com-     pacts, establishments, even the most minute;
Thither every-day life, speech, utensils, politics, per-     sons, estates;
Thither we also, I with my leaves and songs, trustful,      admirant,
As a father, to his father going, takes his children      along with him.

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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 cos-     tumes! how curious you are to me!
On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that      cross, returning home, are more curious to me      than you suppose;
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence,      are more to me, and more in my meditations,      than you might suppose.
3  The impalpable sustenance of me from all things, at      all hours of the day;
The simple, compact, well-join'd scheme — myself dis-     integrated, every one disintegrated, yet part of      the scheme;
The similitudes of the past, and those of the future;
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and      hearings — on the walk in the street, and the      passage over the river;
The current rushing so swiftly, and swimming with me      far away;
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me      and them;
The certainty of others — the life, love, sight, hearing      of others.

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4   Others will enter the gates of the ferry, and cross      from shore to shore;
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide;
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and      west, and the heights of Brooklyn to the south      and east;
Others will see the islands large and small;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross,      the sun half an hour high;
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years      hence, others will see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring in of the flood-tide,      the falling back to the sea of the ebb-tide.
5  It avails not, neither time or place — distance avails      not;
I am with you, you men and women of a generation,      or ever so many generations hence;
I project myself — also I return — I am with you, and      know how it is.
6  Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky      so I felt;
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one      of a crowd;
Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river      and the bright flow, I was refresh'd;
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with      the swift current, I stood, yet was hurried;
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and      the thick-stem'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd.
7  I too many and many a time cross'd the river, the      sun half an hour high;
I watched the Twelfthgulls — I saw them      high in the air, floating with motionless wings,      oscillating their bodies,

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I saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their      bodies, and left the rest in strong shadow,
I saw the slow-wheeling circles, and the gradual edging      toward the south.
8  I too saw the reflection of the summer sky in the      water,
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of      beams,
Look'd at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the      shape of my head in the sun-lit water,
Look'd on the haze on the hills southward and south-     westward,
Look'd on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with      violet,
Look'd toward the lower bay to notice the arriving      ships,
Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me,
Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, saw the      ships at anchor,
The sailors at work in the rigging, or out astride the      spars,
The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the      slender serpentine pennants,
The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in      their pilot-houses,
The white wake left by the passage, the quick trem-     ulous whirl of the wheels,
The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sun-set,
The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled      cups, the frolicsome crests and glistening,
The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray      walls of the granite store-houses by the docks,
On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug      closely flank'd on each side by the barges — the      hay-boat, the belated lighter,
On the neighboring shore, the fires from the foundry      chimneys burning high and glaringly into the      night,

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Casting their flicker of black, contrasted with wild red      and yellow light, over the tops of houses, and      down into the clefts of streets.
9  These, and all else, were to me the same as they are      to you;
I project myself a moment to tell you — also I return.
10  I loved well those cities;
I loved well the stately and rapid river;
The men and women I saw were all near to me;
Others the same — others who look back on me, because      I look'd forward to them;
(The time will come, though I stop here to-day and      to-night.)
11  What is it, then, between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years      between us?
12  Whatever it is, it avails not — distance avails not,      and place avails not.
13  I too lived — Brooklyn, of ample hills, was mine;
I too walked the streets of Manhattan Island, and      bathed in the waters around it;
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within      me,
In the day, among crowds of people, sometimes they      came upon me,
In my walks home late at night, or as I lay in my bed,      they came upon me.
14  I too had been struck from the float forever held in      solution;
I too had receiv'd identity by my Body;
That I was, I knew was of my body — and what I      should be, I knew I should be of my body.

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15   It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall,
The dark threw patches down upon me also;
The best I had done seem'd to me blank and sus-     picious;
My great thoughts, as I supposed them, were they not      in reality meagre? would not people laugh at      me?
16  It is not you alone who know what it is to be evil;
I am he who knew what it was to be evil;
I too knitted the old knot of contrariety,
Blabb'd, blush'd, resented, lied, stole, grudg'd,
Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not      speak,
Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly,      malignant,;
The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me,
The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous      wish, not wanting,
Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness,      none of these wanting.
17  But I was Manhattanese, friendly and proud!
I was call'd by my nighest name by clear loud voices      of young men as they saw me approaching or      passing,
Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent      leaning of their flesh against me as I sat,
Saw many I loved in the street, or ferry-boat, or public      assembly, yet never told them a word,
Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laugh-     ing, gnawing, sleeping,
Play'd the part that still looks back on the actor or      actress,
The same old role, the role that is what we make it,      as great as we like,
Or as small as we like, or both great and small.

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18   Closer yet I approach you;
What thought you have of me, I had as much of you       — I laid in my stores in advance;
I consider'd long and seriously of you before you were      born.
19  Who was to know what should come home to me?
Who knows but I am enjoying this?
Who knows but I am as good as looking at you now,      for all you cannot see me?
20  It is not you alone, nor I alone;
Not a few races, nor a few generations, nor a few      centuries;
It is that each came, or comes, or shall come, from its      due emission, without fail, either now, or then,      or henceforth.
21  Every thing indicates — the smallest does, and the      largest does;
A necessary film envelops all, and envelops the Soul      for a proper time.
22  Now I am curious what sight can ever be more stately      and admirable to me than my mast-hemm'd      Manhatta,
My river and sun-set, and my scallop-edg'd waves of      flood-tide,
The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in      the twilight, and the belated lighter;
Curious what Gods can exceed these that clasp me by      the hand, and with voices I love call me promptly      and loudly by my nighest name as I approach;
Curious what is more subtle than this which ties me      to the woman or man that looks in my face,
Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning      into you.

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23   We understand, then, do we not?
What I promis'd without mentioning it, have you not      accepted?
What the study could not teach — what the preaching      could not accomplish, is accomplish'd, is it not?
What the push of reading could not start, is started      by me personally, is it not?
24  Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb      with the ebb-tide!
Frolic on, crested and scallop-edged waves!
Gorgeous clouds of the sun-set! drench with your      splendor me, or the men and women generations      after me;
Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of pas-     sengers!
Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta! — stand up, beauti-     ful hills of Brooklyn!
Bully for you! you proud, friendly, free Manhat-     tanese!
Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions      and answers!
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solu-     tion!
Blab, blush, lie, steal, you or I or any one after us!
Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house, or street,      or public assembly!
Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically      call me by my nighest name!
Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the      actor or actress!
Play the old role, the role that is great or small,      according as one makes it!
Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in      unknown ways be looking upon you;
Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean      idly, yet haste with the hasting current;
Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large cir-     cles high in the air;

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Receive the summer sky, you water! and faithfully      hold it, till all downcast eyes have time to take      it from you;
Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my      head, or any one's head, in the sun-lit water;
Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down,      white-sail'd schooners, sloops, lighters!
Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower'd at      sunset;
Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black      shadows at nightfall! cast red and yellow light      over the tops of the houses;
Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you      are;
You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul;
About my body for me, and your body for you, be      hung our divinest aromas;
Thrive, cities! bring your freight, bring your shows,      ample and sufficient rivers;
Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more      spiritual;
Keep your places, objects than which none else is more      lasting.
25  We descend upon you and all things — we arrest you      all;
We realize the soul only by you, you faithful solids      and fluids;
Through you color, form, location, sublimity, ideality;
Through you every proof, comparison, and all the sug-     gestions and determinations of ourselves.
26  You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beau-     tiful ministers! you novices!
We receive you with free sense at last, and are insati-     ate henceforward;
Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or with-     hold yourselves from us;

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We use you, and do not cast you aside — we plant you      permanently within us;
We fathom you not — we love you — there is perfection      in you also;
You furnish your parts toward eternity;
Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the      soul.

1  COURAGE! my brother or my sister!
Keep on! Liberty is to be subserved, whatever occurs;
That is nothing, that is quell'd by one or two failures,      or any number of failures,
Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people, or      by any unfaithfulness,
Or the show of the tushes of power, soldiers, cannon,      penal statutes.
2  What we believe in waits latent forever through all      the continents, and all the islands and archi-     pelagos of the sea.
3  What we believe in invites no one, promises nothing,      sits in calmness and light, is positive and com-     posed, knows no discouragement,
Waiting patiently, waiting its time.
4  The battle rages with many a loud alarm, and fre-     quent advance and retreat,
The infidel triumphs — or supposes he triumphs,
The prison, scaffold, garrote, hand-cuffs, iron necklace      and anklet, lead-balls, do their work,
The named and unnamed heroes pass to other spheres,
The great speakers and writers are exiled — they lie sick      in distant lands,

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The cause is asleep — the strongest throats are still,      choked with their own blood,
The young men drop their eyelashes toward the ground      when they meet;
But for all this, liberty has not gone out of the place,      nor the infidel enter'd into possession.
5  When liberty goes out of a place, it is not the first      to go, nor the second or third to go,
It waits for all the rest to go — it is the last.
6  When there are no more memories of heroes and      martyrs,
And when all life, and all the souls of men and women      are discharged from any part of the earth,
Then only shall liberty be discharged from that part of      the earth,
And the infidel and the tyrant come into possession.
7  Then courage! revolter! revoltress!
For till all ceases, neither must you cease.
8  I do not know what you are for, (I do not know what      I am for myself, nor what anything is for,)
But I will search carefully for it even in being foil'd,
In defeat, poverty, imprisonment — for they too are      great.
9  Did we think victory great?
So it is — But now it seems to me, when it cannot be      help'd, that defeat is great,
And that death and dismay are great.

1  To get betimes in Boston town, I rose this morning      early;
Here's a good place at the corner — I must stand and      see the show.
2  Clear the way there, Jonathan!
Way for the President's marshal! Way for the gov-     ernment cannon!
Way for the Federal foot and dragoons — and the appa-     ritions copiously tumbling.
3  I love to look on the stars and stripes — I hope the fifes      will play Yankee Doodle.
4  How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost      troops!
Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff through      Boston town.
5  A fog follows — antiques of the same come limping,
Some appear wooden      daged and bloodless.
6  Why this is indeed a show! It has call'd the dead      out of the earth!
The old grave-yards of the hills have hurried to see!
Phantoms! phantoms countless by flank and rear!
Cock'd hats of mothy mould! crutches made of mist!
Arms in slings ! old men leaning on young men's      shoulders!
7  What troubles you, Yankee phantoms? What is all      this chattering of bare gums?
Does the ague convulse your limbs? Do you mistake      your crutches for fire-locks, and level them?

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8   If you blind your eyes with tears, you will not see      the President's marshal;
If you groan such groans you might balk the govern-     ment cannon.
9  For shame, old maniacs! Bring down those toss'd      arms, and let your white hair be;
Here gape your great grand-sons — their wives gaze at      them from the windows,
See how well-dress'd — see how orderly they conduct      themselves.
10  Worse and worse! Can't you stand it? Are you      retreating?
Is this hour with the living too dead for you?
11  Retreat then! Pell-mell!
To your graves! Back! back to the hills, old limpers!
I do not think you belong here, anyhow.
12  But there is one thing that belongs here — shall I      tell you what it is, gentlemen of Boston?
13  I will whisper it to the Mayor — he shall send a      committee to England;
They shall get a grant from the Parliament, go with a      cart to the royal vault — haste!
Dig out King George's coffin, unwrap him quick from      the grave-clothes, box up his bones for a      journey;
Find a swift Yankee clipper — here is freight for you,      black-bellied clipper,
Up with your anchor! shake out your sails! steer      straight toward Boston bay.
14  Now call for the President's marshal again, bring      out the government cannon,
Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make another      procession, guard it with foot and dragoons.

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15   This centre-piece for them:
Look! all orderly citizens — look from the windows,      women!
16  The committee open the box, set up the regal ribs,      glue those that will not stay,
Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clap a crown on      top of the skull.
17  You have got your revenge, old buster! The crown      is come to its own, and more than its own.
18  Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan — you      are a made man from this day;
You are mighty cute — and here is one of your      bargains.

1  Be composed — be at ease with me — I am Walt      Whitman, liberal and lusty as Nature;
Not till the sun excludes you, do I exclude you;
Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the      leaves to rustle for you, do my words refuse to      glisten and rustle for you.
2  My girl, I appoint with you an appointment — and I      charge you that you make preparation to be      worthy to meet me,
And I charge you that you be patient and perfect till      I come.
3  Till then, I salute you with a significant look, that      you do not forget me.

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1  Is reform needed? Is it through you?
The greater the reform needed, the greater PER-     SONALITY you need to accomplish it.
2  You! do you not see how it would serve to have      eyes, blood, complexion, clean and sweet?
Do you not see how it would serve to have such a Body      and Soul, that when you enter the crowd, an      atmosphere of desire and command enters with      you, and every one is impress'd with your per-     sonality?
3  O the magnet! the flesh over and over!
Go, dear friend! if need be, give up all else, and com-     mence to-day to inure yourself to pluck, reality,      self-esteem, definiteness, elevatedness;
Rest not, till you rivet and publish yourself of your      own personality.

WHAT you give me, I cheerfully accept,
A little sustenance, a hut and garden, a little money —      these, as I rendezvous with my poems,
A traveler's lodging and breakfast as I journey through      The States — Why should I be ashamed to own      such gifts? Why to advertise for them?
For I myself am not one who bestows nothing upon      man and woman;
For I bestow upon any man or woman the entrance to      all the gifts of the universe.

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1   OUT of the rock'd cradle,
Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where      the child, leaving his bed, wander'd alone, bare-     headed, barefoot,
Down from the shower'd halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and      twisting as if they were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories, sad brother — from the fitful      risings and fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and      swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of sickness and love,      there in the transparent mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous'd words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither — ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man — yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,
Taking all hints to use them — but swiftly leaping      beyond them,
A reminiscence sing.

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2   Once, Paumanok,
When the snows had melted, and the Fifth-month      grass was growing,
Up this sea-shore, in some briers,
Two guests from Alabama — two together,
And their nest, and four light-green eggs, spotted with      brown,
And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand,
And every day the she-bird, crouch'd on her nest,      silent, with bright eyes,
And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never      disturbing them,
Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.

3 Shine! shine! shine!
Pour down your warmth, great Sun!
While we bask — we two together.
4 Two together!
Winds blow South, or winds blow North,
Day come white, or night come black,
Home, or rivers and mountains from home,
Singing all time, minding no time,
If we two but keep together.

5   Till of a sudden,
May-be kill'd, unknown to her mate,
One forenoon the she-bird crouch'd not on the nest,
Nor return'd that afternoon, nor the next,
Nor ever appear'd again.
6  And thenceforward, all summer, in the sound of the      sea,
And at night, under the full of the moon, in calmer      weather,

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Over the hoarse surging of the sea,
Or flitting from brier to brier by day,
I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one, the he-bird,
The solitary guest from Alabama.

7 Blow! blow! blow!
Blow up, sea-winds, along Paumanok's shore!
I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me.

8   Yes, when the stars glisten'd,
All night long, on the prong of a moss-scallop'd stake,
Down, almost amid the slapping waves,
Sat the lone singer, wonderful, causing tears.
9  He call'd on his mate;
He pour'd forth the meanings which I, of all men,      know.
10  Yes, my brother, I know;
The rest might not — but I have treasur'd every      note;
For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the      beach gliding,
Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with      the shadows,
Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the      sounds and sights after their sorts,
The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing,
I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair,
Listen'd long and long.
11  Listen'd, to keep, to sing — now translating the      notes,
Following you, my brother.

12   Soothe! soothe! soothe!
Close on its wave soothes the wave behind,
And again another behind, embracing and lapping,      every one close,
But my love soothes not me, not me.
13  Low hangs the moon — it rose late;
O it is lagging — O I think it is heavy with love,      with love.
14  O madly the sea pushes, pushes upon the land.
With love — with love.
15  O night! do I not see my love fluttering out there      among the breakers?
What is that little black thing I see there in the white?
16  Loud! loud! loud!
Loud I call to you, my love!
High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves;
Surely you must know who is here, is here;
You must know who I am, my love.
17  Low-hanging moon!
What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow?
O it is the shape, the shape of my mate!
O moon, do not keep her from me any longer.
18  Land! land! O land!
Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me      my mate back again, if you only would;
For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way      I look.
19  O rising stars!
Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise      with some of you.

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20   O throat! O trembling throat!
Sound clearer through the atmosphere!
Pierce the woods, the earth;
Somewhere listening to catch you, must be the one 1      want.
21  Shake out, carols!
Solitary here — the night's carols!
Carols of lonesome love! Death's carols!
Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon!
O, under that moon, where she droops almost down      into the sea!
O reckless, despairing carols.
22  But soft! sink low;
Soft! let me just murmur;
And do you wait a moment, you husky-noised sea;
For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding      to me,
So faint — I must be still, be still to listen;
But not altogether still, for then she might not come      immediately to me.
23  Hither, my love!
Here I am! Here!
With this just-sustain'd note I announce myself to      you;
This gentle call is for you, my love, for you.
24  Do not be decoy'd elsewhere!
That is the whistle of the wind — it is not my voice;
That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray;
Those are the shadows of leaves.
25  O darkness! O in vain!
O I am very sick and sorrowful.

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26  O brown halo in the sky, near the moon, drooping      upon the sea!
O troubled reflection in the sea!
O throat! O throbbing heart!
O all — and I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night.
27  Yet I murmur, murmur on!
O murmurs — you yourselves make me continue to sing,      I know not why.
28  O past! O life! O songs of joy!
In the air — in the woods — over fields;
Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved!
But my love no more, no more with me!
We two together no more.

29   The aria sinking;
All else continuing — the stars shining,
The winds blowing — the notes of the bird continuous      echoing,
With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly      moaning,
On the sands of Paumanok's shore, gray and rustling;
The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, droop-     ing, the face of the sea almost touching;
The boy extatic — with his bare feet the waves, with      his hair the atmosphere dallying,
The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last      tumultuously bursting,
The aria's meaning, the ears, the Soul, swiftly deposit-     ing,
The strange tears down the cheeks coursing,
The colloquy there — the trio — each uttering,
The undertone — the savage old mother, incessantly      crying,
To the boy's Soul's questions sullenly timing — some      drown'd secret hissing,
To the outsetting bard of love.

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30   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 a child, my tongue's use sleeping,
Now I have heard you,
Now in a moment I know what I am for — I awake,
And already a thousand singers — a thousand songs,      clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours,
A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within      me,
Never to die.
31  O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself — project-     ing me;
O solitary me, listening — never more shall I cease per-     petuating you;
Never more shall I escape, never more the reverbera-     tions,
Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent      from me,
Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was      before what there, in the night,
By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon,
The messenger there aroused — the fire, the sweet hell      within,
The unknown want, the destiny of me.
32  O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here      somewhere;)
O if I am to have so much, let me have more!
O a word! O what is my destination? (I fear it is      henceforth chaos;)
O how joys, dreads, convolutions, human shapes, and      all shapes, spring as from graves around me!
O phantoms! you cover all the land and all the sea!
O I cannot see in the dimness whether you smile or      frown upon me;

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O vapor, a look, a word! O well-beloved!
O you dear women's and men's phantoms!
33 A word then, (for I will conquer it,)
The word 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 wet sands?

34   Whereto answering, the sea,
Delaying not, hurrying not,
Whisper'd me through the night, and very plainly be-     fore daybreak,
Lisp'd to me the low and delicious word DEATH;
And again Death — ever Death, Death, Death,
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird, nor like my      arous'd child's heart,
But edging near, as privately for me, rustling at my      feet,
Creeping thence steadily up to my ears, and laving me      softly all over,
Death, Death, Death, Death, Death.
35  Which I do not forget,
But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother,
That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok's      gray beach,
With the thousand responsive songs, at random,
My own songs, awaked from that hour;
And with them the key, the word up from the waves,
The word of the sweetest song, and all songs,
That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my      feet,
The sea whisper'd me.

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1   SAUNTERING the pavement, or riding the country by-     road — lo! such faces!
Faces of friendship, precision, caution, suavity,      ideality;
The spiritual prescient face — the always welcome,      common, benevolent face,
The face of the singing of music — the grand faces of      natural lawyers and judges, broad at the back-     top;
The faces of hunters and fishers, bulged at the brows —      the shaved blanch'd faces of orthodox citizens;
The pure, extravagant, yearning, questioning artist's      face;
The ugly face of some beautiful Soul, the handsome      detested or despised face;
The sacred faces of infants, the illuminated face of the      mother of many children;
The face of an amour, the face of veneration;
The face as of a dream, the face of an immobile rock;
The face withdrawn of its good and bad, a castrated      face;
A wild hawk, his wings clipp'd by the clipper;
A stallion that yielded at last to the thongs and knife      of the gelder.
2  Sauntering the pavement, thus, or crossing the      ceaseless ferry, faces, and faces, and faces:
I see them, and complain not, and am content with      all.

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3   Do you suppose I could be content with all, if I      thought them their own finale?
4  This now is too lamentable a face for a man;
Some abject louse, asking leave to be — cringing for it;
Some milk-nosed maggot, blessing what lets it wrig to      its hole.
5  This face is a dog's snout, sniffing for garbage;
Snakes nest in that mouth — I hear the sibilant threat.
6  This face is a haze more chill than the arctic sea;
Its sleepy and wobbling icebergs crunch as they go.
7  This is a face of bitter herbs — this an emetic — they      need no label;
And more of the drug-shelf, laudanum, caoutchouc, or      hog's-lard.
8  This face is an epilepsy, its wordless tongue gives      out the unearthly cry,
Its veins down the neck distend, its eyes roll till      they show nothing but their whites,
Its teeth grit, the palms of the hands are cut by the      turn'd-in nails,
The man falls struggling and foaming to the ground      while he speculates well.
9  This face is bitten by vermin and worms,
And this is some murderer's knife with a half-pull'd      scabbard.
10  This face owes to the sexton his dismalest fee;
An unceasing death-bell tolls there.

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11   Those then are really men — the bosses and tufts of      the great round globe!
12  Features of my equals, would you trick me with      your creas'd and cadaverous march?
Well, you cannot trick me.
13  I see your rounded never-erased flow;
I see neath the rims of your haggard and mean dis-     guises.
14  Splay and twist as you like — poke with the tangling      fores of fishes or rats;
You'll be unmuzzled, you certainly will.
15  I saw the face of the most smear'd and slobbering      idiot they had at the asylum;
And I knew for my consolation what they knew not;
I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my      brother,
The same wait to clear the rubbish from the fallen      tenement;
And I shall look again in a score or two of ages,
And I shall meet the real landlord, perfect and un-     harm'd, every inch as good as myself.

16   The Lord advances, and yet advances;
Always the shadow in front — always the reach'd hand      bringing up the laggards.
17  Out of this face emerge banners and horses — O su-     perb! I see what is coming;
I see the high pioneer-caps — I see the staves of run-     ners clearing the way,
I hear victorious drums.

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18   This face is a life-boat;
This is the face commanding and bearded, it asks no      odds of the rest;
This face is flavor'd fruit, ready for eating;
This face of a healthy honest boy is the programme of      all good.
19  These faces bear testimony slumbering or awake;
They show their descent from the Master himself.
20  Off the word I have spoken I except not one — red,      white, black, are all deific;
In each house is the ovum — it comes forth after a      thousand years.
21  Spots or cracks at the windows do not disturb me;
Tall and sufficient stand behind, and make signs to      me;
I read the promise, and patiently wait.
22  This is a full-grown lily's face,
She speaks to the limber-hipp'd man near the garden      pickets,
Come here, she blushingly cries — Come nigh to me, lim-      ber-hipp'd man,
Stand at my side till I lean as high as I can upon you,
Fill me with albescent honey, bend down to me,
Rub to me with your chafing beard, rub to my breast and      shoulders.

23   The old face of the mother of many children!
Whist! I am fully content.
24  Lull'd and late is the smoke of the First-day      morning,
It hangs low over the rows of trees by the fences,
It hangs thin by the sassafras, the wild-cherry, and      the cat-brier under them.

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25   I saw the rich ladies in full dress at the soiree,
I heard what the singers were singing so long,
Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white      froth and the water-blue.
26  Behold a woman!
She looks out from her quaker cap — her face is clearer      and more beautiful than the sky.
27  She sits in an arm-chair, under the shaded porch of      the farm-house,
The sun just shines on her old white head.
28  Her ample gown is of cream-hued linen,
Her grandsons raised the flax, and her grand-daugh-     ters spun it with the distaff and the wheel.
29  The melodious character of the earth,
The finish beyond which philosophy cannot go, and      does not wish to go,
The justified mother of men.

HAVE you learned lessons only of those who admired you, and were tender with you, and stood aside for you?
Have you not learned the great lessons of those who rejected you, and braced themselves against you? or who treated you with contempt, or disputed the passage with you?

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1  SUDDENLY, out of its stale and drowsy lair, the lair      of slaves,
Like lightning it le'pt forth, half startled at itself,
Its feet upon the ashes and the rags — its hands tight      to the throats of kings.
2  O hope and faith!
O aching close of exiled patriots' lives!
O many a sicken'd heart!
Turn back unto this day, and make yourselves afresh.
3  And you, paid to defile the People! you liars,      mark!
Not for numberless agonies, murders, lusts,
For court thieving in its manifold mean forms, worm-     ing from his simplicity the poor man's wages,
For many a promise sworn by royal lips, and broken,      and laugh'd at in the breaking,
Then in their power, not for all these did the blow.      strike revenge, or the heads of the nobles fall;
The People scorn'd the ferocity of kings.
4  But the sweetness of mercy brew'd bitter destruc-     tion, and the frighten'd rulers come back;
Each comes in state with his train — hangman, priest,      tax-gatherer,
Soldier, lawyer, lord, jailer, and sycophant.
5  Yet behind all, lowering, stealing — lo, a Shape,
Vague as the night, draped interminably, head, front      and form, in scarlet folds,
Whose face and eyes none may see,
Out of its robes only this — the red robes, lifted by the      arm,

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One finger, crook'd, pointed high over the top, like      the head of a snake appears.
6  Meanwhile, corpses lie in new-made graves — bloody      corpses of young men;
The rope of the gibbet hangs heavily, the bullets of      princes are flying, the creatures of power laugh      aloud,
And all these things bear fruits — and they are good.
7  Those corpses of young men,
Those martyrs that hang from the gibbets — those      hearts pierc'd by the gray lead,
Cold and motionless as they seem, live elsewhere with      unslaughter'd vitality.
8  They live in other young men, O kings!
They live in brothers, again ready to defy you!
They were purified by death — they were taught and      exalted.
9  Not a grave of the murder'd for freedom, but grows      seed for freedom, in its turn to bear seed,
Which the winds carry afar and re-sow, and the rains      and the snows nourish.
10  Not a disembodied spirit can the weapons of tyrants      let loose,
But it stalks invisibly over the earth, whispering,      counseling, cautioning.
11  Liberty! let others despair of you! I never despair      of you.
12  Is the house shut? Is the master away?
Nevertheless, be ready — be not weary of watching;
He will soon return — his messengers come anon.

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OF Public Opinion;
Of a calm and cool fiat, sooner or later, (How im-     passive! How certain and final!)
Of the President with pale face asking secretly to      himself, What will the people say at last?
Of the frivolous Judge — Of the corrupt Congressman,      Governor, Mayor — Of such as these, standing      helpless and exposed;
Of the mumbling and screaming priest — (soon, soon      deserted;)
Of the lessening, year by year, of venerableness, and      of the dicta of officers, statutes, pulpits, schools;
Of the rising forever taller and stronger and broader,      of the intuitions of men and women, and of      self-esteem, and of personality;
— Of the New World — Of the Democracies, resplendent,      en-masse;
Of the conformity of politics, armies, navies, to them      and to me,
Of the shining sun by them — Of the inherent light,      greater than the rest,
Of the envelopment of all by them, and of the effusion      of all from them.

ON a flat road runs the well-train'd runner;
He is lean and sinewy, with muscular legs;
He is thinly clothed — he leans forward as he runs,
With lightly closed fists, and arms partially rais'd.

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1   EARTH, round, rolling, compact — suns, moons, ani-     mals — all these are words to be said;
Watery, vegetable, sauroid advances — beings, premoni-     tions, lispings of the future,
Behold! these are vast words to be said.
2  Were you thinking that those were the words —      those upright lines? those curves, angles, dots?
No, those are not the words — the substantial words      are in the ground and sea,
They are in the air — they are in you.
3  Were you thinking that those were the words —      those delicious sounds out of your friends'      mouths?
No, the real words are more delicious than they.
4  Human bodies are words, myriads of words;
In the best poems re      man's, well-shaped, natural, gay,
Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or      the need of shame.
5  Air, soil, water, fire — these are words;
I myself am a word with them — my qualities inter-     penetrate with theirs — my name is nothing to      them;
Though it were told in the three thousand languages,      what would air, soil, water, fire, know of my      name?

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6 A healthy presence, a friendly or commanding ges- ture, are words, sayings, meanings;
The charms that go with the mere looks of some men and women, are sayings and meanings also.

7   The workmanship of souls is by the inaudible words      of the earth;
The great masters know the earth's words, and use      them more than the audible words.
8  Amelioration is one of the earth's words;
The earth neither lags nor hastens;
It has all attributes, growths, effects, latent in itself      from the jump;
It is not half beautiful only — defects and excrescences      show just as much as perfections show.
9  The earth does not withhold, it is generous enough;
The truths of the earth continually wait, they are not      so conceal'd either;
They are calm, subtle, untransmissible by print;
They are imbued through all things, conveying them-     selves willingly,
Conveying a sentiment and invitation of the earth — I      utter and utter,
I speak not, yet if you hear me not, of what avail am      I to you?
To bear — to better — lacking these, of what avail      am I?
10  (Accouche! Accouchez!
Will you rot your own fruit in yourself there?
Will you squat and stifle there?)
11  The earth does not argue,
Is not pathetic, has no arrangements,
Does not scream, haste, persuade, threaten, promise,

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Makes no discriminations, has no conceivable failures,
Closes nothing, refuses nothing, shuts none out,
Of all the powers, objects, states, it notifies, shuts      none out.
12  The earth does not exhibit itself, nor refuse to ex-     hibit itself — possesses still underneath;
Underneath the ostensible sounds, the august chorus      of heroes, the wail of slaves,
Persuasions of lovers, curses, gasps of the dying,      laughter of young people, accents of bar-     gainers,
Underneath these, possessing the words that never      fail.
13  To her children, the words of the eloquent dumb      great mother never fail;
The true words do not fail, for motion does not fail,      and reflection does not fail;
Also the day and night do not fail, and the voyage we      pursue does not fail.

14   Of the interminable sisters,
Of the ceaseless cotillions of sisters,
Of the centripetal and centrifugal sisters, the elder      and younger sisters,
The beautiful sister we know dances on with the rest.
15  With her ample back towards every beholder,
With the fascinations of youth, and the equal fascina-     tions of age,
Sits she whom I too love like the rest — sits undis-     turb'd,
Holding up in her hand what has the character of a      mirror, while her eyes glance back from it,
Glance as she sits, inviting none, denying none,
Holding a mirror day and night tirelessly before her      own face.

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16   Seen at hand, or seen at a distance,
Duly the twenty-four appear in public every day,
Duly approach and pass with their companions, or a      companion,
Looking from no countenances of their own, but from      the countenances of those who are with them,
From the countenances of children or women, or the      manly countenance,
From the open countenances of animals, or from in-     animate things,
From the landscape or waters, or from the exquisite      apparition of the sky,
From our countenances, mine and yours, faithfully re-     turning them,
Every day in public appearing without fail, but never      twice with the same companions.
17  Embracing man, embracing all, proceed the three      hundred and sixty-five resistlessly round the      sun;
Embracing all, soothing, supporting, follow close three      hundred and sixty-five offsets of the first, sure      and necessary as they.
18  Tumbling on steadily, nothing dreading,
Sunshine, storm, cold, heat, forever withstanding.      passing, carrying,
The Soul's realization and determination still inherit-     ing;
The fluid vacuum around and ahead still entering and      dividing,
No balk retarding, no anchor anchoring, on no rock      striking,
Swift, glad, content, unbereav'd, nothing losing,
Of all able and ready at any time to give strict ac-     count,
The divine ship sails the divine sea.

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19   Whoever you are! motion and reflection are especi-     ally for you;
The divine ship sails the divine sea for you.
20  Whoever you are! you are he or she for whom the      earth is solid and liquid,
You are he or she for whom the sun and moon hang      in the sky,
For none more than you are the present and the past,
For none more than you is immortality.
21  Each man to himself, and each woman to herself,      such is the word of the past and present, and      the word of immortality;
No one can acquire for another — not one!
Not one can grow for another — not one!
22  The song is to the singer, and comes back most to      him;
The teaching is to the teacher, and comes back most      to him;
The murder is to the murderer, and comes back most      to him;
The theft is to the thief, and comes back most to him;
The love is to the lover, and comes back most to him;
The gift is to the giver, and comes back most to him       — it cannot fail;
The oration is to the orator, the acting is to the actor      and actress, not to the audience;
And no man understands any greatness or goodness      but his own, or the indication of his own.

23 I swear the earth shall surely be complete to him or her who shall be complete!
I swear the earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains broken and jagged!

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24   I swear there is no greatness or power that does      not emulate those of the earth!
I swear there can be no theory of any account, unless      it corroborate the theory of the earth!
No politics, art, religion, behavior, or what not, is of      account, unless it compare with the amplitude      of the earth,
Unless it face the exactness; vitality, impartiality, rec-     titude of the earth.
25  I swear I begin to see love with sweeter spasms than      that which responds love!
It is that which contains itself — which never invites,      and never refuses.
26  I swear I begin to see little or nothing in audible      words!
I swear I think all merges toward the presentation of      the unspoken meanings of the earth!
Toward him who sings the songs of the Body, and of      the truths of the earth;
Toward him who makes the dictionaries of words that      print cannot touch.
27  I swear I see what is better than to tell the best;
It is always to leave the best untold.
28  When I undertake to tell the best, I find I cannot,
My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots,
My breath will not be obedient to its organs,
I become a dumb man.
29  The best of the earth cannot be told anyhow — all      or any is best;
It is not what you anticipated — it is cheaper, easier      nearer;
Things are not dismiss'd from the places they held      before;

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The earth is just as positive and direct as it was be-     fore;
Facts, religions, improvements, politics, trades, are as      real as before;
But the Soul is also real, — it too is positive and      direct;
No reasoning, no proof has establish'd it,
Undeniable proof has establish'd it.

30   This is a poem for the sayers of words — these are      hints of meanings,
These are they that echo the tones of Souls, and      the phrases of Souls;
If they did not echo the phrases of Souls, what were      they then ?
If they had not reference to you in especial, what were      they then?
31  I swear I will never henceforth have to do with the      faith that tells the best !
I will have to do only with that faith that leaves the      best untold.

32   Say on, sayers !
Delve! mould! pile the words of the earth !
Work on — it is materials you bring, not breaths;
Work on, age after age! nothing is to be lost;
It may have to wait long, but it will certainly come in      use;
When the materials are all prepared, the architects      shall appear.
33  I swear to you the architects shall appear without      fail! I announce them and lead them;
I swear to you they will understand you and justify      you;

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I swear to you the greatest among them shall be he who best knows you, and encloses all, and is faithful to all;
I swear to you, he and the rest shall not forget you — they shall perceive that you are not an iota less than they;
I swear to you, you shall be glorified in them.

O MAGNET-SOUTH! O glistening, perfumed South! My      South!
O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse, and love! Good      and evil! O all dear to me!
O dear to me my birth-things — All moving things,      and the trees where I was born — the grains,      plants, rivers;
Dear to me my own slow sluggish rivers where they      flow, distant, over flats of silvery sands, or      through swamps;
Dear to me the Roanoke, the Savannah, the Altama-     haw, the Pedee, the Tombigbee, the Santee, the      Coosa, and the Sabine;
O pensive, far away wandering, I return with my Soul      to haunt their banks again;
Again in Florida I float on transparent lakes — I float      on the Okeechobee — I cross the hummock land,      or through pleasant openings, or dense forests;
I see the parrots in the woods — I see the papaw tree      and the blossoming titi;
Again, sailing in my coaster, on deck, I coast off      Georgia — I coast up the Carolinas,
I see where the live-oak is growing — I see where the      yellow-pine, the scented bay-tree, the lemon and      orange, the cypress, the graceful palmetto;

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I pass rude sea-headlands and enter Pamlico Sound      through an inlet, and dart my vision inland;
O the cotton plant! the growing fields of rice, sugar,      hemp !
The cactus, guarded with thorns — the laurel-tree,      with large white flowers;
The range afar — the richness and barrenness — the old      woods charged with mistletoe and trailing moss,
The piney odor and the gloom — the awful natural      stillness, (Here in these dense swamps the free-     booter carries his gun, and the fugitive slave      has his conceal'd hut;)
O the strange fascination of these half-known, half-     impassable swamps, infested by reptiles, re-     sounding with the bellow of the alligator, the      sad noises of the night-owl and the wild-cat,      and the 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      opossum;
A Tennessee corn-field — the tall, graceful, long-leav'd      corn — slender, flapping, bright green, with      tassels — with beautiful ears, each well-sheath'd      in its husk;
An Arkansas prairie — a sleeping lake, or still bayou;
O my heart! O tender and fierce pangs — I can stand      them not — I will depart;
O to be a Virginian, where I grew up! O to be a      Carolinian!
O longings irrepressible! O I will go back to old Ten-     nessee, and never wander more!

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ALL you are doing and saying is to America dangled      mirages;
You have not learn'd of Nature — of the politics of      Nature, you have not learn'd the great ampli-     tude, rectitude, impartiality;
You have not seen that only such as they are for These      States,
And that what is less than they, must sooner or later      lift off from These States.

To The States, or any one of them, or any city of The States, Resist much, obey little;
Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved;
Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city, of this earth, ever afterward resumes its liberty.

I HEAR you have been asking for something to repre- sent the new race, our self-poised Democracy,
Therefore I send you my poems, that you behold in them what you wanted.

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1  AFOOT and light-hearted, I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I      choose.
2  Henceforth I ask not good-fortune — I myself am      good-fortune;
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more,      need nothing,
Strong and content, I travel the open road.
3  The earth — that is sufficient;
I do not want the constellations any nearer;
I know they are very well where they are;
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.
4  Still here I carry my old delicious burdens;
I carry them, men and women — I carry them with me      wherever I go;
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them;
I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.

5 You road I enter upon and look around! I believe you are not all that is here; I believe that much unseen is also here.

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6   Here is the profound lesson of reception, neither      preference or denial;
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the dis-     eas'd, the illiterate person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's      tramp, the drunkard's stagger, the laughing      party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop,      the eloping couple,
The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of      furniture into the town, the return back from      the town,
They pass, I also pass, anything passes — none can be      interdicted,
None but are accepted, none but are dear to me.

7   You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and      give them shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate      equable showers!
You animals moving serenely over the earth!
You birds that wing yourselves through the air! you      insects!
You sprouting growths from the farmers' fields! you      stalks and weeds by the fences!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the road-     sides!
I think you are latent with unseen existences — you      are so dear to me.
8  You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at      the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you      timber-lined sides! you distant ships!
You rows of houses! you window-pierc'd facades! you      roofs!

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You porches and entrances! you copings and iron      guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so      much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trod-     den crossings!
From all that has been near you, I believe you have im-     parted to yourselves, and now would impart the      same secretly to me;
From the living and the dead I think you have peopled      your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof      would be evident and amicable with me.

9   The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
The picture alive, every part in its best light,
The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping      where it is not wanted,
The cheerful voice of the public road — the gay fresh      sentiment of the road.
10  O highway I travel! O public road! do you say to      me, Do not leave me?
Do you say, Venture not? If you leave me, you are      lost?
Do you say, I am already prepared — I am well-beaten      and undenied — adhere to me?
11  O public road! I say back, I am not afraid to leave      you — yet I love you;
You express me better than I can express myself;
You shall be more to me than my poem.
12  I think heroic deeds were all conceiv'd in the open      air;
I think I could stop here myself, and do miracles;

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I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me;
I think whoever I see must be happy.

13   From this hour, freedom!
From this hour I ordain myself loosed of limits and      imaginary lines,
Going where I list — my own master, total and abso-     lute,
Listening to others, and considering well what they      say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of      the holds that would hold me.
14  I inhale great draughts of air;
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the      south are mine.
15  I am larger than I thought;
I did not know I held so much goodness.
16  All seems beautiful to me;
I can repeat over to men and women, You have done      such good to me, I would do the same to you.
17  I will recruit for myself and you as I go;
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go;
I will toss the new gladness and roughness among      them;
Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me;
Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and      shall bless me.

18 Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear, it would not amaze me;
Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear'd, it would not astonish me.

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19   Now I see the secret of the making of the best per-     sons,
It is to grow in the open air, and to eat and sleep with      the earth.
20  Here is space — here a great personal deed has room;
A great deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race      of men,
Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law, and      mocks all authority and all argument against it.
21  Here is the test of wisdom;
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools;
Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it, to an-     other not having it;
Wisdom is of the Soul, is not susceptible of proof, is      its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities, and is      content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of      things, and the excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things      that provokes it out of the Soul.
22  Now I reëxamine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at      all under the spacious clouds, and along the land-     scape and flowing currents.
23  Here is realization;
Here is a man tallied — he realizes here what he has in      him;
The animals, the past, the future, light, space, majesty,      love, if they are vacant of you, you are vacant      of them.
24  Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for      you and me?

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25 Here is adhesiveness — it is not previously fashion'd — it is apropos;
Do you know what it is, as you pass, to be loved by strangers?
Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?

26   Here is the efflux of the Soul;
The efflux of the Soul comes from within, through em-     bower'd gates, ever provoking questions:
These yearnings, why are they? These thoughts in the      darkness, why are they?
Why are there men and women that while they are      nigh me, the sun-light expands my blood?
Why, when they leave me, do my pennants of joy sink      flat and lank?
Why are there trees I never walk under, but large and      melodious thoughts descend upon me?
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those      trees, and always drop fruit as I pass;)
What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver, as I ride on the seat by his      side?
What with some fisherman, drawing his seine by the      shore, as I walk by, and pause?
What gives me to be free to a woman's or man's good-     will? What gives them to be free to mine?

27   The efflux of the Soul is happiness — here is happi-     ness;
I think it pervades the air, waiting at all times;
Now it flows into us — we are rightly charged.
28  Here rises the fluid and attaching character;
The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and      sweetness of man and woman;

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(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and      sweeter every day out of the roots of them-     selves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet contin-     ually out of itself.)
29  Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes      the sweat of the love of young and old;
From it falls distill'd the charm that mocks beauty      and attainments;
Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of      contact.

30   Allons! whoever you are, come travel with me!
Traveling with me, you find what never tires.
31  The earth never tires;
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first —      Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first;
Be not discouraged — keep on — there are divine things,      well envelop'd;
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful      than words can tell.
32  Allons! We must not stop here!
However sweet these laid      venient this dwelling, we cannot remain here;
However shelter'd this port, and however calm these      waters, we must not anchor here;
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us,      we are permitted to receive it but a little while.

33 Allons! The inducements shall be great to you;
We will sail pathless and wild seas;
We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.

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34   Allons! With power, liberty, the earth, the ele-     ments!
Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;
Allons! from all formules!
From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic      priests!
35  The stale cadaver blocks up the passage — the burial      waits no longer.
36  Allons! Yet take warning!
He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews,      endurance;
None may come to the trial, till he or she bring      courage and health.
37  Come not here if you have already spent the best      of yourself;
Only those may come, who come in sweet and de-     termin'd bodies;
No diseas'd person — no rum-drinker or venereal      taint is permitted here.
38  I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes,      rhymes;
We convince by our presence.

39   Listen! I will be honest with you;
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough      new prizes;
These are the days that must happen to you:
40  You shall not heap up what is call'd riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn      or achieve,

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You but arrive at the city to which you were des-     tined — you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction,      before you are call'd by an irresistible call to      depart,
You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mock-     ings of those who remain behind you;
What beckonings of love you receive, you shall only      answer with passionate kisses of parting,
You shall not allow the hold of those who spread      their reach'd hands toward you.

41   Allons! After the GREAT COMPANIONS! and to belong      to them!
They too are on the road! they are the swift and      majestic men! they are the greatest women.
42  Over that which hinder'd them — over that which      retarded — passing impediments large or small,
Committers of crimes, committers of many beautiful      virtues,
Enjoyers of calms of seas, and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of      land,
Habitués of many different countries, habitués of far-     distant dwellings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, soli-     tary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells      of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender      helpers of children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lower-     ers down of coffins,
Jouneyers over consecutive seasons, over the years —      the curious years, each emerging from that      which preceded it,

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Journeyers as with companions, namely, their own      diverse phases,
Forthdays,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth — Journeyers      with their bearded and well-grain'd manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsur-     pass'd, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of man-     hood or womanhood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty      breadth of the universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by free-     dom of death.

43   Allons! To that which is endless, as it was begin-     ningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days      and nights they tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior jour-     neys;
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it      and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you      may reach it and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and      waits for you — however long, but it stretches      and waits for you;
To see no being, not God's or any, but you also go      thither,
To see no possession but you may possess it — enjoy-     ing all without labor or purchase — abstracting      the feast, yet not abstracting one particle of it;
To take the best of the farmer's farm and the rich      man's elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of      the well-married couple, and the fruits of or-     chards and flowers of gardens,

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To take to your use out of the compact cities as you      pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward      wherever you go,
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as      you encounter them — to gather the love out of      their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that      you leave them behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road — as many roads       — as roads for traveling souls.

44   The soul travels;
The body does not travel as much as the soul;
The body has just as great a work as the soul, and      parts away at last for the journeys of the soul.
45  All parts away for the progress of souls;
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments, — all      that was or is apparent upon this globe or any      globe, falls into niches and corners before the      procession of Souls along the grand roads of      the universe.
46  Of the progress of the souls of men and women      along the grand roads of the universe, all      other progress is the needed emblem and sus-     tenance.
47  Forever alive, forever forward,
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbu-     lent, feeble, dissatisfied,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, re-     jected by men,
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know      not where they go;
But I know that they go toward the best — toward      something great.

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48   Allons! Whoever you are! come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the      house, though you built it, or though it has      been built for you.
49  Allons! out of the dark confinement!
It is useless to protest — I know all, and expose it.
50  Behold, through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of      people,
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those      wash'd and trimm'd faces,
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.
51  No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the      confession;
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and      hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the      cities, polite and bland in the parlors,
In the cars of rail-roads, in steamboats, in the public      assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table,      in the bed-room everywhere,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright,      death under the breast-bones, hell under the      skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons      and artificial flowers,
Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable      of itself,
Speaking of anything else, but never of itself.

52 Allons! Through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.

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53   Have the past struggles succeeded?
What has succeeded? Yourself? Your nation? Na-     ture?
Now understand me well — It is provided in the es-     sence of things, that from any fruition of suc-     cess, no matter what, shall come forth some-     thing to make a greater struggle necessary.
54  My call is the call of battle — I nourish active re-     bellion?
He going with me must go well armed;
He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty,      angry enemies, desertions.

55   Allons! The road is before us!
It is safe — I have tried it — my own feet have tried it      well.
56  Allons! Be not detain'd!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the      book on the shelf unopen'd!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money      remain unearn'd!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in the pulpit! let the lawyer      plead in the court, and the judge expound the      law.
57  Mon enfant! I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? Will you come travel with      me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

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WHY reclining, interrogating? Why myself and all      drowsing?
What deepening twilight! Scum floating atop of the      waters!
Who are they, as bats and night-dogs, askant in the      Capitol?
What a filthy Presidentiad! (O south, your torrid suns!      O north, your arctic freezings!)
Are those really Congressmen? Are those the great      Judges? Is that the President?
Then I will sleep a while yet — for I see that These      States sleep, for reasons;
(With gathering murk — with muttering thunder and      lambent shoots, we all duly awake,
South, north, east, west, inland and seaboard, we will      surely awake.)

HERE, take this gift!
I was reserving it for some hero, orator, or general,
One who should serve the good old cause, the great Idea, the progress and freedom of the race;
But I see that what I was reserving belongs to you just as much as to any.

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1   COME closer to me;
Push close, my lovers, and take the best I possess;
Field closer and closer, and give me the best you      possess.
2  This is unfinish'd business with me — How is it with      you?
(I was chill'd with the cold types, cylinder, wet paper      between us.)
3  Male and Female!
I pass so poorly with paper and types, I must pass      with the contact of bodies and souls.
4  American masses!
I do not thank you for liking me as I am, and liking      the touch of me — I know that it is good for you      to do so.

5   This is the poem of occupations;
In the labor of engines and trades, and the labor of      fields, I find the developments,
And find the eternal meanings.
6  Workmen and Workwomen!
Were all educations, practical and ornamental, well      display'd out of me, what would it amount to?

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Were I as the head teacher, charitable proprietor,      wise statesman, what would it amount to?
Were I to you as the boss employing and paying you,      would that satisfy you?
7  The learn'd, virtuous, benevolent, and the usual      terms;
A man like me, and never the usual terms.
8  Neither a servant nor a master am I;
I take no sooner a large price than a small price — I      will have my own, whoever enjoys me;
I will be even with you, and you shall be even with      me.
9  If you stand at work in a shop, I stand as nigh as      the nighest in the same shop;
If you bestow gifts on your brother or dearest friend,      I demand as good as your brother or dearest      friend;
If your lover, husband, wife, is welcome by day or      night, I must be personally as welcome;
If you become degraded, criminal, ill, then I become      so for your sake;
If you remember your foolish and outlaw'd deeds, do      you think I cannot remember my own foolish      and outlaw'd deeds?
If you carouse at the table, I carouse at the opposite      side of the table;
If you meet some stranger in the streets, and love      him or her — why I often meet strangers in the      street, and love them.
10  Why, what have you thought of yourself?
Is it you then that thought yourself less?
Is it you that thought the President greater than      you?
Or the rich better off than you? or the educated      wiser than you?

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11   Because you are greasy or pimpled, or that you was      once drunk, or a thief,
Or diseas'd, or rheumatic, or a prostitute, or are so      now;
Or from frivolity or impotence, or that you are no      scholar, and never saw your name in print,
Do you give in that you are any less immortal?

12   Souls of men and women! it is not you I call un-     seen, unheard, untouchable and untouching;
It is not you I go argue pro and con about, and to      settle whether you are alive or no;
I own publicly who you are, if nobody else owns.
13  Grown, half-grown, and babe, of this country and      every country, indoors and outdoors, one just      as much as the other, I see,
And all else behind or through them.
14  The wife — and she is not one jot less than the      husband;
The daughter — and she is just as good as the son;
The mother — and she is every bit as much as the      father.
15  Offspring of ignorant and poor, boys apprenticed to      trades,
Young fellows working on farms, and old fellows      working on farms,
Sailor-men, merchant-men, coasters, immigrants,
All these I see — but nigher and farther the same I      see;
None shall escape me, and none shall wish to escape      me.
16  I bring what you much need, yet always have,
Not money, amours, dress, eating, but as good;
I send no agent or medium, offer no representative of      value, but offer the value itself.

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17   There is something that comes home to one now      and perpetually;
It is not what is printed, preach'd, discuss'd — it eludes      discussion and print;
It is not to be put in a book — it is not in this book;
It is for you, whoever you are — it is no farther from      you than your hearing and sight are from you;
It is hinted by nearest, commonest; readiest — it is      ever provoked by them.
18  You may read in many languages, yet read nothing      about it;
You may read the President's Message, and read      nothing about it there;
Nothing in the reports from the State department or      Treasury department, or in the daily papers or      the weekly papers,
Or in the census or revenue returns, prices current,      or any accounts of stock.

19   The sun and stars that float in the open air;
The apple-shaped earth, and we upon it — surely the      drift of them is something grand!
I do not know what it is, except that it is grand, and      that it is happiness,
And that the enclosing purport of us here is not a      speculation, or bon-mot, or reconnoissance,
And that it is not something which by luck may turn      out well for us, and without luck must be a      failure for us,
And not something which may yet be retracted in a      certain contingency.
20  The light and shade, the curious sense of body and      identity, the greed that with perfect complais-     ance devours all things, the endless pride and      out-stretching of man, unspeakable joys and      sorrows,

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The wonder every one sees in every one else he sees,      and the wonders that fill each minute of time      forever,
What have you reckon'd them for, camerado?
Have you reckon'd them for a trade, or farm-work?      or for the profits of a store?
Or to achieve yourself a position ? or to fill a gentle-     man's leisure, or a lady's leisure?
21  Have you reckon'd the landscape took substance and      form that it might be painted in a picture?
Or men and women that they might be written of,      and songs sung?
Or the attraction of gravity, and the great laws and      harmonious combinations, and the fluids of the      air, as subjects for the savans?
Or the brown land and the blue sea for maps and      charts?
Or the stars to be put in constellations and named      fancy names?
Or that the growth of seeds is for agricultural tables,      or agriculture itself?
22  Old institutions — these arts, libraries, legends, col-     lections, and the practice handed along in man-     ufactures — will we rate them so high?
Will we rate our cash and business high ? — I have no      objection;
I rate them as high as the highest — then a child born      of a woman and man I rate beyond all rate.
23  We thought our Union grand, and our Constitution      grand;
I do not say they are not grand and good, for they      are;
I am this day just as much in love with them as you;
Then I am in love with you, and with all my fellows      upon the earth.

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24   We consider bibles and religions divine — I do not      say they are not divine;
I say they have all grown out of you, and may grow      out of you still;
It is not they who give the life — it is you who give      the life;
Leaves are not more shed from the trees, or trees      from the earth, than they are shed out of you.

25   When the psalm sings instead of the singer;
When the script preaches, instead of the preacher;
When the pulpit descends and goes, instead of the      carver that carved the supporting desk;
When I can touch the body of books, by night or by      day, and when they touch my body back again;
When a university course convinces, like a slumber-     ing woman and child convince;
When the minted gold in the vault smiles like the      night-watchman's daughter;
When warrantee deeds loafe in chairs opposite, and      are my friendly companions;
I intend to reach them my hand, and make as much      of them as I do of men and women like you.
26  The sum of all known reverence I add up in you,      whoever you are;
The President is there in the White House for you —      it is not you who are here for him;
The Secretaries act in their bureaus for you — not you      here for them;
The Congress convenes every Twelfth-month for you;
Laws, courts, the forming of States, the charters of      cities, the going and coming of commerce and      mails, are all for you.
27  List close, my scholars dear!
All doctrines, all politics and civilization, exurge from      you;

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All sculpture and monuments, and anything inscribed      anywhere, are tallied in you;
The gist of histories and statistics as far back as the      records reach, is in you this hour, and myths      and tales the same;
If you were not breathing and walking here, where      would they all be?
The most renown'd poems would be ashes, orations      and plays would be vacuums.
28  All architecture is what you do to it when you look      upon it;
(Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or      the lines of the arches and cornices?)
29  All music is what awakes from you, when you are      reminded by the instruments;
It is not the violins and the cornets — it is not the oboe      nor the beating drums, nor the score of the      baritone singer singing his sweet romanza — nor      that of the men's chorus, nor that of the wo-     men's chorus,
It is nearer and farther than they.

30   Will the whole come back then?
Can each see signs of the best by a look in the look-     ing-glass? is there nothing greater or more?
Does all sit there with you, with the mystic, unseen      Soul?
31  Strange and hard that paradox true I give;
Objects gross and the unseen Soul are one.
32  House-building, measuring, sawing the boards;
Blacksmithing, glass-blowing, nail-making, coopering,      tin-rooting, shingle-dressing,

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Ship-joining, dock-biulding, fish-curing, ferrying, flag-     ging of side-walks by flaggers,
The pump, the pile-driver, the great derrick, the coal-     kiln and brick-kiln,
Coal-mines, and all that is down there, — the lamps in      the darkness, echoes, songs, what meditations,      what vast native thoughts looking through      smutch'd faces,
Iron-works, forge-fires in the mountains, or by the      river-banks — men around feeling the melt with      huge crowbars — lumps of ore, the due com-     bining of ore, limestone, coal — the blast-fur-     nace and the puddling-furnace, the loup-lump      at the bottom of the melt at last — the rolling-     mill, the stumpy bars of pig-iron, the strong,      clean-shaped T-rail for railroads;
Oil-works, silk-works, white-lead-works, the sugar-     house, steam-saws, the great mills and factories;
Stone-cutting, shapely trimmings, for façades, or win-     dow or door-lintels — the mallet, the tooth      chisel, the jib to protect the thumb,
Oakum, the oakum-chisel, the caulking-iron — the      kettle of boiling vault-cement, and the fire un-     der the kettle,
The cotton-bale, the stevedore's hook, the saw and      buck of the sawyer, the mould of the moulder,      the working-knife of the butcher, the ice-saw,      and all the work with ice,
The implemements for daguerreotyping — the tools of      the rigger, grappler, sail-maker, block-maker,
Goods of gutta-percha, papier-mache, colors, brushes,      brush-making, glazier's implements,
The veneer and glue-pot, the confectioner's ornaments,      the decanter and glasses, the shears and flat-iron,
The awl and knee-strap, the pint measure and quart      measure, the counter and stool, the writing-     pen of quill or metal — the making of all sorts      of edged tools,

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The brewery, brewing, the malt, the vats, every thing      that is done by brewers, also by wine-makers,      also vinegar-makers,
Leather-dressing, coach-making, boiler-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      wagons,
The cart of the carman, the omnibus, the ponderous      dray;
Pyrotechny, letting off color'd fire-works at night,      fancy figures and jets,
Beef on the butcher's stall, the slaughter-house of      the butcher, the butcher in his killing-clothes,
The pens of live pork, the killing-hammer, the hog-     hook, the scalder's tub, gutting, the cutter's      cleaver, the packer's maul, and the plenteous      winter-work of pork-packing,
Flour-works, grinding of wheat, rye, maize, rice — the      barrels and the half and quarter barrels, the      loaded barges, the high piles on wharves and      levees,
The men, and the work of the men, on railroads,      coasters, fish-boats, canals;
The daily routine of your own or any man's life — the      shop, yard, store, or factory;
These shows all near you by day and night — work-     men! whoever you are, your daily life!
In that and them the heft of the heaviest — in them      far more than you estimated, and far less also;
In them realities for you and me — in them poems for      you and me;
In them, not yourself — you and your Soul enclose all      things, regardless of estimation;
In them the development good — in them, all themes      and hints.

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33 I do not affirm what you see beyond is futile — I do not advise you to stop;
I do not say leadings you thought great are not great;
But I say that none lead to greater, than those lead to.

34   Will you seek afar off? You surely come back at last,
In things best known to you, finding the best, or as      good as the best,
In folks nearest to you finding the sweetest, strongest,      lovingest;
Happiness, knowledge, not in another place, but this      place — not for another hour, but this hour;
Man in the first you see or touch — always in friend,      brother, nighest neighbor — Woman in mother,      lover, wife;
The popular tastes and employments taking precedence      in poems or any where,
You workwomen and workmen of these States having      your own divine and strong life,
And all else giving place to men and women like you.

HE is wisest who has the most caution;
He only wins who goes far enough. ANY thing is as good as established, when that is estab- lished that will produce it and continue it.

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O HASTENING light!
O free and extatic! O what I here, preparing, warble      for!
O the sun of the world will ascend, dazzling, and take      his height — and you too will ascend!
O so amazing and broad — up there resplendent, dart-     ing and burning!
O vision prophetic, stagger'd with weight of light!      with pouring glories!
O lips of my soul, already becoming powerless!
O ample and grand Presidentiads!
New history! new heroes! I project you!
Visions of poets! only you really last! O sweep on!      sweep on!
O heights too swift and dizzy yet!
O purged and luminous! you threaten me more than      I can stand!
(I must not venture — the ground under my feet men-     aces me — it will not support me;)
O present! I return to you while yet I may!

TEARS! tears! tears!
In the night, in solitude, tears;
On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the sand;
Tears — not a star shining — all dark and desolate;
Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head:
— O who is that ghost? — that form in the dark, with tears?

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What shapeless lump is that, bent, crouch'd there on      the sand?
Streaming tears — sobbing tears — throes, choked with      wild cries;
O storm, embodied, rising, careering, with swift steps      along the beach;
O wild and dismal night storm, with wind! O belch-     ing and desperate!
O shade, so sedate and decorous by day, with calm      countenance and regulated pace;
But away, at night, as you fly, none looking — O then      the unloosen'd ocean,
Of tears! tears! tears!

1  ABOARD, at the ship's helm,
A young steersman, steering with care.
2  A bell through fog on a sea-coast dolefully ringing,
An ocean-bell — O a warning bell, rock'd by the waves.
3  O you give good notice indeed, you bell by the sea-     reefs ringing,
Ringing, ringing, to warn the ship from its wreck-     place.
4  For, as on the alert, O steersman, you mind the      bell's admonition,
The bows turn, — the freighted ship, tacking, speeds      away under her gray sails,
The beautiful and noble ship, with all her precious      wealth, speeds away gaily and safe.
5  But O the ship, the immortal ship! O ship aboard      the ship!
O ship of the body — ship of the soul — voyaging, voy-     aging, voyaging.

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AMERICA always!
Always our own feuillage!
Always Florida's green peninsula! Always the price-     less delta of Louisiana! Always the cotton-fields      of Alabama and Texas!
Always California's golden hills and hollows — and the      silver mountains of New Mexico! Always soft-
breath'd Cuba!
Always the vast slope drain'd by the Southern Sea —      inseparable with the slopes drain'd by the      Eastern and Western Seas;
The area the eighty-third year of These States — the      three and a half millions of square miles;
The eighteen thousand miles of sea      coast on the main — the thirty thousand miles      of river navigation,
The seven millions of distinct families, and the same      number of dwellings — Always these, and more,      branching forth into numberless branches;
Always the free range and diversity! Always the      continent of Democracy!
Always the prairies, pastures, forests, vast cities,      travelers, Kanada, the snows;
Always these compact lands — lands tied at the hips      with the belt stringing the huge oval lakes;
Always the West, with strong native persons — the      increasing density there — the habitans, friendly,      threatening, ironical, scorning invaders;
All sights, South, North, East — all deeds, promis-     cuously done at all times,

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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,      steamboats wooding up;
Sunlight by day on the valley of the Susquehanna,      and on the valleys of the Potomac and Rappa-     hannock, and the valleys of the Roanoke and      Delaware;
In their northerly wilds beasts of prey haunting the      Adirondacks, the hills — or lapping the Saginaw      waters to drink;
In a lonesome inlet, a sheldrake, lost from the flock,      sitting on the water, rocking silently;
In farmers' barns, oxen in the stable, their harvest la-     bor done-they rest standing — they are too tired;
Afar on arctic ice, the she-walrus lying drowsily,      while her cubs play around;
The hawk sailing where men have not yet sail'd — the      farthest polar sea, ripply, crystalline, open,      beyond the floes;
White drift spooning ahead, where the ship in the      tempest dashes;
On solid land, what is done in cities, as the bells all      strike midnight together;
In primitive woods, the sounds there also sounding —      the howl of the wolf, the scream of the panther,      and the hoarse bellow of the elk;
In winter beneath the hard blue ice of Moosehead      Lake — in summer visible through the clear      waters, the great trout swimming;
In lower latitudes, in warmer air, in the Carolinas,      the large black buzzard floating slowly, high      beyond the tree tops,
Below, the red cedar, festoon'd with tylandria — the      pines and cypresses, growing out of the white      sand that spreads far and flat;

253

Rude boats descending the big Pedee — climbing      plants, parasites, with color'd flowers and ber-     ries, enveloping huge trees,
The waving drapery on the live oak, trailing long and      low, noiselessly waved by the wind;
The camp of Georgia wagoners, just after dark — the      supper-fires, and the cooking and eating by      whites and negroes,
Thirty or forty great wagons — the mules, cattle,      horses, feeding from troughs,
The shadows, gleams, up under the leaves of the old      sycamore-trees — the flames — also the black      smoke from the pitch-pine, curling and rising;
Southern fishermen fishing — the sounds and inlets of      North Carolina's coast — the shad-fishery and      the herring-fishery — the large sweep-seines —      the windlasses on shore work'd by horses — the      clearing, curing, and packing-houses;
Deep in the forest, in piney woods, turpentine drop-     ping from the incisions in the trees — There are      the turpentine works,
There are the negroes at work, in good health — the      ground in all directions is cover'd with pine straw.
— In Tennessee and Kentucky, slaves busy in the      coalings, at the forge, by the furnace-blaze, or      at the corn-shucking;
In Virginia, the planter's son returning after a long      absence, joyfully welcom'd and kiss'd by the      aged mulatto nurse;
On rivers, boatmen safely moor'd at night-fall, in their      boats, under shelter of high banks,
Some of the younger men dance to the sound of the      banjo or fiddle — others sit on the gunwale,      smoking and talking;
Late in the afternoon, the mocking      can mimic, singing in the Great Dismal Swamp       — there are the greenish waters, the resinous      odor, the plenteous moss, the cypress tree, and      the juniper tree;

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— Northward, young men of Mannahatta — the target      company from an excursion returning home at      evening — the musket-muzzles all bear bunches      of flowers presented by women;
Children at play — or on his father's lap a young boy      fallen asleep, (how his lips move! how he      smiles in his sleep!)
The scout riding on horseback over the plains west of      the Mississippi — he ascends a knoll and sweeps      his eye around;
California life — the miner, bearded, dress'd in his      rude costume — the stanch 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 driving mules or oxen before rude carts       — cotton-bales piled on banks and wharves;
Encircling all, vast-darting, up and wide, the American      Soul, with equal hemisphere — one love, one      Dilation or Pride;
— In arriere, the peace-talk with the Iroquois, the      aborigines — the calumet, the pipe of good-will      arbitration, and indorsement,
The sachem blowing the smoke first toward the sum      and then toward the earth,
The drama of the scalp-dance enacted with painted      faces and guttural exclamations,
The setting out of the war-party — the long and      stealthy march,
The single-file — the swinging hatchets — the surprise      and slaughter 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 also,
Me pleased, rambling in lanes and country fields,      Paumanok's fields,

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Me, observing the spiral flight of two little yellow      butterflies, shuffling between each other, ascend-     ing high in the air;
The darting swallow, the destroyer of insects — the      fall traveler southward, but returning north-     ward early in the spring;
The country boy at the close of the day, driving the      herd of cows, and shouting to them as they      loiter to browse by the road-side;
The city wharf — Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore,      Charleston, New Orleans, San Francisco,
The departing ships, when the sailors heave at the      capstan;
Evening — me in my room — the setting sun,
The setting summer sun shining in my open window,      showing the swarm of flies, suspended, balanc-     ing in the air in the centre of the room, darting      athwart, up and down, casting swift shadows in      specks on the opposite wall, where the shine is;
The athletic American matron speaking in public to      crowds of listeners;
Males, females, immigrants, combinations — the co-     piousness — the individuality of The States, each      for itself — the money-makers;
Factories, machinery, the mechanical forces — the      windlass, lever, pulley — All certainties,
The certainty of space, increase, freedom, futurity,
In space, the sporades, the scattered islands, the stars       — on the firm earth, the lands, my lands,
O lands! all so dear to me — what you are, (whatever      it is), I become a part of that, whatever it is
Southward there, I screaming, with wings slow flap-     ping, with the myriads of gulls wintering along      the coasts of Florida — or in Louisiana, with      pelicans breeding,
Otherways, there, atwixt the banks of the Arkansaw,      the Rio Grande, the Nueces, the Brazos, the      Tombigbee, the Red River, the Saskatchawan,      or the Osage, I with the spring waters laughing      and skipping and running;

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Northward, on the sands, on some shallow bay of Pau-     manok, I, with parties of snowy herons wading      in the wet to seek worms and aquatic plants;
Retreating, triumphantly twittering, the king-bird,      from piercing the crow with its bill, for amuse-     ment — And I triumphantly twittering;
The migrating flock of wild geese alighting in autumn      to refresh themselves — the body of the flock      feed — the sentinels outside move around with      erect heads watching, and are from time to      time reliev'd by other sentinels — And I feeding      and taking turns with the rest;
In Kanadian forests, the moose, large as an ox, cor-     ner'd by hunters, rising desperately on his hind-     feet, and plunging with his fore-feet, the hoofs      as sharp as knives — And I, plunging at the      hunters, corner'd and desperate;
In the Mannahatta, streets, piers, shipping, store-     houses, and the countless workmen working in      the shops,
And I too of the Mannahatta, singing thereof — and      no less in myself than the whole of the Manna-     hatta in itself,
Singing the song of These, my ever-united lands — my      body no more inevitably united, part to part,      and made one identity, any more than my lands      are inevitably united, and made ONE IDENTITY;
Nativities, climates, the grass of the great Pastoral      Plains,
Cities, labors, death, animals, products, good and evil       — these me,
These affording, in all their particulars, endless      feuillage to me and to America, how can I do      less than pass the clew of the union of them, to      afford the like to you?
Whoever you are! how can I but offer you divine      leaves, that you also be eligible as I am?
How can I but, as here, chanting, invite you for your-     self to collect bouquets of the incomparable      feuillage of These States?

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1  I was asking for something specific and perfect for      my city,
Whereupon, lo ! upsprang the aboriginal name!
2  Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid,      sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient;
I see that the word of my city is that word up there,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays,      superb, with tall and wonderful spires,
Rich, hemm'd thick all around with sailships and      steamships — an island sixteen miles long, solid-     founded,
Numberless crowded streets — high growths of iron,      slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising to-     ward clear skies;
Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sun-     down,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger ad-     joining islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the      lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steam-     ers, well model'd;
The down-town streets, the jobbers' houses of busi-     ness — the houses of business of the ship-mer-     chants, and money-brokers — the river-streets;
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a      week;
The carts hauling goods — the manly race of drivers of      horses — the brown-faced sailors;
The summer-air, the bright sun shining, and the sail-     ing clouds aloft;

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The winter snows, the sleigh-bells — the broken ice in      the river, passing along, up or down, with the      flood-tide or-ebb tide;
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form'd,      beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the      eyes;
Trottoirs throng'd — vehicles — Broadway — the women       — the shops and shows,
The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying,      drums beating;
A million people — manners free and superb — open      voices — hospitality — the most courageous and      friendly young men;
The free city ! no slaves! no owners of slaves!
The beautiful city, the city of hurried and sparkling      waters! the city of spires and masts!
The city nested in bays! my city!
The city of such women, I am mad to be with them!      I will return after death to be with them!
The city of such young men, I swear I cannot live      happy, without I often go talk, walk, eat, drink,      sleep, with them!

LET us twain walk aside from the rest;
Now we are together privately, do you discard cere-     mony;
Come! vouchsafe to me what has yet been vouch-     safed to none — Tell me the whole story,
Tell me what you would not tell your brother, wife,      husband, or physician.

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1   A GREAT year and place;
A harsh, discordant, natal scream out-sounding, to      touch the mother's heart closer than any yet.
2  I walk'd the shores of my Eastern Sea,
Heard over the waves the little voice,
Saw the divine infant, where she woke, mournfully      wailing, amid the roar of cannon, curses,      shouts, crash of falling buildings;
Was not so sick from the blood in the gutters running       — nor from the single corpses, nor those in      heaps, nor those borne away in the tumbrils;
Was not so desperate at the battues of death — was      not so shock'd at the repeated fusillades of the      guns.
3  Pale, silent, stern, what could I say to that long-     accrued retribution?
Could I wish humanity different?
Could I wish the people made of wood and stone?
Or that there be no justice in destiny or time?
4  O Liberty! O mate for me!
Here too the blaze, the bullet and the axe, in reserve,      to fetch them out in case of need;
Here too, though long represt, can never be destroy'd;
Here too could rise at last, murdering and extatic;
Here too demanding full arrears of vengeance.
5  Hence I sign this salute over the sea,
And I do not deny that terrible red birth and baptism,
But remember the little voice that I heard wailing —      and wait with perfect trust, no matter how      long;

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And from to-day, sad and cogent, I maintain the be-     queath'd cause, as for all lands,
And I send these words to Paris with my love,
And I guess some chansonniers there will understand      them,
For I guess there is latent music yet in France —      floods of it;
O I hear already the bustle of instruments — they will      soon be drowning all that would interrupt      them;
O I think the east wind brings a triumphal and free      march,
It reaches hither — it swells me to joyful madness,
I will run transpose it in words, to justify it,
I will yet sing a song for you, ma femme.

HOLD it up sternly! See this it sends back! (Who is      it? Is it you?)
Outside fair costume — within ashes and filth,
No more a flashing eye — no more a sonorous voice or      springy step;
Now some slave's eye, voice, hands, step,
A drunkard's breath, unwholesome eater's face,      venerealee's flesh,
Lungs rotting away piecemeal, stomach sour and can-     kerous,
Joints rheumatic, bowels clogged with abomination,
Blood circulating dark and poisonous streams,
Words babble, hearing and touch callous,
No brain, no heart left — no magnetism of sex;
Such, from one look in this looking-glass ere you go      hence,
Such a result so soon — and from such a beginning!

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Of the visages of things — And of piercing through      to the accepted hells beneath;
Of ugliness — To me there is just as much in it as      there is in beauty — And now the ugliness of      human beings is acceptable to me;
Of detected persons — To me, detected persons are      not, in any respect, worse than undetected per-     sons — and are not in any respect worse than I      am myself;
Of criminals — To me, any judge, or any juror, is      equally criminal — and any reputable person is      also — and the President is also.

OF waters, forests, hills;
Of the earth at large, whispering through medium of      me;
Of vista — Suppose some sight in arriere, through the      formative chaos, presuming the growth, fulness,      life, now attain'd on the journey;
(But I see the road continued, and the journey ever      continued;)
Of what was once lacking on earth, and in due time      has become supplied — And of what will yet be      supplied,
Because all I see and know, I believe to have purport      in what will yet be supplied.

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OF persons arrived at high positions, ceremonies,      wealth, scholarships, and the like;
To me, all that those persons have arrived at, sinks      away from them, except as it results to their      Bodies and Souls,
So that often to me they appear gaunt and naked;
And often, to me, each one mocks the others, and      mocks himself or herself,
And of each one, the core of life, namely happiness,      is full of the rotten excrement of maggots,
And often, to me, those men and women pass unwit-     tingly the true realities of life, and go toward      false realities,
And often, to me, they are alive after what custom has      served them, but nothing more,
And often, to me, they are sad, hasty, unwaked son-     nambules, walking the dusk.

OF ownership — As if one fit to own things could not      at pleasure enter upon all, and incorporate      them into himself or herself;
Of Equality — As if it harm'd me, giving others the      same chances and rights as myself — As if it      were not indispensable to my own rights that      others possess the same;
Of Justice — As if Justice could be anything but the      same ample law, expounded by natural judges      and saviors,
As if it might be this thing or that thing, according      to decisions.

As I sit with others, at a great feast, suddenly, while the music is playing,

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To my mind, (whence it comes I know not,) spectral,      in mist, of a wreck at sea,
Of the flower of the marine science of fifty generations,      founder'd off the Northeast coast, and going      down — Of the steamship Arctic going down,
Of the veil'd tableau — Women gather'd together on      deck, pale, heroic, waiting the moment that      draws so close — O the moment!
O the huge sob — A few bubbles — the white foam      spirting up — And then the women gone,
Sinking there, while the passionless wet flows on —      And I now pondering, Are those women indeed      gone?
Are Souls drown'd and destroy'd so?
Is only matter triumphant?

OF what I write from myself — As if that were not the      resumé;
Of Histories — As if such, however complete, were not      less complete than my poems;
As if the shreds, the records of nations, could possibly      be as lasting as my poems;
As if here were not the amount of all nations, and of      all the lives of heroes.

OF obedience, faith, adhesiveness;
As I stand aloof and look, there is to me something profoundly affecting in large masses of men, following the lead of those who do not believe in men.

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MY spirit to yours, dear brother;
Do not mind because many, sounding your name, do      not understand you;
I do not sound your name, but I understand you,      (there are others also;)
I specify you with joy, O my comrade, to salute you,      and to salute those who are with you, before      and since — and those to come also,
That we all labor together, transmitting the same      charge and succession;
We few, equals, indifferent of lands, indifferent of      times;
We, enclosers of all continents, all castes — allowers of      all theologies,
Compassionaters, perceivers, rapport of men,
We walk silent among disputes and assertions, but      reject not the disputers, nor any thing that is      asserted;
We hear the bawling and din — we are reach'd at by      divisions, jealousies, recriminations on every      side,
They close peremptorily upon us, to surround us, my      comrade,
Yet we walk unheld, free, the whole earth over,      journeying up and down, till we make our in-     effaceable mark upon time and the diverse eras,
Till we saturate time and eras, that the men and      women of races, ages to come, may prove      brethren and lovers, as we are.

I SEE in you the estuary that enlarges and spreads itself grandly as it pours in the great Sea.

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1  FROM all the rest I single out you, having a message      for you:
You are to die — Let others tell you what they please,      I cannot prevaricate,
I am exact and merciless, but I 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 my head close, and half-     envelop it,
I sit quietly by — I remain faithful,
I am more than nurse, more than parent or neighbor,
I absolve you from all except yourself, spiritual, bodily       — that is eternal,
(The corpse you will leave will be but excrementitious.)
3  The sun bursts through in unlooked-for directions!
Strong thoughts fill you, and confidence — you smile!
You forget you are sick, as I forget you are sick,
You do not see the medicines — you do not mind the      weeping friends — I am with you,
I exclude others from you — there is nothing to be      commiserated,
I do not commiserate — I congratulate you.

STRANGER! if you, passing, meet me, and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me?
And why should I not speak to you?

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NATIONS ten thousand years before These States,      and many times ten thousand years before      These States;
Garner'd clusters of ages, that men and women like      us grew up and travel'd their course, and      pass'd on;
What vast-built cities — what orderly republics — what      pastoral tribes and nomads;
What histories, rulers, heroes, perhaps trancending      all others;
What laws, customs, wealth, arts, traditions;
What sort of marriage — what costumes — what phy-     siology and phrenology;
What of liberty and slavery among them — what they      thought of death and the soul;
Who were witty and wise — who beautiful and poetic —      who brutish and undevelop'd;
Not a mark, not a record remains — And yet all re-     mains.
2  O I know that those men and women were not for      nothing, any more than we are for nothing;
I know that they belong to the scheme of the world      every bit as much as we now belong to it, and      as all will henceforth belong to it.
3  Afar they stand — yet near to me they stand,
Some with oval countenances, learn'd and calm,
Some naked and savage — Some like huge collections      of insects,
Some in tents — herdsmen, patriarchs, tribes, horse-     men,
Some prowling through woods — Some living peacea-     bly on farms, laboring, reaping, filling barns,
Some traversing paved avenues, amid temples, pala-     ces, factories, libraries, shows, courts, theatres,      wonderful monuments.

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4   Are those billions of men really gone?
Ase those women of the old experience of the earth      gone?
Do their lives, cities, arts, rest only with us?
Did they achieve nothing for good, for themselves?
5  I believe of all those billions of men and women      that fill'd the unnamed lands, every one exists      this hour, here or elsewhere, invisible to us, in      exact proportion to what he or she grew from      in life, and out of what he or she did, felt, be-     came, loved, sinned, in life.
6  I believe that was not the end of those nations, or      any person of them, any more than this shall      be the end of my nation, or of me;
Of their languages, governments, marriage, literature,      products, games, wars, manners, crimes, pris-     ons, slaves, heroes, poets, I suspect their re-     sults curiously await in the yet unseen world —      counterparts of what accrued to them in the      seen world,
I suspect I shall meet them there,
I suspect I shall there find each old particular of those      unnamed lands.

WHO includes diversity, and is Nature,
Who is the amplitude of the earth, and the coarseness and sexuality of the earth, and the great char- ity of the earth, and the equilibrium also,
Who has not look'd forth from the windows, the eyes, for nothing, or whose brain held audience with messengers for nothing;

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Who contains believers and disbelievers — Who is the      most majestic lover;
Who holds duly his or her triune proportion of real-     ism, spiritualism, and of the æsthetic, or in-     tellectual,
Who, having consider'd the Body, finds all its organs      and parts good;
Who, out of the theory of the earth, and of his or      her body, understands by subtle analogies all      other theories,
The theory of a city, a poem, and of the large poli-     tics of These States;
Who believes not only in our globe, with its sun and      moon, but in other globes, with their suns and      moons;
Who, constructing the house of himself or herself, not      for a day, but for all time, sees races, eras, dates,      generations,
The past, the future, dwelling there, like space, insep-     arable together.

WHEN I read the book, the biography famous;
And is this, then, (said I,) what the author calls a      man's life?
And so will some one, when I am dead and gone,      write my life?
(As if any man really knew aught of my life;
As if you, O cunning Soul, did not keep your secret      well!)

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I SAY whatever tastes sweet to the most perfect person — That is finally right.

I SAY the human shape or face is so great, it must      never be made ridiculous;
I say for ornaments nothing outré can be allowed,
And that anything is most beautiful without orna-     ment,
And that exaggerations will be sternly revenged in      your own physiology; and in other persons' phys-     iology also;
And I say that clean-shaped children can be jetted and      conceiv'd only where natural forms prevail in      public, and the human face and form are never      caricatured;
And I say that genius need never more be turn'd to      romances,
(For facts properly told, how mean appear all ro-     mances.)

I HAVE said many times that materials and the Soul      are great, and that all depends on physique;
Now I reverse what I said, and affirm that all depends      on the æsthetic, or intellectual,
And that criticism is great — and that refinement is      greatest of all;
And I affirm now that the mind governs — and that all      depends on the mind.

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WITH one man or woman — (no matter which one — I even pick out the lowest,)
With him or her I now illustrate the whole law;
I say that every right, in politics or what-not, shall be eligible to that one man or woman, on the same terms as any.

DESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and      night,
The sad voice of Death — the call of my nearest lover,      putting forth, alarm'd, uncertain,
The Sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me,
Come tell me where I am speeding — tell me my destina-      tion.

I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you,
I approach, hear, behold — the sad mouth, the look out of the eyes, your mute inquiry,
Whither I go from the bed I recline on, come tell me:
Old age, alarm'd, uncertain — A young woman's voice, appealing to me for comfort;
A young man's voice, Shall I not escape ?

A THOUSAND perfect men and women appear,
Around each gathers a cluster of friends, and gay children and youths, with offerings.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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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RESPONDEZ! Respondez!
Let every one answer! let those who sleep be waked!      let none evade!
(How much longer must we go on with our affectations      and sneaking?
Let me bring this to a close — I pronounce openly for      a new distribution of roles;)
Let that which stood in front go behind! and let that      which was behind advance to the front and      speak;
Let murderers, thieves, bigots, fools, unclean persons,      offer new propositions!
Let the old propositions be postponed!
Let faces and theories be turn'd inside out! Let      meanings be freely criminal, as well as results!
Let there be no suggestion above the suggestion of      drudgery!
Let none be pointed toward his destination! (Say! do      you know your destination?)
Let trillions of men and women be mock'd with bodies      and mock'd with Souls!
Let the love that waits in them, wait! Let it die, or      pass still-born to other spheres!
Let the sympathy that waits in every man, wait! or let      it also pass, a dwarf, to other spheres!
Let contradictions prevail! Let one thing contradict      another! and let one line of my poems contra-     dict another!
Let the people sprawl with yearning aimless hands!      Let their tongues be broken ! Let their eyes be      discouraged! Let none descend into their hearts      with the fresh lusciousness of love!
Let the theory of America be management, caste,      comparison! (Say! what other theory would      you?)
Let them that distrust birth and death lead the rest!      (Say! why shall they not lead you?)

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Let the crust of hell be near'd and trod on! Let the      days be darker than the nights! Let slumber      bring less slumber than waking-time brings!
Let the world never appear to him or her for whom it      was all made!
Let the heart of the young man exile itself from the      heart of the old man! and let the heart of the      old man be exiled from that of the young man!
Let the sun and moon go! Let scenery take the ap-     plause of the audience! Let there be apathy      under the stars!
Let freedom prove no man's inalienable right! Every      one who can tyrannize, let him tyrannize to his      satisfaction!
Let none but infidels be countenanced!
Let the eminence of meanness, treachery, sarcasm,      hate, greed, indecency, impotence, lust, be taken      for granted above all! Let writers, judges, gov-     ernments, households, religions, philosophies,      take such for granted above all!
Let the worst men beget children out of the worst      women!
Let the priest still play at immortality!
Let death be inaugurated!
Let nothing remain but the ashes of teachers, artists,      moralists, lawyers, and learn'd and polite per-     sons!
Let him who is without my poems be assassinated!
Let the cow, the horse, the camel, the garden-bee — Let      the mud-fish, the lobster, the mussel, eel, the      stingfish — Let these,      and the like of these, be put on a perfect equal-     ity with man and woman!
Let churches accommodate serpents, vermin, and the      corpses of those who have died of the most      filthy of diseases!
Let marriage slip down among fools, and be for none      but fools!

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Let men among themselves talk and think obscenely      of women! and let women among themselves      talk and think obscenely of men!
Let every man doubt every woman! and let every      woman trick every man!
Let us all, without missing one, be exposed in public,      naked, monthly, at the peril of our lives! Let      our bodies be freely handled and examined by      whoever chooses!
Let nothing but copies be permitted to exist upon the      earth!
Let the earth desert God, nor let there never hence-     forth be mention'd the name of God!
Let there be no God!
Let there be money, business, imports, exports, cus-     tom, authority, precedents, pallor, dyspepsia,      smut, ignorance, unbelief!
Let judges and criminals be transposed! Let the      prison-keepers be put in prison! Let those that      were prisoners take the keys! (Say! why might      they not just as well be transposed?)
Let the slaves be masters! Let the masters become      slaves!
Let the reformers descend from the stands where they      are forever bawling! Let an idiot or insane      person appear on each of the stands!
Let the Asiatic, the African, the European, the Ameri-     can, and the Australian, go armed against the      murderous stealthiness of each other! Let them      sleep armed! Let none believe in good will!
Let there be no unfashionable wisdom! Let such be      scorn'd and derided off from the earth!
Let a floating cloud in the sky — Let a wave of the sea       — Let growing mint, spinach, onions, tomatoes       — Let these be exhibited as shows at a great      price for admission!
Let all the men of These States stand aside for a few      smouchers! Let the few seize on what they      choose! Let the rest gawk, giggle, starve, obey!

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Let shadows be furnish'd with genitals! Let substances      be deprived of their genitals!
Let there be wealthy and immense cities — but through      any of them, not a single poet, savior, knower,      lover!
Let the infidels of These States laugh all faith away!      If one man be found who has faith, let the rest      set upon him! Let them affright faith! Let      them destroy the power of breeding faith!
Let the she-harlots and the he-harlots be prudent!      Let them dance on, while seeming lasts! (O      seeming! seeming! seeming!)
Let the preachers recite creeds! Let them teach only      what they have been taught!
Let insanity have charge of sanity!
Let books take the place of trees, animals, rivers,      clouds!
Let the daub'd portraits of heroes supersede heroes!
Let the manhood of man never take steps after itself!      Let it take steps after eunuchs, and after con-     sumptive and genteel persons!
Let the white person tread the black person under his      heel! (Say! which is trodden under heel, after      all?)
Let the reflections of the things of the world be studied      in mirrors! Let the things themselves continue      unstudied!
Let a man seek pleasure everywhere except in him-     self! Let a woman seek happiness everywhere      except in herself! (What real happiness have      you had one single time through your whole      life?)
Let the limited years of life do nothing for the limit-     less years of death! (What do you suppose      death will do, then?)

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BY the City Dead-House, by the gate,
As idly sauntering, wending my way from the clangor,
I curious pause — for lo! an outcast form, a poor dead      prostitute brought;
Her corpse they deposit unclaim'd, it lies on the      damp brick pavement;
The divine woman, her body — I see the Body — I look      on it alone,
That house once full of passion and beauty — all else I      notice not;
Nor stillness so cold, nor running water from faucet,      nor odors morbific impress me;
But the house alone — that wondrous house — that de-      licate fair house — that ruin!
That immortal house, more than all the rows of dwel-     lings ever built!
Or white-domed Capitol itself, with magestic figure sur-     mounted — or all the old high-spired cathedrals,
That little house alone, more than them all — poor,      desperate house!
Fair, fearful wreck! tenement of a Soul! itself a Soul!
Unclaim'd, avoided house! take one breath from my      tremulous lips;
Take one tear, dropt aside as I go, for thought of you,
Dead house of love! house of madness and sin, crum-     bled! crush'd!
House of life — erewhile talking and laughing — but      ah, poor house! dead, even then;
Months, years, an echoing, garnish'd house — but      dead, dead, dead.

WHAT General has a good army in himself, has a good army;
He happy in himself, or she happy in herself, is happy.

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1  THINK of the Soul;
I swear to you that body of yours gives proportions      to your Soul somehow to live in other spheres;
I do not know how, but I know it is so.
2  Think of loving and being loved;
I swear to you, whoever you are, you can interfuse      yourself with such things that everybody that      sees you shall look longingly upon you.
3  Think of the past;
I warn you that in a little while, others will find their      past in you and your times.
4  The race is never separated — nor man nor woman      escapes;
All is inextricable — things, spirits, nature, nations,      you too — from precedents you come.
5  Recall the ever-welcome defiers, (The mothers pre-
     cede them;)
Recall the sages, poets, saviors, inventors, lawgivers,      of the earth;
Recall Christ, brother of rejected persons — brother of      slaves, felons, idiots, and of insane and diseas'd      persons.
6  Think of the time when you was not yet born;
Think of times you stood at the side of the dying;
Think of the time when your own body will be dying.

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7   Think of spiritual results,
Sure as the earth swims through the heavens, does      every one of its objects pass into spiritual      results.
8  Think of manhood, and you to be a man;
Do you count manhood, and the sweet of manhood,      nothing?
9  Think of womanhood, and you to be a woman;
The creation is womanhood;
Have I not said that womanhood involves all?
Have I not told how the universe has nothing better      than the best womanhood?

UNFOLDED out of the folds of the woman, man comes      unfolded, and is always to come unfolded;
Unfolded only out of the superbest woman of the      earth, is to come the superbest man of the      earth;
Unfolded out of the friendliest woman, is to come the      friendliest man;
Unfolded only out of the perfect body of a woman,      can a man be form'd of perfect body;
Unfolded only out of the inimitable poem of the wo-     man, can come the poems of man — (only      thence have my poems come;)
Unfolded out of the strong and arrogant woman I      love, only thence can appear the strong and      arrogant man I love;
Unfolded by brawny embraces from the well-muscled      woman I love, only thence come the brawny      embraces of the man;
Unfolded out of the folds of the woman's brain, come      all the folds of the man's brain, duly obedient;

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Unfolded out of the justice of the woman, all justice      is unfolded;
Unfolded out of the sympathy of the woman is all      sympathy:
A man is a great thing upon the earth, and through      eternity — but every jot of the greatness of man      is unfolded out of woman,
First the man is shaped in the woman, he can then be      shaped in himself.

1  NIGHT on the prairies;
The supper is over — the fire on the ground burns      low;
The wearied emigrants sleep, wrapt in their blankets;
I walk by myself — I stand and look at the stars,      which I think now I never realized before.
2  Now I absorb immortality and peace,
I admire death, and test propositions.
3  How plenteous! How spiritual! How resumé!
The same Old Man and Soul — the same old aspira-     tions, and the same content.
4  I was thinking the day most splendid, till I saw      what the not-day exhibited,
I was thinking this globe enough, till there sprang      out so noiseless around me myriads of other      globes.
5  Now, while the great thoughts of space and eternity      fill me, I will measure myself by them;
And now, touch'd with the lives of other globes, ar-     rived as far along as those of the earth,

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Or waiting to arrive, or pass'd on farther than those      of the earth,
I henceforth no more ignore them, than I ignore my      own life,
Or the lives of the earth arrived as far as mine, or      waiting to arrive.
6  O I see now that life cannot exhibit all to me — as      the day cannot,
I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by      death.

THE world below the brine;
Forests at the bottom of the sea — the branches and      leaves,
Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seeds —      the thick tangle, the openings, and the pink      turf,
Different colors, pale gray and green, purple, white,      and gold — the play of light through the water,
Dumb swimmers there 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,
The sperm-whale at the surface, blowing air and      spray, or disporting with his flukes,
The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle, the      hairy sea-leopard, and the sting-ray;
Passions there — wars, pursuits, tribes — sight in those      ocean-depths — breathing that thick-breathing      air, as so many do;
The change thence to the sight here, and to the subtle      air breathed by beings like us, who walk this      sphere;
The change onward from ours, to that of beings who      walk other spheres.

I SIT and look out upon all the sorrows of the world,      and upon all oppression and shame;
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at an-     guish with themselves, remorseful after deeds      done;
I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children,      dying, neglected, gaunt, desperate;
I see the wife misused by her husband — I see the      treacherous seducer of young women;
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited      love, attempted to be hid — I see these sights      on the earth;
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny — I      see martyrs and prisoners;
I observe a famine at sea — I observe the sailors cast-     ing lots who shall be kill'd, to preserve the      lives of the rest;
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arro-     gant persons upon laborers, the poor, and upon      negroes, and the like;
All these — All the meanness and agony without end,      I sitting, look out upon,
See, hear, and am silent.

A MASK — a perpetual natural disguiser of herself,
Concealing her face, concealing her form,
Changes and transformations every hour, every mo- ment,
Falling upon her even when she sleeps.

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NOT the pilot has charged himself to bring his ship      into port, though beaten back, and many times      baffled;
Not the path-finder, penetrating inland, weary and      long,
By deserts parch'd, snows-chill'd, rivers wet, perse-     veres till he reaches his destination,
More than I have charged myself, heeded or un-     heeded, to compose a free march for These      States,
To be exhilarating music to them, years, centuries      hence.

As if a phantom caress'd me,
I thought I was not alone, walking here by the shore;
But the one I thought was with me, as now I walk by      the shore, the one I loved that caress'd me,
As I lean and look through the glimmering light —      that one has utterly disappear'd,
And those appear that are hateful to me, and mock      me.

WOMEN sit, or move to and fro — some old, some young;
The young are beautiful — but the old are more beauti- ful than the young.

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1  GREAT are the myths — I too delight in them;
Great are Adam and Eve — I too look back and accept      them;
Great the risen and fallen nations, and their poets,      women, sages, inventors, rulers, warriors, and      priests.
2  Great is Liberty! great is Equality! I am their      follower;
Helmsmen of nations, choose your craft! where you      sail, I sail,
I weather it out with you, or sink with you.
3  Great is Youth — equally great is Old Age — great      are the Day and night;
Great is Wealth — great is Poverty — great is Expres-     sion — great is Silence.
4  Youth, large, lusty, loving — Youth, full of grace,      Force; fascination!
Do you know that Old Age may come after you, with      equal grace, force, fascination?
5  Day, full-blown and splendid — Day of the immense      sun, action, ambition, laughter,
The Night follows close, with millions of suns, and      sleep, and restoring darkness.

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6   Wealth, with the flush hand, fine clothes, hospi-     tality;
But then the Soul's wealth, which is candor, knowl-     edge, pride, enfolding love;
(Who goes for men and women showing Poverty      richer than wealth?)
7  (Expression of speech! in what is written or said,      forget not that Silence is also expressive,
That anguish as hot as the hottest, and contempt as      cold as the coldest, may be without words.)
8  Great is the Earth, and the way it became what it      is;
Do you imagine it has stopt at this? the increase      abandon'd?
Understand then that it goes as far onward from this,      as this is from the times when it lay in cover-     ing waters and gases, before man had appear'd.
9  Great is the quality of Truth in man;
The quality of truth in man supports itself through      all changes,
It is inevitably in the man — he and it are in love, and      never leave each other.
10  The truth in man is no dictum, it is vital as eye-     sight;
If there be any Soul, there is truth — if there be man      or woman, there is truth — if there be physical      or moral, there is truth;
If there be equilibrium or volition, there is truth — if      there be things at all upon the earth, there is      truth.
11  O truth of the earth! O truth of things! I am de-     termin'd to press my way toward you;
Sound your voice! I scale mountains, or dive in the      sea after you.

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12   Great is Language — it is the mightiest of the sci-     ences,
It is the fulness, color, form, diversity of the earth,      and of men and women, and of all qualities      and processes;
It is greater than wealth — it is greater than buildings,      ships, religions, paintings, music.
13  Great is the English speech — what speech is so      great as the English?
Great is the English brood — what brood has so vast a      destiny as the English ?
It is the mother of the brood that must rule the earth      with the new rule;
The new rule shall rule as the Soul rules, and as the      love, justice, equality in the Soul rule.
14  Great is law — great are the old few land-marks of      the law,
They are the same in all times, and shall not be dis-     turb'd.
15  Great is Justice!
Justice is not settled by legislators and laws — it is in      the Soul;
It cannot be varied by statutes, any more than love,      pride, the attraction of gravity, can;
It is immutable — it does not depend on majorities —      majorities or what not, come at last before the      same passionless and exact tribunal.
16  For justice are the grand natural lawyers, and per-     fect judges — is it in their Souls;
It is well assorted — they have not studied for nothing       — the great includes the less;
They rule on the highest grounds — they oversee all      eras, states, administrations.

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17   The perfect judge fears nothing — he could go front      to front before God;
Before the perfect judge all shall stand back — life and      death shall stand back — heaven and hell shall      stand back.
18  Great is Life, real and mystical, wherever and who-     ever;
Great is Death — sure as life holds all parts together,      Death holds all parts together.
19  Has Life much purport? — Ah, Death has the greatest      purport.

1   Now list to my morning's romanza;
To the cities and farms I sing, as they spread in the      sunshine before me.
2  A young man came to me bearing a message from      his brother;
How should the young man know the whether and      when of his brother?
Tell him to send me the signs.
3  And I stood before the young man face to face, and      took his right hand in my left hand, and his left      hand in my right hand,
And I answer'd for his brother, and for men, and I      answer'd for THE POET, and sent these signs.
4  Him all wait for — him all yield up to — his word is      decisive and final,

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Him they accept, in him lave, in him perceive them-     selves, as amid light,
Him they immerse, and he immerses them.
5  Beautiful women, the haughtiest nations, laws, the      landscape, people, animals,
The profound earth and its attributes, and the unquiet      ocean, (so tell I my morning's romanza;)
All enjoyments and properties, and money, and what-     ever money will buy,
The best farms — others toiling and planting, and he      unavoidably reaps,
The noblest and costliest cities — others grading and      building, and he domiciles there,
Nothing for any one, but what is for him — near and      far are for him, the ships in the offing,
The perpetual shows and marches on land, are for him,      if they are for any body.
6  He puts things in their attitudes;
He puts to-day out of himself, with plasticity and      love;
He places his own city, times, reminiscences, parents,      brothers and sisters, associations, employment,      politics, so that the rest never shame them after-     ward, nor assume to command them.
7  He is the answerer;
What can be answer'd he answers — and what cannot      be answer'd, he shows how it cannot be answer'd.
8  A man is a summons and challenge;
(It is vain to skulk — Do you hear that mocking and      laughter? Do you hear the ironical echoes?)
9  Books, friendships, philosophers, priests, action,      pleasure, pride, beat up and down, seeking to      give satisfaction;

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He indicates the satisfaction, and indicates them that      beat up and down also.
10  Whichever the sex, whatever the season or place, he      may go freshly and gently and safely, by day or      by night;
He has the pass-key of hearts — to him the response      of the prying of hands on the knobs.
11  His welcome is universal — the flow of beauty is not      more welcome or universal than he is;
The person he favors by day or sleeps with at night is      blessed.
12  Every existence has its idiom — everything has an      idiom and tongue;
He resolves all tongues into his own, and bestows it      upon men, and any man translates, and any man      translates himself also;
One part does not counteract another part — he is the      joiner — he sees how they join.
13  He says indifferently and alike, How are you, friend?      to the President at his levee,
And he says, Good-day, my brother! to Cudge that      hoes in the sugar-field,
And both understand him, and know that his speech      is right.
14  He walks with perfect ease in the Capitol,
He walks among the Congress, and one representative      says to another, Here is our equal, appearing and      new.
15  Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic,
And the soldiers suppose him to be a soldier, and the      sailors that he has follow'd the sea,

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And the authors take him for an author, and the      artists for an artist,
And the laborers perceive he could labor with them      and love them;
No matter what the work is, that he is the one to      follow it, or has follow'd it,
No matter what the nation, that he might find his      brothers and sisters there.
16  The English believe he comes of their English      stock,
A Jew to the Jew he seems — a Russ to the Russ —      usual and near, removed from none.
17  Whoever he looks at in the traveler's coffee-house      claims him,
The Italian or Frenchman is sure, and the German is      sure, and the Spaniard is sure, and the island      Cuban is sure;
The engineer, the deck-hand on the great lakes, or on      the Mississippi, or St. Lawrence, or Sacramento,      or Hudson, or Paumanok Sound, claims him.
18  The gentleman of perfect blood acknowledges his      perfect blood;
The insulter, the prostitute, the angry person, the      beggar, see themselves in the ways of him — he      strangely transmutes them,
They are not vile any more — they hardly know them-     selves, they are so grown.

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1   To think of it!
To think of time — of all that retrospection !
To think of to-day and the ages continued hence-     forward!
2  Have you guess'd you yourself would not continue?
Have you dreaded these earth-beetles ?
Have you fear'd the future would be nothing to you ?
3  Is to-day nothing ? Is the beginningless past      nothing ?
If the future is nothing, they are just as surely      nothing.
4  To think that the sun rose in the east ! that men      and women were flexible, real, alive ! that every-     thing was alive !
To think that you and I did not see, feel, think, nor      bear our part !
To think that we are now here, and bear our part !

5   Not a day passes — not a minute or second, without      an accouchement !
Not a day passes — not a minute or second, without a      corpse !
6  The dull nights go over, and the dull days also,
The soreness of lying so much in bed goes over,
The physician, after long putting off, gives the silent      and terrible look for an answer,

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The children come hurried and weeping, and the      brothers and sisters are sent for,
Medicines stand unused on the shelf — (the camphor-     smell has long pervaded the rooms,)
The faithful hand of the living does not desert the      hand of the dying,
The twitching lips press lightly on the forehead of the      dying,
The breath ceases, and the pulse of the heart ceases,
The corpse stretches on the bed, and the living look      upon it,
It is palpable as the living are palpable.
7  The living look upon the corpse with their eye-     sight,
But without eye-sight lingers a different living, and      looks curiously on the corpse.

8   To think that the rivers will flow, and the snow      fall, and fruits ripen, and act upon others as      upon us now — yet not act upon us !
To think of all these wonders of city and country,      and others taking great interest in them — and      we taking no interest in them !
9  To think how eager we are in building our houses !
To think others shall be just as eager, and we quite      indifferent !
10  I see one building the house that serves him a few      years, or seventy or eighty years at most,
I see one building the house that serves him longer      than that.
11  Slow-moving and black lines creep over the whole      earth — they never cease — they are the burial      lines,

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He that was President was buried, and he that is now President shall surely be buried.

12   Cold dash of waves at the ferry-wharf — posh and      ice in the river, half-frozen mud in the streets,      a gray discouraged sky overhead, the short last      daylight of Twelfth-month,
A hearse and stages — other vehicles give place — the      funeral of an old Broadway stage-driver, the      cortege mostly drivers.
13  Steady the trot to the cemetery, duly rattles the      death-bell, the gate is pass'd, the new-dug grave      is halted at, the living alight, the hearse un-     closes,
The coffin is pass'd out, lower'd and settled, the whip      is laid on the coffin, the earth is swiftly shovel'd      in,
The mound above is flatted with the spades — silence,
A minute, no one moves or speaks — it is done,
He is decently put away — is there anything more ?
14  He was a good fellow, free-mouth'd, quick-temper'd,      not bad-looking, able to take his own part,      witty, sensitive to a slight, ready with life or      death for a friend, fond of women, gambled, ate      hearty, drank hearty, had known what it was to      be flush, grew low-spirited toward the last,      sicken'd, was help'd by a contribution, died,      aged forty-one years — and that was his funeral.
15  Thumb extended, finger uplifted, apron, cape, gloves,      strap, wet-weather clothes, whip carefully      chosen, boss, spotter, starter, hostler, somebody      loafing on you, you loafing on somebody, head-     way, man before and man behind, good day's      work, bad day's work, pet stock, mean stock,      first out, last out, turning-in at night;

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To think that these are so much and so nigh to other drivers — and he there takes no interest in them !

16   The markets, the government, the working-man's      wages — to think what account they are through      our nights and days !
To think that other working-men will make just as      great account of them — yet we make little or      no account !
17  The vulgar and the refined — what you call sin, and      what you call goodness — to think how wide a      difference !
To think the difference will still continue to others,      yet we lie beyond the difference.
18  To think how much pleasure there is !
Have you pleasure from looking at the sky? have you      pleasure from poems ?
Do you enjoy yourself in the city ? or engaged in      business ? or planning a nomination and elec-     tion ? or with your wife and family ?
Or with your mother and sisters ? or in womanly      house-work ? or the beautiful maternal cares ?
These also flow onward to others — you and I flow      onward,
But in due time you and I shall take less interest in      them.
19  Your farm, profits, crops, — to think how engross'd      you are !
To think there will still be farms, profits, crops — yet      for you, of what avail ?

20 What will be, will be well — for what is, is well,
To take interest is well, and not to take interest shall be well.

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21   The sky continues beautiful,
The pleasure of men with women shall never be sated,      nor the pleasure of women with men, nor the      pleasure from poems,
The domestic joys, the daily housework or business,      the building of houses — these are not phan-     tasms — they have weight, form, location;
Farms, profits, crops, markets, wages, government,      are none of them phantasms,
The difference between sin and goodness is no de-     lusion,
The earth is not an echo — man and his life, and all the      things of his life, are well-consider'd.
22  You are not thrown to the winds — you gather cer-     tainly and safely around yourself;
Yourself ! Yourself ! Yourself, forever and ever !

23   It is not to diffuse you that you were born of your      mother and father — it is to identify you,
It is not that you should be undecided, but that you      should be decided;
Something long preparing and formless is arrived and      form'd in you,
You are henceforth secure, whatever comes or goes.
24  The threads that were spun are gathered, the weft      crosses the warp, the pattern is systematic.
25  The preparations have every one been justified,
The orchestra have sufficiently tuned their instru-     ments — the baton has given the signal.
26  The guest that was coming — he waited long, for      reasons — he is now housed,
He is one of those who are beautiful and happy — he      is one of those that to look upon and be with      is enough.

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27   The law of the past cannot be eluded,
The law of the present and future cannot be eluded,
The law of the living cannot be eluded — it is eternal,
The law of promotion and transformation cannot be      eluded,
The law of heroes and good-doers cannot be eluded,
The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons — not      one iota thereof can be eluded.

28   Slow moving and black lines go ceaselessly over the      earth,
Northerner goes carried, and Southerner goes carried,      and they on the Atlantic side, and they on      the Pacific, and they between, and all through      the Mississippi country, and all over the earth.
29  The great masters and kosmos are well as they go       — the heroes and good-doers are well,
The known leaders and inventors, and the rich own-     ers and pious and distinguish'd, may be well,
But there is more account than that — there is strict      account of all.
30  The interminable hordes of the ignorant and      wicked are not nothing,
The barbarians of Africa and Asia are not nothing,
The common people of Europe are not nothing —      the American aborigines are not nothing,
The infected in the immigrant hospital are not noth-     ing — the murderer or mean person is not      nothing,
The perpetual successions of shallow people are not      nothing as they go,
The lowest prostitute is not nothing — the mocker of      religion is not nothing as he goes.

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31   I shall go with the rest — we have satisfaction,
I have dream'd that we are not to be changed so      much, nor the law of us changed,
I have dream'd that heroes and good-doers shall be      under the present and past law,
And that murderers, drunkards, liars, shall be under      the present and past law,
For I have dream'd that the law they are under now      is enough.
32  And I have dream'd that the satisfaction is not so      much changed, and that there is no life with-     out satisfaction:
What is the earth? what are Body and Soul, without      satisfaction?
33  I shall go with the rest,
We cannot be stopt at a given point — that is no satis-     faction,
To show us a good thing, or a few good things, for a      space of time — that is no satisfaction,
We must have the indestructible breed of the best,      regardless of time.
34  If otherwise, all these things came but to ashes of      dung,
If maggots and rats ended us, then alarum! for we are      betray'd!
Then indeed suspicion of death.
35  Do you suspect death? If I were to suspect death,      I should die now,
Do you think I could walk pleasantly and well-suited      toward annihilation?

36 Pleasantly and well-suited I walk,
Whither I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good,

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The whole universe indicates that it is good,
The past and the present indicate that it is good.
37  How beautiful and perfect are the animals! How      perfect is my Soul!
How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon it!
What is called good is perfect, and what is called bad      is just as perfect,
The vegetables and minerals are all perfect, and the      imponderable fluids are perfect;
Slowly and surely they have pass'd on to this, and      slowly and surely they yet pass on.
38  My Soul! if I realize you, I have satisfaction,
Animals and vegetables! if I realize you, I have sat-     isfaction,
Laws of the earth and air! if I realize you, I have      satisfaction.
39  I cannot define my satisfaction, yet it is so,
I cannot define my life, yet it is so.

40   It comes to me now!
I swear I think now that everything without excep-     tion has an eternal Soul!
The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of      the sea have! the animals!
41  I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!
That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous      float is for it, and the cohering is for it;
And all preparation is for it! and identity is for it!      and life and death are altogether for it!

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1  SOMETHING startles me where I thought I was      safest;
I withdraw from the still woods I loved;
I will not go now on the pastures to walk;
I will not strip the clothes from my body to meet my      lover the sea;
I will not touch my flesh to the earth, as to other      flesh, to renew me.
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 continually putting distemper'd corpses      in you?
Is not every continent work'd over and over with sour      dead?
3  Where have you disposed of their carcasses?
Those drunkards and gluttons of so many genera-     tions;
Where have you drawn off all the foul liquid and      meat?
I do not see any of it upon you to-day — or perhaps I      am deceiv'd;
I will run a furrow with my plough — I will press my      spade through the sod, and turn it up under-     neath;
I am sure I shall expose some of the foul meat.
4  Behold this compost! behold it well!
Perhaps every mite has once form'd part of a sick      person — Yet behold!
The grass covers the prairies,
The bean bursts noiselessly through the mould in the      garden,

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The delicate spear of the onion pierces upward,
The apple-buds clusetr together on the apple-branches,
The resurrection of the wheat appears with pale visage      out of its graves,
The tinge awakes over the willow-tree and the mul-     berry-tree,
The he-birds carol mornings and evenings, while the      she-birds sit on their nests,
The young of poultry break through the hatch'd eggs,
The new-born of animals appear — the calf is dropt      from the cow, the colt from the mare,
Out of its little hill faithfully rise the potato's dark      green leaves,
Out of its hill rises the yellow maize-stalk;
The summer growth is innocent and disdainful above      all those strata of sour dead.
5  What chemistry!
That the winds are really not infectious,
That this is no cheat, this transparent green-wash of      the sea, which is so amorous after me,
That it is safe to allow it to lick my naked body all      over with its tongues,
That it will not endanger me with the fevers that      have deposited themselves in it,
That all is clean forever and forever,
That the cool drink from the well tastes so good,
That blackberries are so flavorous and juicy,
That the fruits of the apple-orchard, and of the      orange-orchard — that melons, grapes, peaches,      plums, will none of them poison me,
That when I recline on the grass I do not catch any      disease,
Though probably every spear of grass rises out of      what was once a catching disease.
6  Now I am terrified at the Earth! it is that calm and      patient,
It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions,

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It turns harmless and stainless on its axis, with such      endless successions of diseas'd corpses,
It distils such exquisite winds out of such infused      fetor,
It renews with such unwitting looks, its prodigal,      annual, sumptuous crops,
It gives such divine materials to men, and accepts      such leavings from them at last.

I HEAR America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics — each one singing his, as it      should be, blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank      or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work,      or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat       — the deck-hand singing on the steamboat      deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench — the      hatter singing as he stands;
The wood-cutter's song — the ploughboy's, on his way      in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or      at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother — or of the young      wife at work — or of the girl sewing or washing       — Each singing what belongs to her, and to      none else;
The day what belongs to the day — At night, the      party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious      songs.

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1  MANHATTAN'S streets I saunter'd pondering,
On time, space, reality — on such as these, and abreast      with them, prudence.
2  After all, the last explanation remains to be made      about prudence,
Little and large alike drop quietly aside from the pru-     dence that suits immortality.
3  The Soul is of itself;
All verges to it — all has reference to what ensues;
All that a person does, says, thinks, is of consequence;
Not a move can a man or woman make, that affects      him or her in a day, month, any part of the di-     rect life-time, or the hour of death, but the      same affects him or her onward afterward      through the indirect life-time.
4  The indirect is just as much as the direct,
The spirit receives from the body just as much as it      gives to the body, if not more.
5  Not one word or deed — not venereal sore, discolor-     ation, privacy of the onanist, putridity of glut-     tons or rum-drinkers, peculation, cunning,      betrayal, murder, seduction, prostitution, but      has results beyond death, as really as before      death.
6  Charity and personal force are the only investments      worth anything.

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7   No specification is necessary — all that a male or fe-     male does, that is vigorous, benevolent, clean,      is so much profit to him or her, in the unshak-     able order of the universe, and through the      whole scope of it forever.
8  Who has been wise, receives interest,
Savage, felon, President, judge, farmer, sailor, me-     chanic, literat, young, old, it is the same,
The interest will come round — all will come round.
9  Singly, wholly, to affect now, affected their time,      will forever affect, all of the past, and all of the      present, and all of the future,
All the brave actions of war and peace,
All help given to relatives, strangers, the poor, old,      sorrowful, young children, widows, the sick, and      to shunned persons,
All furtherance of fugitives, and of the escape of slaves,
All self-denial that stood steady and aloof on wrecks,      and saw others fill the seats of the boats,
All offering of substance or life for the good old cause,      or for a friend's sake, or opinion's sake,
All pains of enthusiasts, scoffed at by their neighbors,
All the limitless sweet love and precious suffering of      mothers,
All honest men baffled in strifes recorded or unre-     corded,
All the grandeur and good of ancient nations whose      fragments we inherit,
All the good of the hundreds of ancient nations un-     known to us by name, date, location,
All that was ever manfully begun, whether it suc-     ceeded or no,
All suggestions of the divine mind of man, or the      divinity of his mouth, or the shaping of his      great hands;

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All that is well thought or said this day on any part      of the globe — or on any of the wandering stars,      or on any of the fix'd stars, by those there as      we are here,
All that is henceforth to be thought or done by you,      whoever you are, or by any one,
These inure, have inured, shall inure, to the identities      from which they sprang, or shall spring.
10  Did you guess anything lived only its moment?
The world does not so exist — no parts palpable or      impalpable so exist,
No consummation exists without being from some      long previous consummation — and that from      some other,
Without the farthest conceivable one coming a bit      nearer the beginning than any.
11  Whatever satisfies Souls is true;
Prudence entirely satisfies the craving and glut of      Souls;
Itself only finally satisfies the Soul;
The Soul has that measureless pride which revolts      from every lesson but its own.
12  Now I give you an inkling;
Now I breathe the word of the prudence that walks      abreast with time, space, reality,
That answers the pride which refuses every lesson but      its own.
13  What is prudence, is indivisible,
Declines to separate one part of life from every part,
Divides not the righteous from the unrighteous, or      the living from the dead,
Matches every thought or act by its correlative,
Knows no possible forgiveness or deputed atonement,

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Knows that the young man who composedly peril'd      his life and lost it, has done exceedingly well      for himself, without doubt,
That he who never peril'd his life, but retains it to      old age in riches and ease, has probably      achiev'd nothing for himself worth mentioning;
Knows that only that person has really learn'd who      has learn'd to prefer results,
Who favors Body and Soul the same,
Who perceives the indirect assuredly following the      direct,
Who in his spirit in any emergency whatever neither      hurries or avoids death.

I was looking a long while for the history of the past      for myself, and for these chants — and now I      have found it;
It is not in those paged fables in the libraries, (them      I neither accept nor reject;)
It is no more in the legends than in all else;
It is in the present — it is this earth to-day;
It is in Democracy — in this America — the old world      also;
It is the life of one man or one woman to-day, the      average man of to-day;
It is languages, social customs, literatures, arts;
It is the broad show of artificial things, ships, ma-     chinery, politics, creeds, modern improvements,      and the interchange of nations,
All for the average man of to-day.

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1  THE indications, and tally of time;
Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs;
Time, always without flaw, indicates itself in parts;
What always indicates the poet, is the crowd of the      pleasant company of singers, and their words;
The words of the singers are the hours or minutes of      the light or dark — but the words of the maker      of poems are the general light and dark;
The maker of poems settles justice, reality, immor-     tality,
His insight and power encircle things and the human      race,
He is the glory and extract, thus far, of things, and      of the human race.
2  The singers do not beget — only the POET begets;
The singers are welcom'd, understood, appear often      enough — but rare has the day been, likewise      the spot, of the birth of the maker of poems,
Not every century, or every five centuries, has con-     tain'd such a day, for all its names.
3  The singers of successive hours of centuries may      have ostensible names, but the name of each of      them is one of the singers,
The name of each is, eye-singer, ear-singer, head-     singer, sweet-singer, echo-singer, parlor-singer,      love-singer, or something else.
4  All this time, and at all times, wait the words of      poems;
The greatness of sons is the exuding of the greatness      of mothers and fathers,

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The words of poems are the tuft and final applause of      science.
5  Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of rea-     son, health, rudeness of body, withdrawnness,      gayety, sun-tan, air-sweetness — such are some      of the words of poems.
6  The sailor and traveler underlie the maker of poems,
The builder, geometer, chemist, anatomist, phrenolo-     gist, artist — all these underlie the maker of      poems.
7  The words of the true poems give you more than      poems,
They give you to form for yourself, poems, religions,      politics, war, peace, behavior, histories, essays,      romances, and everything else,
They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the      sexes,
They do not seek beauty — they are sought,
Forever touching them, or close upon them, follows      beauty, longing, fain, love-sick.
8  They prepare for death — yet are they not the finish,      but rather the outset,
They bring none to his or her terminus, or to be con-     tent and full;
Whom they take, they take into space, to behold the      birth of stars, to behold one of the meanings,
To launch off with absolute faith — to sweep through      the ceaseless rings, and never be quiet again.

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1  On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro, singing her      savage and husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining — I think a thought      of the 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 the substances of the same, and all that is spiritual      upon the same,
All distances of place, however wide,
All distances of time — all inanimate forms,
All Souls — all living bodies, though 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, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages;
All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this      globe, or any globe;
All lives and deaths — all of the past, present, future;
This vast similitude spans them, and always has      spann'd, and shall forever span them, and com-     pactly hold them.

1 TO ORATISTS — to male or female,
Vocalism, breath, measure, concentration, determina-
tion, and the divine power to use words.

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2   Are you full-lung'd and limber-lipp'd from long      trial? from vigorous practice? from physique?
Do you move in these broad lands as broad as they?
Come duly to the divine power to use words?
3  For only at last, after many years — after chastity,      friendship, procreation, prudence, and naked-     ness;
After treading ground and breasting river and lake;
After a loosen'd throat — after absorbing eras, temper-     aments, races — after knowledge, freedom,      crimes;
After complete faith — after clarifyings, elevations, and      removing obstructions;
After these, and more, it is just possible there comes      to a man, a woman, the divine power to use      words.
4  Then toward that man or that woman, swiftly hasten      all — None refuse all attend;
Armies, ships, antiquities, the dead, libraries, paintings,      machines, cities hate, despair, amity, pain, theft,      murder, aspiration, from in close ranks;
They debouch as they are wanted to march obediently      through the month of that man, or that woman.
5  O I see arise orators fit for inland America;
And I see it is as slow to become an orator as to be-     come a man;
And I see that power is folded in a great vocalism.
6  Of a grant vocalism, the merciless light thereof shall      pour, and the storm rage,
Every flash shall be a revelation, an insult,
The glaring flame on depths, on heights, on suns, on      stars,
On the interior and exterior of man or woman,
On the laws of Nature — on passive materials,

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On what you called death — (and what to you there- fore was death,
As far as there can be death.)

1  LAWS for Creations,
For strong artists and leaders — for fresh broods of      teachers, and perfect literats for America,
For diverse savans, and coming musicians.
2  All must have reference to the ensemble of the      world, and the compact truth of the world;
There shall be no subject too pronounced — All works      shall illustrate the divine law of indirections.
3  What do you suppose creation is?
What do you suppose will satisfy the Soul, except to      walk free, and own no superior?
What do you suppose I have intimated to you in a      hundred ways, but that man or woman is as      good as God?
And that there is no God any more divine than Your-     self?
And that that is what the oldest and newest myths      finally mean?
And that you or any one must approach Creations      through such laws?

1 POETS to come!
Not to-day is to justify me, and Democracy, and what we are for;

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But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental,      greater than before known,
You must justify me.
2  I but write one or two indicative words for the      future,
I but advance a moment, only to wheel and hurry back      in the darkness.
3  I am a man who, sauntering along, without fully      stopping, turns a casual look upon you, and      then averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you.

ME imperturbe, standing at ease in Nature,
Master of all, or mistress of all — aplomb in the midst      of irrational things,
Imbued as they — passive, receptive, silent as they,
Finding my occupation, poverty, notoriety, foibles,      crimes, less important than I thought;
Me private, or public, or menial, or solitary — all these      subordinate, (I am eternally equal with the      best — I am not subordinate;)
Me toward the Mexican Sea, or in the Mannahatta,      or the Tennessee, or far north, or inland,
A river-man, or a man of the woods, or of any farm-     life of These States, or of the coast, or the      lakes, or Kanada,
Me, wherever my life is lived, O to be self-balanced      for contingencies!
O to confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, acci-     dents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.

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1   I WANDER all night in my vision,
Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly step-     ping and stopping,
Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers,
Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted,      contradictory,
Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping.
2  How solemn they look there, stretch'd and still!
How quiet they breathe, the little children in their      cradles!
3  The wretched features of ennuyés, the white fea-     tures of corpses, the livid faces of drunkards,      the sick-gray faces of onanists,
The gash'd bodies on battle-fields, the insane in their      strong-door'd rooms, the sacred idiots, the new-     born emerging from gates, and the dying emer-     ging from gates,
The night pervades them and infolds them.
4  The married couple sleep calmly in their bed — he      with his palm on the hip of the wife, and she      with her palm on the hip of the husband,
The sisters sleep lovingly side by side in their bed,
The men sleep lovingly side by side in theirs,
And the mother sleeps, with her little child carefully      wrap't.

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5   The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep,
The prisoner sleeps well in the prison — the run-away      son sleeps;
The murderer that is to be hung next day — how does      he sleep?
And the murder'd person — how does he sleep?
6  The female that loves unrequited sleeps,
And the male that loves unrequited sleeps,
The head of the money-maker that plotted all day      sleeps,
And the enraged and treacherous dispositions — all,      all sleep.

7   I stand in the dark with drooping eyes by the      worst-suffering and the most restless,
I pass my hands soothingly to and fro a few inches      from them,
The restless sink in their beds — they fitfully sleep.
8  Now I pierce the darkness — new beings appear,
The earth recedes from me into the night,
I saw that it was beautiful, and I see that what is not      the earth is beautiful.
9  I go from beside to beside — I sleep close with      the other sleepers, each in turn,
I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other      dreamers,
And I become the other dreamers.

10 I am a dance — Play up, there! the fit is whirling me fast!
11 I am the ever-laughing — it is new moon and twi- light,

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I see the hiding of douceurs — I see nimble ghosts      whichever way I look,
Cache, and cache again, deep in the ground and sea,      and where it is neither ground or sea.
12  Well do they do their jobs, those journeymen di-     vine,
Only from me can they hide nothing, and would not      if they could,
I reckon I am their boss, and they make me a pet      besides,
And surround me and lead me, and run ahead when      I walk,
To lift their cunning covers, to signify me with      stretch'd arms, and resume the way;
Onward we move! a gay gang of blackguards! with      mirth-shouting music, and wild-flapping pen-     nants of joy!
13  I am the actor, the actress, the voter, the politician;
The emigrant and the exile, the criminal that stood      in the box,
He who has been famous, and he who shall be famous      after to-day,
The stammerer, the well-form'd person, the wasted or      feeble person.
14  I am she who adorn'd herself and folded her hair      expectantly,
My truant lover has come, and it is dark.
15  Double yourself and receive me, darkness!
Receive me and my lover too — he will not let me go      without him.
16  I roll myself upon you, as upon a bed — I resign      myself to the dusk.
17  He whom I call answers me, and takes the place of      my lover,
He rises with me silently from the bed.

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18   Darkness! you are gentler than my lover — his flesh      was sweaty and panting,
I feel the hot moisture yet that he left me.
19  My hands are spread forth, I pass them in all direc-     tions,
I would sound up the shadowy shore to which you are      journeying.
20  Be careful, darkness! already, what was it touch'd      me?
I thought my lover had gone, else darkness and he are      one,
I hear the heart-beat — I follow, I fade away.
21  O hot-cheek'd and blushing! O foolish hectic!
O for pity's sake, no one must see me now! my clothes      were stolen while I was abed,
Now I am thrust forth, where shall I run?
22  Pier that I saw dimly last night, when I look'd from      the windows!
Pier out from the main, let me catch myself with you,      and stay — I will not chafe you,
I feel ashamed to go naked about the world.
23  I am curious to know where my feet stand — and      what this is flooding me, childhood or manhood       — and the hunger that crosses the bridge      between.
24  The cloth laps a first sweet eating and drinking,
Laps lifecorn, milky      and just ripen'd;
The white teeth stay, and the boss-tooth advances in      darkness,
And liquor is spill'd on lips and bosoms by touching      glasses, and the best liquor afterward.

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25   I descend my western course, my sinews are flaccid,
Perfume and youth course through me, and I am their      wake.
26  It is my face yellow and wrinkled, instead of the      old woman's,
I sit low in a straw-bottom chair, and carefully darn      my grandson's stockings.
27  It is I too, the sleepless widow, looking out on the      winter midnight,
I see the sparkles of starshine on the icy and pallid      earth.
28  A shroud I see, and I am the shroud — I wrap a body,      and lie in the coffin,
It is dark here under ground — it is not evil or pain      here — it is blank here, for reasons.
29  It seems to me that everything in the light and air      ought to be happy,
Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let      him know he has enough.

30   I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer, swimming naked      through the eddies of the sea,
His brown hair lies close and even to his head — he      strikes out with courageous arms — he urges      himself with his legs,
I see his white body — I see his undaunted eyes,
I hate the swift-running eddies that would dash him      head-foremost on the rocks.
31  What are you doing, you ruffianly red-trickled waves?
Will you kill the courageous giant? Will you kill him      in the prime of his middle age?

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32   Steady and long he struggles,
He is baffled, bang'd, bruis'd — he holds out while his      strength holds out,
The slapping eddies are spotted with his blood — they      bear him away — they roll him, swing him, turn      him,
His beautiful body is borne in the circling eddies, it is      continually bruis'd on rocks,
Swiftly and out of sight is borne the brave corpse.

33   I turn, but do not extricate myself,
Confused, a past-reading, another, but with darkness      yet.
34  The beach is cut by the razory ice-wind — the wreck-     guns sound,
The tempest lulls — the moon comes floundering      through the drifts.
35  I look where the ship helplessly heads end on — I      hear the burst as she strikes — I hear the howls      of dismay — they grow fainter and fainter.
36  I cannot aid with my wringing fingers,
I can but rush to the surf, and let it drench me and      freeze upon me.
37  I search with the crowd — not one of the company is      wash'd to us alive;
In the morning I help pick up the dead and lay them      in rows in a barn.

38 Now of the old war-days, the defeat at Brooklyn,
Washington stands inside the lines — he stands on the intrench'd hills, amid a crowd of officers,

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His face is cold and damp — he cannot repress the      weeping drops,
He lifts the glass perpetually to his eyes — the color is      blanch'd from his cheeks,
He sees the slaughter of the southern braves confided      to him by their parents.
39  The same, at last and at last, when peace is declared,
He stands in the room of the old tavern — the well-     beloved soldiers all pass through,
The officers speechless and slow draw near in their      turns,
The chief encircles their necks with his arm, and      kisses them on the cheek,
He kisses lightly the wet cheeks one after another —      he shakes hands, and bids good-by to the army.

40   Now I tell what my mother told me to-day as we      sat at dinner together,
Of when she was a nearly grown girl, living home      with her parents on the old homestead.
41  A red squaw came one breakfast-time to the old      homestead,
On her back she carried a bundle of rushes for rush-     bottoming chairs,
Her hair, straight, shiny, coarse, black, profuse, half-     envelop'd her face,
Her step was free and elastic, and her voice sounded      exquisitely as she spoke.
42  My mother look'd in delight and amazement at the      stranger,
She look'd at the freshness of her tall-borne face, and      full and pliant limbs,
The more she look'd upon her, she loved her,

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Never before had she seen such wonderful beauty and      purity,
She made her sit on a bench by the jamb of the fire-     place — she cook'd food for her,
She had no work to give her, but she gave her re-     membrance and fondness.
43  The red squaw staid all the forenoon, and toward      the middle of the afternoon she went away,
O my mother was loth to have her go away!
All the week she thought of her — she watch'd for her      many a month,
She remember'd her many a winter and many a      summer,
But the squaw never came, nor was heard of there      again.

44   Now Lucifer was not dead — or if he was, I am his      sorrowful terrible heir;
I have been wrong'd — I am oppress'd — I hate him      that oppresses me,
I will either destroy him, or he shall release me.
45  Damn him! how he does defile me!
How he informs against my brother and sister, and      takes pay for their blood!
How he laughs when I look down the bend, after the      steamboat that carries away my woman!
46  Now the vast dusk bulk that is the whale's bulk, it      seems mine;
Warily, sportsman! though I lie so sleepy and slug-     gish, the tap of my flukes is death.

47 A show of the summer softness! a contact of some- thing unseen! an amour of the light and air!

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I am jealous, and overwhelm'd with friendliness,
And will go gallivant with the light and air myself,
And have an unseen something to be in contact with      them also.
48  O love and summer! you are in the dreams, and in      me!
Autumn and winter are in the dreams — the farmer      goes with his thrift,
The droves and crops increase, and the barns are well-     fill'd.
49  Elements merge in the night — ships make tacks in      the dreams,
The sailor sails — the exile returns home,
The fugitive returns unharm'd — the immigrant is      back beyond months and years,
The poor Irishman lives in the simple house of his      childhood, with the well-known neighbors and      faces,
They warmly welcome him — he is barefoot again, he      forgets he is well off;
The Dutchman voyages home, and the Scotchman and      Welshman voyage home, and the native of the      Mediterranean voyages home,
To every port of England, France, Spain, enter well-     fill'd ships,
The Swiss foots it to toward his hills — the Prussian goes      his way, the Hungarian his way, and the Pole      his way,
The Swede returns, and the Dane and Norwegian re-     turn.

50 The homeward bound, and the outward bound,
The beautiful lost swimmer, the ennuyé, the onanist, the female that loves unrequited, the money- maker,

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The actor and actress, those through with their parts      and those waiting to commence,
The affectionate boy, the husband and wife, the voter,      the nominee that is chosen, and the nominee      that has fail'd,
The great already known, and the great any time      after to-day,
The stammerer, the sick, the perfect-form'd, the      homely,
The criminal that stood in the box, the judge that      sat and sentenced him, the fluent lawyers, the      jury, the audience,
The laugher and weeper, the dancer, the midnight      widow, the red squaw,
The consumptive, the erysipelite, the idiot, he that is      wrong'd,
The antipodes, and every one between this and them      in the dark,
I swear they are averaged now — one is no better than      the other,
The night and sleep have liken'd them and restored      them.
51  I swear they are all beautiful;
Every one that sleeps is beautiful — everything in the      dim light is beautiful,
The wi1dest and bloodiest is over, and all is peace.
52  Peace is always beautiful,
The myth of heaven ;indicates peace and night.
53  The myth of heaven indicates the Soul;
The Soul is always beautiful — it appears more or it      appears less — it comes, or it lags behind,
It comes from its embower'd garden, and looks      pleasantly on itself, and encloses the world,
Perfect and clean the genitals previously jetting, and      perfect and clean the womb cohering,

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The head well-grown, proportion'd and plumb, and      the bowels and joints proportion'd and plumb.
54  The Soul is always beautiful,
The universe is duly in order, everything is in its      place,
What has arrived is in its place, and what waits is in      its place;
The twisted skull waits, the watery or rotten blood      waits,
The child of the glutton or venerealee waits long, and      the child of the drunkard waits long, and the      drunkard himself waits long,
The sleepers that lived and died wait — the far ad-     vanced are to go on in their turns, and the far      behind are to come on in their turns,
The diverse shall be no less diverse, but they shall      flow and unite — they unite now.

55   The sleepers are very beautiful as they lie unclothed,
They flow hand in hand over the whole earth, from      east to west, as they lie unclothed,
The Asiatic and African are hand in hand — the Eu-     ropean and American are hand in hand,
Learn'd and unlearn'd are hand in hand, and male      and female are hand in hand,
The bare arm of the girl crosses the bare breast of      her lover — they press close without lust — his      lips press her neck,
The father holds his grown or ungrown son in his      arms with measureless love, and the son holds      the father in his arms with measureless love,
The white hair of the mother shines on the white      wrist of the daughter,
The breath of the boy goes with the breath of the      man, friend is inarm'd by friend,
The scholar kisses the teacher, and the teacher kisses      the scholar — the wrong'd is made right,

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The call of the slave is one with the master's call, and      the master salutes the slave,
The felon steps forth from the prison — the insane      becomes sane — the suffering of sick persons is      reliev'd,
The sweatings and fevers stop — the throat that was      unsound is sound — the lungs of the consump-     tive are resumed — the poor distres't head is      free,
The joints of the rheumatic move as smoothly as ever,      and smoother than ever,
Stiflings and passages open — the paralyzed become      supple,
The swell'd and convuls'd and congested awake to      themselves in condition,
They pass the invigoration of the night, and the      chemistry of the night, and awake.

56   I too pass from the night,
I stay a while away, O night, but I return to you      again, and love you.
57  Why should I be afraid to trust myself to you?
I am not afraid — I have been well brought forward by      you;
I love the rich running day, but I do not desert her      in whom I lay so long.
I know not how I came of you, and I know not where      I go with you — but I know I came well, and      shall go well.
58  I will stop only a time with the night, and rise be-     times;
I will duly pass the day, O my mother, and duly      return to you.

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1   ELEMENTAL drifts!
O I wish I could impress others as you and the waves      have just been impressing me.
2  As I ebb'd with an ebb of the ocean of life,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walk'd where the sea-ripples wash you, Pau-     manok,
Where they rustle up, hoarse and sibilant,
Where the fierce old mother endlessly 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 utter'd my poems,
Was seiz'd by the spirit that trails in the lines under-     foot,
In the rim, the sediment, that stands for all the water      and all the land of the globe.
3  Fascinated, my eyes, reverting from the south,      drop't, to follow those slender winrows,
Chaff, straw, splinters of wood, weeds, and the sea-     gluten,
Scum, scales from shining rocks, leaves of salt-lettuce,      left by the tide;
Miles walking, the sound of breaking waves the other      side of me,
Paumanok, there and then, as I thought the old      thought of likenesses,

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These you presented to me, you fish-shaped island,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walk'd with that eternal self of me, seeking types.

4   As I wend to the shores I know not,
As I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women      wreck't,
As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon      me,
As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer      and closer,
I, too, but signify, at the utmost, a little wash'd-up      drift,
A few sands and dead leaves to gather,
Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and      drift.
5  O baffled, balk'd, bent to the very earth,
Opprest with myself that I have dared to open my      mouth,
Aware now, that, amid all the blab whose echoes re-     coil upon me, I have not once had the least      idea who or what I am,
But that before all my insolent poems, the real ME      stands yet untouch'd, untold, altogether un-     reach'd,
Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratu-     latory signs and bows,
With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word      I have written,
Pointing in silence to all these songs, and then to      the sand beneath.
6  Now I perceive I have not understood anything —      not a single object — and that no man ever      can.

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7 I perceive Nature, here in sight of the sea, is taking advantage of me, to dart upon me, and sting me,
Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all.

8   You oceans both! I close with you;
These little shreds shall, indeed, stand for all.
9  You friable shore, with trails of debris!
You fish-shaped island! I take what is underfoot;
What is yours is mine, my father.
10  I too Paumanok,
I too have bubbled up, floated the measureless float,      and been wash'd on your shores;
I too am but a trail of drift and debris,
I too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish-shaped      island.
11  I throw myself upon your breast, my father,
I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me,
I hold you so firm, till you answer me something.
12  Kiss me, my father,
Touch me with your lips, as I touch those I love,
Breathe to me, while I hold you close, the secret of      the wondrous murmuring I envy.

13   Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will return,)
Cease not your moaning, you fierce old mother,
Endlessly cry for your castaways — but fear not, deny      not me,
Rustle not up so hoarse and angry against my feet, as      I touch you, or gather from you.

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14   I mean tenderly by you,
I gather for myself, and for this phantom, looking      down where we lead, and following me and      mine.
15  Me and mine!
We, loose winrows, little corpses,
Froth, snowy white, and bubbles,
(See! from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last!
See — the prismatic colors, glistening and rolling!)
Tufts of straw, sands, fragments,
Buoy'd hither from many moods, one contradicting      another,
From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the      swell;
Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of      liquid or soil;
Up just as much out of fathomless workings fer-     mented and thrown;
A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves      floating, drifted at random;
Just as much for us that sobbing dirge of Nature;
Just as much, whence we come, that blare of the      cloud-trumpets;
We, capricious, brought hither, we know not whence,      spread out before you,
You, up there, walking or sitting,
Whoever you are — we too lie in drifts at your feet.

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1  WHAT shall I give? and which are my miracles?
2  Realism is mine — my miracles — Take freely,
Take without end — I offer them to you wherever your      feet can carry you, or your eyes reach.
3  Why! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the      sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the      edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love — or sleep in the      bed at night with any one I love,
Or sit at the table at dinner with my mother,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a sum-     mer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds — or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down — or of stars      shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new-moon      in spring;
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that      like me best — mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savans — or to the soiree — or to the      opera,
Or stand a long while looking at the movements of      machinery
Or behold children at their sports,
Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the      perfect old woman,

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Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole 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 miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread      with the same,
Every cubic foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass — the frames, limbs, organs, of      men and women, and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
5  To me the sea is a continual miracle;
The fishes that swim — the rocks — the motion of the      waves — the ships, with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

1  You felons on trial in courts;
You convicts in prison-cells — you sentenced assassins,      chain'd and hand-cuff'd with iron;
Who am I, too, that I am not on trial, or in prison?
Me, ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are      not chain'd with iron, or my ankles with iron?
2  You prostitutes flaunting over the trottoirs, or ob-     scene in your rooms,
Who am I, that I should call you more obscene than      myself?

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3   O culpable! O traitor!
I acknowledge — I exposé!
(O admirers! praise not me! compliment not me! you      make me wince,
I see what you do not — I know what you do not;)
Inside these breast-bones I lie smutch'd and choked;
Beneath this face that appears so impassive, hell's      tides continually run;
Lusts and wickedness are acceptable to me;
I walk with delinquents with passionate love;
I feel I am of them — I belong to those convicts and      prostitutes myself,
And henceforth I will not deny them — for how can I      deny myself?

THEY shall arise in the States;
They shall report Nature, laws, physiology, and happi-     ness;
They shall illustrate Democracy and the kosmos;
They shall be alimentive, amative, perceptive;
They shall be complete women and men — their pose      brawny and supple, their drink water, their      blood clean and clear;
They shall enjoy materialism and the sight of products       — they shall enjoy the sight of the beef, lumber,      bread-stuffs, of Chicago, the great city;
They shall train themselves to go in public to become      orators and oratresses;
Strong and sweet shall their tongues be — poems and      materials of poems shall come from their lives       — they shall be makers and finders;
Of them, and of their works, shall emerge divine      conveyers, to convey gospels;

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Characters, events, retrospections, shall be convey'd in gospels — Trees, animals, waters, shall be convey'd,
Death, the future, the invisible faith, shall all be con- vey'd.

Now lift me close to your face till I whisper,
What you are holding is in reality no book, nor part of a book;
It is a man, flush'd and full-blooded — it is I — So long!
— We must separate awhile — Here! take from my lips this kiss;
Whoever you are, I give it especially to you;
So long! — And I hope we shall meet again.

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CHILDREN OF ADAM.

FROM PENT-UP ACHING RIVERS.

I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC.

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