Walt Whitman

Arm'd year! year of the struggle! No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you, terrible year! Not you as some pale poetling, seated at a desk, lisping cadenzas piano;

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. Clear the way there, Jonathan!

Over the western sea, hither from Niphon come, Courteous, the swart-cheek'd two-sworded envoys, Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive,

A song of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets; A song of farms'a song of the soil of fields.

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. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Slient and amazed, even when a little boy, I remember I heard the preacher every Sunday put God in his statements,

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou

Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn, A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding; And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.

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;

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;

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

A march in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown; A route through a heavy wood, with muffled steps in the darkness; Our army foil'd with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating;

A noiseless, patient spider, I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated; Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,

Two boats with nets lying off the sea-beach, quite still, Ten fishermen waiting--they discover a thick school of mossbonkers-- they drop the join'd seine-ends in the water,

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,

That which eludes this verse and any verse, Unheard by sharpest ear, unform'd in clearest eye or cunningest mind, Nor lore nor fame, nor happiness nor wealth,

A sight in camp in the day-break grey and dim, As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless, As slow I walk in the cool fresh air, the path near by the hospital

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,

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.

Aboard, at a ship's helm, A young steersman, steering with care. A bell through fog on a sea-coast dolefully ringing,

To-day, from each and all, a breath of prayer, a pulse of thought, To memory of Him, to birth of Him.

Adieu, O soldier! You of the rude campaigning, (which we shared,) The rapid march, the life of the camp,

After the Sea-Ship--after the whistling winds; After the white-gray sails, taut to their spars and ropes, Below, a myriad, myriad waves, hastening, lifting up their necks,

Ages and ages, returning at intervals, Undestroy'd, wandering immortal, Lusty, phallic, with the potent original loins, perfectly sweet,

Ah poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats! Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me! (For what is my life, or any man's life, but a conflict with foes--the old, the incessant war?)

O me, man of slack faith so long! Standing aloof--denying portions so long; Only aware to-day of compact, all-diffused truth;

America always! Always our own feuillage! Always Florida's green peninsula! Always the priceless delta of Louisiana! Always the cotton-fields of Alabama and Texas!

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;

With its cloud of skirmishers in advance, With now the sound of a single shot, snapping like a whip, and now an irregular volley, The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on;

An old man's thought of School; An old man, gathering youthful memories and blooms, that youth itself cannot. Now only do I know you!

O mater! O fils! O brood continental! O flowers of the prairies!

Are you the new person drawn toward me? To begin with, take warning--I am surely far different from what you suppose; Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?

AS a strong bird on pinions free, Joyous, the amplest spaces heavenward cleaving, Such be the thought I'd think to-day of thee, America,

As Adam, early in the morning, Walking forth from the bower, refresh'd with sleep; Behold me where I pass--hear my voice--approach,

AS at thy portals also death, Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds, To memories of my mother, to the divine blending, maternity,

As consequent from store of summer rains, Or wayward rivulets in autumn flowing, Or many a herb-lined brook's reticulations,

As I ebb'd with the ocean of life, As I wended the shores I know, As I walk'd where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok,

AS I lay with my head in your lap, Camerado, The confession I made I resume--what I said to you in the open air I resume: I know I am restless, and make others so;

As I ponder'd in silence, Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long, A Phantom arose before me, with distrustful aspect,

As I sat alone, by blue Ontario's shore, As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace return'd, and the dead that return no more, A Phantom, gigantic, superb, with stern visage, accosted me;

AS I walk these broad, majestic days of peace, (For the war, the struggle of blood finish'd, wherein, O terrific Ideal! Against vast odds, having gloriously won,

As I watch'd the ploughman ploughing, Or the sower sowing in the fields--or the harvester harvesting, I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies:

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 the time draws nigh, glooming, a cloud, A dread beyond, of I know not what, darkens me. I shall go forth,

As toilsome I wander'd Virginia's woods, To the music of rustling leaves, kick'd by my feet, (for 'twas autumn,) I mark'd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier,

Again a verse for sake of you, You soldiers in the ranks--you Volunteers, Who bravely fighting, silent fell,

I need no assurances--I am a man who is preoccupied, of his own Soul; I do not doubt that from under the feet, and beside the hands and face I am cognizant of, are now looking faces I am not cognizant of--calm and actual faces; I do not doubt but the majesty and beauty of the world are latent in any iota of the world;

Bathed in war's perfume--delicate flag! (Should the days needing armies, needing fleets, come again,) O to hear you call the sailors and the soldiers! flag like a beautiful woman!

Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow! Through the windows--through doors--burst like a ruthless force, Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;

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

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;

Beginning my studies, the first step pleas'd me so much, The mere fact, consciousness--these forms--the power of motion, The least insect or animal--the senses--eyesight--love;

Behavior--fresh, native, copious, each one for himself or herself, Nature and the Soul expressed--America and freedom expressed--In it the finest art, In it pride, cleanliness, sympathy, to have their chance,

Behold this swarthy face--these gray eyes, This beard--the white wool, unclipt upon my neck, My brown hands, and the silent manner of me, without charm;

I see before me now, a traveling army halting; Below, a fertile valley spread, with barns, and the orchards of summer; Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt in places, rising high;

Brother of all, with generous hand, Of thee, pondering on thee, as o'er thy tomb, I and my Soul, A thought to launch in memory of thee,

By broad Potomac's shore--again, old tongue! (Still uttering--still ejaculating--canst never cease this babble?) Again, old heart so gay--again to you, your sense, the full flush spring returning;

By the bivouac's fitful flame, A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow;--but first I note, The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim outline,

Not alone those camps of white, O soldiers, When, as order'd forward, after a long march, Footsore and weary, soon as the light lessen'd, we halted for the night;

Come closer to me; Push close, my lovers, and take the best I possess; Yield closer and closer, and give me the best you possess.

Earth, round, rolling, compact--suns, moons, animals--all these are words to be said; Watery, vegetable, sauroid advances--beings, premonitions, lispings of the future, Behold! these are vast words to be said.

A line in long array, where they wind betwixt green islands; They take a serpentine course--their arms flash in the sun--Hark to the musical clank; Behold the silvery river--in it the splashing horses, loitering, stop to drink;

Chanting the square deific, out of the One advancing, out of the sides; Out of the old and new--out of the square entirely divine, Solid, four-sided, (all the sides needed)... from this side Jehovah am I,

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;

City of ships! (O the black ships! O the fierce ships! O the beautiful, sharp-bow'd steam-ships and sail-ships!)

Come up from the fields, father, here's a letter from our Pete; And come to the front door, mother--here's a letter from thy dear son. Lo, 'tis autumn;

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. Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious you are to me!

Darest thou now, O Soul, Walk out with me toward the Unknown Region, Where neither ground is for the feet, nor any path to follow?

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 established that will produce it and continue it.

Delicate cluster! flag of teeming life! Covering all my lands! all my sea-shores lining! Flag of death! (how I watch'd you through the smoke of battle pressing!

Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night, The sad voice of Death--the call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarmed, uncertain, This sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me,

The last sunbeam Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath, On the pavement here--and there beyond, it is looking,

Aroused and angry, I thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war; But soon my fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd, and I resign'd myself,

Earth! my likeness! Though you look so impassive, ample and spheric there, I now suspect that is not all;

I met a seer, Passing the hues and objects of the world, The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,

Elemental drifts! How I wish I could impress others as you have just been impressing me! As I ebb'd with an ebb of the ocean of life,

Who are you, dusky woman, so ancient, hardly human, With your woolly-white and turban'd head, and bare bony feet? Why, rising by the roadside here, do you the colors greet?

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 hand tight to the throats of kings.

Who has gone farthest? For lo! have not I gone 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;

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,

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,

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,

For him I sing, I raise the Present on the Past, (As some perennial tree, out of its roots, the present on the past:)

A great year and place; A harsh, discordant, natal scream out-sounding, to touch the mother's heart closer than any yet. I walk'd the shores of my Eastern Sea,

From far Dakota's ca'ons, Lands of the wild ravine, the dusky Sioux, the lonesome stretch, the silence, Haply to-day a mournful wail, haply a trumpet-note for heroes.

From my last years, last thoughts I here bequeath, Scatter'd and dropt, in seeds, and wafted to the West, Through moisture of Ohio, prairie soil of Illinois--through Colorado, California air,

From Paumanock starting, I fly like a bird, Around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all; To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs,

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;

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,

Forms, qualities, lives, humanity, language, thoughts, The ones known, and the ones unknown - the ones on the stars, The stars themselves, some shaped, others unshaped,

Give me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full-dazzling; Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard; Give me a field where the unmow'd grass grows;

Gliding o'er all, through all, Through Nature, Time, and Space, As a ship on the waters advancing,

Thought of the Infinite - the All! Be thou my God. Lover Divine, and Perfect Comrade!

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.

Had I the choice to tally greatest bards, To limn their portraits, stately, beautiful, and emulate at will, Homer with all his wars and warriors, Hector, Achilles, Ajax,

Hast never come to thee an hour, A sudden gleam divine, precipitating, bursting all these bubbles, fashions, wealth? These eager business aims--books, politics, art, amours,

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

What ship, puzzled at sea, cons for the true reckoning? Or, coming in, to avoid the bars, and follow the channel, a perfect pilot needs? Here, sailor! Here, ship! take aboard the most perfect pilot,

Hours continuing long, sore and heavy-hearted, Hours of the dusk, when I withdraw to a lonesome and unfrequented spot, seating myself, leaning my face in my hands; Hours sleepless, deep in the night, when I go forth, speeding swiftly the country roads, or through the city streets, or pacing miles and miles, stifling plaintive cries;

How solemn, as one by one, As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty--as the men file by where I stand; As the faces, the masks appear--as I glance at the faces, studying the masks;

Hush'd be the camps to-day; And, soldiers, let us drape our war-worn weapons; And each with musing soul retire, to celebrate,

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.

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;

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,

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?)

I heard you, solemn-sweet pipes of the organ, as last Sunday morn I pass'd the church; Winds of autumn! - as I walk'd the woods at dusk, I heard your long-stretch'd sighs, up above, so mournful; I heard the perfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera - I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing;

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,

I saw old General at bay; (Old as he was, his grey eyes yet shone out in battle like stars;) His small force was now completely hemm'd in, in his works;

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,

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 anguish with themselves, remorseful after deeds done; I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying, neglected, gaunt, desperate;

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, As I lean and look through the glimmering light - that one has utterly disappeared,

I was looking a long while for a clue to 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;

I will take an egg out of the robin's nest in the orchard, I will take a branch of gooseberries from the old bush in the garden, and go and preach to the world; You shall see I will not meet a single heretic or scorner,

In cabin'd ships, at sea, The boundless blue on every side expanding, With whistling winds and music of the waves - the large imperious waves - In such,

In former songs Pride have I sung, and Love, and passionate, joyful Life, But here I twine the strands of Patriotism and Death. And now, Life, Pride, Love, Patriotism and Death,

In midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish, Of the look at first of the mortally wounded - of that indescribable look; Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide,

In paths untrodden, In the growth by margins of pond-waters, Escaped from the life that exhibits itself,

In the new garden, in all the parts, In cities now, modern, I wander, Though the second or third result, or still further, primitive yet,

Small is the theme of the following Chant, yet the greatest - namely, One's-Self - that wondrous thing a simple, separate person. That, for the use of the New World, I sing.

Through the soft evening air enwrinding all, Rocks, woods, fort, cannon, pacing sentries, endless wilds, In dulcet streams, in flutes' and cornets' notes,

Joy! shipmate - joy! (Pleas'd to my Soul at death I cry;) Our life is closed - our life begins;

Who includes diversity, and is Nature, Who is the amplitude of the earth, and the coarseness and sexuality of the earth, and the great charity 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;

Laws for Creations, For strong artists and leaders - for fresh broods of teachers, and perfect literats for America, For noble savans, and coming musicians.

A song of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets; A song of farms - a song of the soil of fields.

There are who teach only the sweet lessons of peace and safety; But I teach lessons of war and death to those I love, That they readily meet invasions, when they come.

Lo! Victress on the peaks! Where thou, with mighty brow, regarding the world, (The world, O Libertad, that vainly conspired against thee;)

Locations and times - what is it in me that meets them all, whenever and wherever, and makes me at home? Forms, colors, densities, odors - what is it in me that corresponds with them?

Long I thought that knowledge alone would suffice me - O if I could but obtain knowledge! Then my lands engrossed me - Lands of the prairies, Ohio's land, the southern savannas, engrossed me - For them I would live - I would be their orator; Then I met the examples of old and new heroes - I heard of warriors, sailors, and all dauntless persons - And it seemed to me that I too had it in me to be as dauntless as any - and would be so;

Long, too long, O land, Traveling roads all even and peaceful, you learn'd from joys and prosperity only; But now, ah now, to learn from crises of anguish--advancing, grappling with direst fate, and recoiling not;

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;

Look down, fair moon, and bathe this scene; Pour softly down night's nimbus floods, on faces ghastly, swollen, purple; On the dead, on their backs, with their arms toss'd wide,

Manhattan's streets I saunter'd, pondering, On time, space, reality - on such as these, and abreast with them, prudence. After all, the last explanation remains to be made about prudence;

I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name! Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient;

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,

They shall arise in the States, They shall report Nature, laws, physiology, and happiness; They shall illustrate Democracy and the kosmos;

Why! who makes much of a miracle? As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,

I see the sleeping babe, nestling the breast of its mother; The sleeping mother and babe-hush'd, I study them long and long.

In a little house keep I pictures suspended, it is not a fix'd house, It is round, it is only a few inches from one side to the other; Yet behold, it has room for all the shows of the world, all memories?

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 beget superb children, To speak readily and clearly - to feel at home among common people,

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!

Night on the prairies; The supper is over - the fire on the ground burns low; The wearied emigrants sleep, wrapt in their blankets:

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,

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,

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 my enemies ever invade me - no harm to my pride from them I fear; But the lovers I recklessly love - lo! how they master me! Lo! me, ever open and helpless, bereft of my strength!

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, perseveres till he reaches his destination,

Not youth pertains to me, Nor delicatesse - I cannot beguile the time with talk; Awkward in the parlor, neither a dancer nor elegant;

Now finale to the shore! Now, land and life, finale, and farewell! Now Voyager depart! (much, much for thee is yet in store;)

Now list to my morning's romanza - I tell the signs of the Answerer; To the cities and farms I sing, as they spread in the sunshine before me. A young man comes to me bearing a message from his brother;

O bitter sprig! Confession sprig! In the bouquet I give you place also - I bind you in, Proceeding no further till, humbled publicly,

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

O Hymen! O hymenee! Why do you tantalize me thus? O why sting me for a swift moment only?

O living always - always dying! O the burials of me, past and present! O me, while I stride ahead, material, visible, imperious as ever!

O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; Of the endless trains of the faithless - of cities fill'd with the foolish; Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

O star of France! The brightness of thy hope and strength and fame, Like some proud ship that led the fleet so long,

O sun of real peace! 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, O my Ideal, will surely ascend!

O tan-faced prairie-boy! Before you came to camp, came many a welcome gift; Praises and presents came, and nourishing food - till at last, among the recruits,

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.

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;

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,

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 persons - and are not in any respect worse than I am myself;

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

Far hence, amid an isle of wondrous beauty, Crouching over a grave, an ancient, sorrowful mother, Once a queen - now lean and tatter'd, seated on the ground,

An old man's thought of School; An old man, gathering youthful memories and blooms, that youth itself cannot. Now only do I know you!

On the beach, at night, Stands a child, with her father, Watching the east, the autumn sky.

On the beach at night alone, As the old mother sways her to and fro, singing her husky song, As I watch the bright stars shining--I think a thought of the clef of

Once I pass'd through a populous city, imprinting my brain, for future use, with its shows, architecture, 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;

One hour to madness and joy! O furious! O confine me not! (What is this that frees me so in storms?

One song, America, before I go, I'd sing, o'er all the rest, with trumpet sound, For thee - the Future.

One sweeps by, attended by an immense train, All emblematic of peace - not a soldier or menial among them. One sweeps by, old, with black eyes, and profuse white hair,

One's-self I sing - a simple, separate Person; Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse. Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;

Or, from that Sea of Time, Spray, blown by the wind - a double winrow-drift of weeds and shells; (O little shells, so curious-convolute! so limpid-cold and voiceless!

Others may praise what they like; But I, from the banks of the running Missouri, praise nothing, in art, or aught else, Till it has well inhaled the atmosphere of this river - also the western prairie-scent,

Out from behind this bending, rough-cut Mask, (All straighter, liker Masks rejected - this preferr'd,) This common curtain of the face, contain'd in me for me, in you for you, in each for each,

Out of the rolling ocean, the crowd, came a drop gently to me, Whispering, I love you, before long I die, I have travel'd a long way, merely to look on you, to touch you,

Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle, Out of the Ninth-month midnight,

Over the carnage rose prophetic a voice, Be not dishearten'd - Affection shall solve the problems of Freedom yet; Those who love each other shall become invincible - they shall yet make Columbia victorious.

Singing my days, Singing the great achievements of the present, Singing the strong, light works of engineers,

Wild, wild the storm, and the sea high running, Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering, Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing,

Pensive and faltering, The words, the dead, I write; For living are the Dead;

Pensive, on her dead gazing, I heard the Mother of All, Desperate, on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battle-fields gazing; (As the last gun ceased but the scent of the powder-smoke linger'd;)

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

Come, my tan-faced children, Follow well in order, get your weapons ready; Have you your pistols? have you your sharp edged axes?

You just maturing youth! You male or female! Remember the organic compact of These States, Remember the pledge of the Old Thirteen thenceforward to the rights, life, liberty, equality of man,

O to make the most jubilant poem! Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols of Death. O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!

Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come! Not to-day is to justify me, and answer what I am for; But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known,

What are those of the known, but to ascend and enter the Unknown? And what are those of life, but for Death?

A batter'd, wreck'd old man, Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home, Pent by the sea, and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months,

When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom'd When lilacs last in the door-yard bloom'd, And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,

Primeval my love for the woman I love, O bride! O wife! more resistless, more enduring than I can tell, the thought of you! Then separate, as disembodied, the purest born,

Proud music of the storm! Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies! Strong hum of forest tree-tops! Wind of the mountains!

Quicksand years that whirl me I know not whither, Your schemes, politics, fail, lines give way, substances mock and elude me, Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess'd soul, eludes not,

Race of veterans! Race of victors! Race of the soil, ready for conflict! race of the conquering march! (No more credulity's race, abiding-temper'd race;)

Word over all, beautiful as the sky! Beautiful that war, and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost; That the hands of the sisters Death and Night, incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world:

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,

Respondez! Respondez! (The war is completed the price is paid the title is settled beyond recall;) Let every one answer! let those who sleep be waked! let none evade!

Rise, O days, from your fathomless deeps, till you loftier, fiercer sweep! Long for my soul, hungering gymnastic, I devour'd what the earth gave me; Long I roam'd the woods of the north long I watch'd Niagara pouring;

Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is Good steadily hastening towards immortality, And the vast all that is call'd Evil I saw hastening to merge itself and become lost and dead.

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,

O take my hand, Walt Whitman! Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds! Such join'd unended links, each hook'd to the next!

Thither, as I look, I see each result and glory retracing itself and nestling close, always obligated; Thither hours, months, years thither trades, compacts, establishments, even the most minute; Thither every-day life, speech, utensils, politics, persons, estates;

I say whatever tastes sweet to the most perfect person, that is finally right. I say nourish a great intellect, a great brain; If I have said anything to the contrary, I hereby retract it.

Scented herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves, body-leaves, growing up above me, above death,

Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle, Out of the Ninth-month midnight,

Shut not your doors to me, proud libraries, For that which was lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet needed most, I bring; Forth from the army, the war emerging a book I have made,

POET. O A new song, a free song, Flapping, flapping, flapping, flapping, by sounds, by voices clearer,

So far, and so far, and on toward the end, Singing what is sung in this book, from the irresistible impulses of me; But whether I continue beyond this book, to maturity,

To conclude I announce what comes after me; I announce mightier offspring, orators, days, and then, for the present, depart. I remember I said, before my leaves sprang at all,

Solid, ironical, rolling orb! Master of all, and matter of fact! at last I accept your terms; Bringing to practical, vulgar tests, of all my ideal dreams,

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;

Splendor of ended day, floating and filling me! Hour prophetic hour resuming the past! Inflating my throat you, divine average!

To-day a rude brief recitative, Of ships sailing the Seas, each with its special flag or ship-signal; Of unnamed heroes in the ships Of waves spreading and spreading, far as the eye can reach;

Weapon, shapely, naked, wan! Head from the mother's bowels drawn! Wooded flesh and metal bone! limb only one, and lip only one!

After all, not to create only, or found only, But to bring, perhaps from afar, what is already founded, To give it our own identity, average, limitless, free;

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.

A California song! A prophecy and indirection a thought impalpable, to breathe, as air; A chorus of dryads, fading, departing or hamadryads departing;

Come, said the Muse, Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted, Sing me the Universal.

The business man, the acquirer vast, After assiduous years, surveying results, preparing for departure, Devises houses and lands to his children bequeaths stocks, goods funds for a school or hospital,

Out of the murk of heaviest clouds, Out of the feudal wrecks, and heap'd-up skeletons of kings, Out of that old entire European debris the shatter'd mummeries,

Where the city's ceaseless crowd moves on, the live-long day, Withdrawn, I join a group of children watching I pause aside with them. By the curb, toward the edge of the flagging,

Spirit that form'd this scene, These tumbled rock-piles grim and red, These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks,

Spirit whose work is done! spirit of dreadful hours! Ere, departing, fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets; Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet onward ever unfaltering pressing;)

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,

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 pavements;

States! Were you looking to be held together by the lawyers? By an agreement on a paper? Or by arms?

Still, though the one I sing, (One, yet of contradictions made,) I dedicate to Nationality, I leave in him Revolt, (O latent right of insurrection! O quenchless, indispensable fire!)

Tears! tears! tears! In the night, in solitude, tears; On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the sand;

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 authorities, and of all traditions; They corroborate as they go, only whatever corroborates themselves, and touches themselves;

AT the last, tenderly, From the walls of the powerful, fortress'd house, From the clasp of the knitted locks from the keep of the well-closed doors,

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,

That shadow, my likeness, that goes to and fro, seeking 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;

While my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long, And my head on the pillow rests at home, and the vacant midnight passes, And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear, the breath of my infant,

And now, gentlemen, A word I give to remain in your memories and minds, As base, and finale too, for all metaphysics.

Give me your hand, old Revolutionary; The hill-top is nigh but a few steps, (make room, gentlemen;) Up the path you have follow'd me well, spite of your hundred and extra years;

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;

Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles, The rushing amorous contact high in space together,

An old man bending, I come, among new faces, Years looking backward, resuming, in answer to children, Come tell us, old man, as from young men and maidens that love me;

The indications, and tally of time; Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs; Time, always without flaw, indicates itself in parts;

Hark! some wild trumpeter some strange musician, Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night. I hear thee, trumpeter listening, alert, I catch thy notes,

In a faraway northern county, in the placid, pastoral region, Lives my farmer friend, the theme of my recitative, a famous Tamer of Oxen: There they bring him the three-year-olds and the four-year-olds, to break them;

A newer garden of creation, no primal solitude, Dense, joyous, modern, populous millions, cities and farms, With iron interlaced, composite, tied, many in one,

The prairie-grass dividing its special odor breathing, I demand of it the spiritual corresponding, Demand the most copious and close companionship of men,

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,

Lo! The unbounded sea! On its breast a Ship starting, spreading all her sails an ample Ship, carrying even her moonsails; The pennant is flying aloft, as she speeds, she speeds so stately below, emulous waves press forward,

O sight of shame, and pain, and dole! O fearful thought a convict Soul! Rang the refrain along the hall, the prison,

I wander all night in my vision, Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and stopping, Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers,

The sobbing of the bells, the sudden death-news everywhere, The slumberers rouse, the rapport of the People, (Full well they know that message in the darkness,

On my northwest coast in the midst of the night, a fishermen's group stands watching; Out on the lake, that expands before them, others are spearing salmon; The canoe, a dim shadowy thing, moves across the black water,

The untold want, by life and land ne'er granted, Now, Voyager, sail thou forth, to seek and find.

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,

There was a child went forth every day; And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became; 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.

These Carols, sung to cheer my passage through the world I see, For completion, I dedicate to the Invisible World.

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?)

Thick-sprinkled bunting! Flag of stars! Long yet your road, fateful flag! long yet your road, and lined with bloody death! For the prize I see at issue, at last is the world!

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.

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;

This day, O Soul, I give you a wondrous mirror; Long in the dark, in tarnish and cloud it lay But the cloud has pass'd, and the tarnish gone; Behold, O Soul! it is now a clean and bright mirror,

This dust was once the Man, Gentle, plain, just and resolute under whose cautious hand, Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age,

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 Germany, Italy,

Thou orb aloft full-dazzling! thou hot October noon! Flooding with sheeny light the gray beach sand, The sibilant near sea with vistas far and foam,

Thou reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as I, Therefore for thee the following chants.

As they draw to a close, Of what underlies the precedent songs of my aims in them; Of the seed I have sought to plant in them;

As I sit with others, at a great feast, suddenly, while the music is playing, To my mind, (whence it comes I know not,) spectral, in mist, of a wreck at sea; Of certain ships, how they sail from port with flying streamers, and wafted kisses, and that is the last of them!

I Of ownership, As if one fit to own things could not at pleasure enter upon all, and incorporate them into himself or herself. II

Of Public Opinion; Of a calm and cool fiat, sooner or later, (How impassive! How certain and final!) Of the President with pale face, asking secretly to himself, What will the people say at last?

Here, take this gift! I was reserving it for some hero, speaker, or General, One who should serve the good old cause, the great Idea, the progress and freedom of the race;

Did YOU ask dulcet rhymes from me? Did you seek the civilian's peaceful and languishing rhymes? Did you find what I sang erewhile so hard to follow?

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.

Courage yet! my brother or my sister! Keep on! Liberty is to be subserv'd, whatever occurs; That is nothing, that is quell'd by one or two failures, or any number of failures,

You who celebrate bygones! Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races, the life that has exhibited itself; Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates, rulers and priests;

Thee for my recitative! Thee in the driving storm, even as now the snow the winter-day declining; Thee in thy panoply, thy measured dual throbbing, and thy beat convulsive;

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 amplitude, rectitude, impartiality; You have not seen that only such as they are for These States,

Is reform needed? Is it through you? The greater the reform needed, the greater the personality you need to accomplish it. You! do you not see how it would serve to have eyes, blood, complexion, clean and sweet?

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,

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;

I heard that you ask'd for something to prove this puzzle, the New World, And to define America, her athletic Democracy; Therefore I send you my poems, that you behold in them what you wanted.

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

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.

To Oratists, to male or female, Vocalism, measure, concentration, determination, and the divine power to use words. Are you full-lung'd and limber-lipp'd from long trial? from vigorous practice? from physique?

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,

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;

To the garden, the world, anew ascending, Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding, The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being,

To the leaven'd soil they trod, calling, I sing, for the last; (Not cities, nor man alone, nor war, nor the dead, But forth from my tent emerging for good, loosing, untying the tent-ropes;)

Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm, Waking renew'd on thy prodigious pinions, (Burst the wild storm? above it thou ascended'st,

Now, dearest comrade, lift me to your face, We must separate awhile, Here! take from my lips this kiss. Whoever you are, I give it especially to you;

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?

To thee, old Cause! Thou peerless, passionate, good cause! Thou stern, remorseless, sweet Idea!

To think of time, of all that retrospection! To think of to-day, and the ages continued henceforward! Have you guess'd you yourself would not continue?

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?

Let us twain walk aside from the rest; Now we are together privately, do you discard ceremony, Come! vouchsafe to me what has yet been vouchsafed to none, Tell me the whole story,

Trickle, drops! my blue veins O drops of me! trickle, slow drops, Candid, from me falling, drip, bleeding drops,

Turn, O Libertad, for the war is over, (From it and all henceforth expanding, doubting no more, resolute, sweeping the world,) Turn from lands retrospective, recording proofs of the past;

Two Rivulets side by side, Two blended, parallel, strolling tides, Companions, travelers, gossiping as they journey.

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;

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;

I see before me now, a traveling army halting; Below, a fertile valley spread, with barns, and the orchards of summer; Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt in places, rising high;

Vigil strange I kept on the field one night: When you, my son and my comrade, dropt at my side that day, One look I but gave, which your dear eyes return'd, with a look I shall never forget;

The noble Sire, fallen on evil days, I saw, with hand uplifted, menacing, brandishing, (Memories of old in abeyance, love and faith in abeyance,)

A mask, a perpetual natural disguiser of herself, Concealing her face, concealing her form, Changes and transformations every hour, every moment,

Now I make a leaf of Voices, for I have found nothing mightier than they are, And I have found that no word spoken, but is beautiful, in its place. O what is it in me that makes me tremble so at voices?

I I CELEBRATE myself; And what I assume you shall assume;

To The States, or any one of them, or any city of The States, Resist much, obey little; Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved;

Wandering at morn, Emerging from the night, from gloomy thoughts, thee in my thoughts, Yearning for thee, harmonious Union! thee, Singing Bird divine!

Warble me now, for joy of Lilac-time, Sort me, O tongue and lips, for Nature's sake, and sweet life's sake, and death's the same as life's, Souvenirs of earliest summer, birds' eggs, and the first berries;

We two boys together clinging, One the other never leaving, Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making,

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;

Weave in! weave in, my hardy life! Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come; Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight weave in!

What am I, after all, but a child, pleas'd with the sound of my own name? repeating it over and over; I stand apart to hear, it never tires me. To you, your name also;

What best I see in thee, Is not that where thou mov'st down history's great highways, Ever undimm'd by time shoots warlike victory's dazzle,

What General has a good army in himself, has a good army; He happy in himself, or she happy in herself, is happy, But I tell you you cannot be happy by others, any more than you can beget or conceive a child by others.

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,

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 envelopes me?

What weeping face is that looking from the window? Why does it stream those sorrowful tears? Is it for some burial place, vast and dry?

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 follow'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,

When I heard the learn'd astronomer; When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me; When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;

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 hear of the brotherhood of lovers, how it was with them,

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?

When lilacs last in the door-yard bloom'd, And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, I mourn'd'and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Whispers of heavenly death, murmur'd I hear; Labial gossip of night, sibilant chorals; Footsteps gently ascending, mystical breezes, wafted soft and low;

May-be one is now reading this who knows some wrong-doing of my past life, Or may-be a stranger is reading this who has secretly loved me, Or may-be one who meets all my grand assumptions and egotisms with derision,

Who learns my lesson complete? Boss, journeyman, apprentice, churchman and atheist, The stupid and the wise thinker, parents and offspring, merchant, clerk, porter and customer,

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,

With all thy gifts, America, (Standing secure, rapidly tending, overlooking the world,) Power, wealth, extent, vouchsafed to thee, With these, and like of these, vouchsafed to thee,

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:

World, take good notice, silver stars fading, Milky hue ript, weft of white detaching, Coals thirty-eight, baleful and burning,

Year of meteors! brooding year! I would bind in words retrospective, some of your deeds and signs; I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidentiad;

Year that trembled and reel'd beneath me! Your summer wind was warm enough, yet the air I breathed froze me; A thick gloom fell through the sunshine and darken'd me;

Years of the modern! years of the unperform'd! Your horizon rises, I see it parting away for more august dramas; I see not America only, I see not only Liberty's nation, but other nations preparing;

Yet, yet, ye downcast hours, I know ye also; Weights of lead, how ye clog and cling at my ankles! Earth to a chamber of mourning turns, I hear the o'erweening, mocking voice,

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?