# Leaves of Grass (1860)/Leaves of Grass

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Leaves of Grass.
1.
1. Elemental drifts!
O I wish I could impress others as you and the waves have just been impressing me.
2. As I ebbed with an ebb of the ocean of life,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walked where the sea-ripples wash you, Paumanok,
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 southward,
Alone, held by the eternal self of me that threatens to get the better of me, and stifle me,
Was seized by the spirit that trails in the lines underfoot,
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, dropped, 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,
These you presented to me, you fish-shaped island,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walked with that eternal self of me, seeking types.
4. As I wend the shores I know not,
As I listen to the dirge, the voices of men and women wrecked,
As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me,
As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer, At once I find, the least thing that belongs to me, or that I see or touch, I know not;
I, too, but signify, at the utmost, a little washed-up drift, A few sands and dead leaves to gather,
Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift.
5. O baffled, balked,
Bent to the very earth, here preceding what follows,
Oppressed with myself that I have dared to open my mouth,
Aware now, that, amid all the blab whose echoes recoil 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But that before all my insolent poems the real Me still stands untouched, untold, altogether unreached, Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory signs and bows,
With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written or shall write,
Striking me with insults till I fall helpless upon the sand.
6. O I perceive I have not understood anything—not a single object—and that no man ever can.
7. I perceive Nature here, in sight of the sea, is taking advantage of me, to dart upon me, and sting me,
Because I was assuming so much,
And because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all.
8. You oceans both! You tangible land! Nature!
Be not too rough with me—I submit—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 washed 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,
For I fear I shall become crazed, if I cannot emulate it, and utter myself as well as it.
13. Sea-raff! Crook-tongued waves!
O, I will yet sing, some day, what you have said to me.
14. 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.
15. I mean tenderly by you,
I gather for myself, and for this phantom, looking down where we lead, and following me and mine.
16. 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,
Buoyed 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 fermented 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, up there, walking or sitting,
Whoever you are—we too lie in drifts at your feet.
2.
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 fol- lower,
Helmsmen of nations, choose your craft! where you
sail, I sail,
Yours is the muscle of life or death—yours is the
perfect science—in you I have absolute faith.
3. Great is To-day, and beautiful,
It is good to live in this age—there never was any
better.
4. Great are the plunges, throes, triumphs, downfalls of Democracy,
Great the reformers, with their lapses and screams,
Great the daring and venture of sailors, on new ex- plorations.
5. Great are Yourself and Myself,
We are just as good and bad as the oldest and young- est or any,
What the best and worst did, we could do,
What they felt, do not we feel it in ourselves?
What they wished, do we not wish the same?
6. Great is Youth—equally great is Old Age—great
are the Day and Night,
Great is Wealth—great is Poverty—great is Ex- pression—great is Silence.
7. 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?
8. 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.
9. Wealth with the flush hand, fine clothes, hospitality,
But then the Soul's wealth, which is candor, knowledge, pride, enfolding love;
(Who goes for men and women showing Poverty richer than wealth?)
10. 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,
That the true adoration is likewise without words, and without kneeling.
11. Great is the greatest Nation—the nation of clusters of equal nations.
12. Great is the Earth, and the way it became what it is;
Do you imagine it is stopped at this? the increase abandoned?
Understand then that it goes as far onward from this, as this is from the times when it lay in covering waters and gases, before man had appeared.
13. 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—lie and it are in love, and never leave each other.
14. The truth in man is no dictum, it is vital as eyesight,
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.
15. O truth of the earth! O truth of things! I am determined to press my way toward you, Sound your voice! I scale mountains, or dive in the sea after you.
16. Great is Language—it is the mightiest of the sciences,
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.
17. 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.
18. Great is Law—great are the old few landmarks of the law,
They are the same in all times, and shall not be disturbed.
19. Great are commerce, newspapers, books, free-trade,
railroads, steamers, international mails, tele- graphs, exchanges.
20. 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.
21. For justice are the grand natural lawyers and perfect judges—it is in their Souls,
It is well assorted—they have not studied for noth- ing—the great includes the less,
They rule on the highest grounds—they oversee all eras, states, administrations.
22. 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.
23. Great is Goodness!
I do not know what it is, any more than I know what health is—but I know it is great.
​24. Great is Wickedness—I find I often admire it, just as
       much as I admire goodness,
    Do you call that a paradox? It certainly is a paradox.
25. The eternal equilibrium of things is great, and the
       eternal overthrow of things is great,
    And there is another paradox.
26. Great is Life, real and mystical, wherever and whoever,
    Great is Death—sure as Life holds all parts together,
       Death holds all parts together,
    Death has just as much purport as Life has,
    Do you enjoy what Life confers? you shall enjoy what
       Death confers,
    I do not understand the realities of Death, but I know
       they are great,
    I do not understand the least reality of Life—how then
       can I understand the realities of Death?
3.
1. A young man came to me with 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.
2. 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 answered for his brother, and for men, and I answered for the Poet, and sent these signs.
3. Him all wait for—him all yield up to—his word is decisive and final,
Him they accept, in him lave, in him perceive themselves, as amid light, Him they immerse, and he immerses them.
4. Beautiful women, the haughtiest nations, laws, the landscape, people, animals,
The profound earth and its attributes, and the unquiet ocean, All enjoyments and properties, and money, and whatever 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.
5. 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 afterward, nor assume to command them.
6. He is the answerer, What can be answered he answers—and what cannot be answered, he shows how it cannot be answered.
7. 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?)
8. Books, friendships, philosophers, priests, action, pleasure, pride, beat up and down, seeking to give satisfaction, He indicates the satisfaction, and indicates them that beat up and down also.
9. 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.
10. 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.
11. 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.
12. 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.
13. 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.
14. Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic,
And the soldiers suppose him to be a captain, and the sailors that he has followed the sea,
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 followed it,
No matter what the nation, that he might find his brothers and sisters there.
15. 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.
16. Whoever he looks at in the traveller'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.
17. 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 themselves, they are so grown.
18. Do you think it would be good to be the writer of melodious verses?
Well, it would be good to be the writer of melodious verses;
But what are verses beyond the flowing character you could have? or beyond beautiful manners and behavior?
Or beyond one manly or affectionate deed of an apprentice-boy? or old woman? or man that has been in prison, or is likely to be in prison?
4.
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 Earth!
    O how can the ground of you 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 distempered corpses in you?
    Is not every continent worked over and over with sour dead?
3. Where have you disposed of those carcasses of the drunkards and gluttons of so many generations?
    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 deceived,
    I will run a furrow with my plough—I will press my spade through the sod, and turn it up underneath,
    I am sure I shall expose some of the foul meat.
4. Behold!
    This is the compost of billions of premature corpses,
    Perhaps every mite has once formed part of a sick person—Yet behold!
    The grass covers the prairies,
    The bean bursts noiselessly through the mould in the garden,
    The delicate spear of the onion pierces upward,
    The apple-buds cluster 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 mulberry-tree, ​
    The he-birds carol mornings and evenings, while the she-birds sit on their nests,
    The young of poultry break through the hatched 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, ​
    It turns harmless and stainless on its axis, with such endless successions of diseased 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.
5.
1. All day I have walked the city, and talked with my friends, and thought of prudence,
    Of time, space, reality—of 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 prudence 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 direct 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 more than 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, discoloration, privacy of the onanist, putridity of gluttons 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.
7. No specification is necessary—all that a male or female does, that is vigorous, benevolent, clean, is so much profit to him or her, in the unshakable 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, mechanic, 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 unrecorded,
    All the grandeur and good of ancient nations whose fragments we inherit,
    All the good of the hundreds of ancient nations unknown to us by name, date, location,
    All that was ever manfully begun, whether it succeeded or no,
    All suggestions of the divine mind of man, or the divinity of his mouth, or the shaping of his great hands;
    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 fixed 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 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,
    Knows that the young man who composedly perilled his life and lost it, has done exceeding well for himself, without doubt,
    That he who never perilled his life, but retains it to old age in riches and ease, has probably achieved nothing for himself worth mentioning;
    Knows that only the person has really learned, who has learned 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.
6.
1. 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, immortality,
    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 welcomed, 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 contained 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, a heart-singer, eye-singer, hymn-singer, law-singer, ear-singer, head-singer, sweet-singer, wise-singer, droll-singer, thrift-singer, sea-singer, wit-singer, echo-singer, parlor-singer, love-singer, passion-singer, mystic-singer, fable-singer, item-singer, weeping-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,
    The words of poems are the tuft and final applause of science.
5. Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of reason, health, rudeness of body, withdrawnness, gayety, sun-tan, air-sweetness — such are some of the words of poems.
6. The sailor and traveller underlie the maker of poems,
    The builder, geometer, mathematician, astronomer, melodist, chemist, anatomist, spiritualist, language-searcher, geologist, phrenologist, artist—all these underlie the maker of poems.
7. The words of 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 content and full; ​
Whom they take, they take into space, to behold the birth of stars, to learn one of the meanings, To launch off with absolute faith—to sweep through the ceaseless rings, and never be quiet again.
7.
I need no assurances—I am a man who is preoccupied, of his own Soul; I do not doubt that whatever I know at a given time, there waits for me more, which I do not know; 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; I do not doubt there are realizations I have no idea of, waiting for me through time, and through the universes—also upon this earth; I do not doubt I am limitless, and that the universes are limitless—in vain I try to think how limitless; I do not doubt that the orbs, and the systems of orbs, play their swift sports through the air on purpose —and that I shall one day be eligible to do as much as they, and more than they; I do not doubt there is far more in trivialities, insects, vulgar persons, slaves, dwarfs, weeds, rejected refuse, than I have supposed;
I do not doubt there is more in myself than I have supposed—and more in all men and women— and more in my poems than I have supposed; I do not doubt that temporary affairs keep on and on, millions of years; I do not doubt interiors have their interiors, and exteriors have their exteriors—and that the eye-sight has another eye-sight, and the hearing another hearing, and the voice another voice; I do not doubt that the passionately-wept deaths of young men are provided for—and that the deaths of young women, and the deaths of little children, are provided for; I do not doubt that wrecks at sea, no matter what the horrors of them—no matter whose wife, child, husband, father, lover, has gone down—are provided
for, to the minutest point; I do not doubt that shallowness, meanness, malignance, are provided for; I do not doubt that cities, you, America, the remainder of the earth, politics, freedom, degradations, are carefully provided for; I do not doubt that whatever can possibly happen, any where, at any time, is provided for, in the inherences of things.
8.
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 summer 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, 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?
9.
1There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he looked upon and received with wonder, pity, love, or dread, 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.
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 phœbe-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 covered with blossoms, and the fruit afterward, and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road;
And the old drunkard staggering home from the outhouse of the tavern, whence he had lately risen, And the school-mistress that passed on her way to the school, And the friendly boys that passed—and the quarrelsome boys, And the tidy and fresh-cheeked 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 fathered him, and she that conceived him in her womb, and birthed him, They gave this child more of themselves than that, They gave him afterward every day—they and of them 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, angered, unjust, The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure, The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture—the yearning and swelling heart, Affection that will not be gainsayed—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? The streets themselves, and the façades of houses, and goods in the windows, Vehicles, teams, the heavy-planked wharves—the huge crossing at the ferries, The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset— 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-towed astern, The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping, The strata of colored clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away solitary by itself—the spread of purity it lies motionless in, The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt-marsh and shore-mud; These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day, And these become part of him or her that peruses them here.
10.
1. It is ended—I dally no more,
After to-day I inure myself to run, leap, swim,
wrestle, fight,
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,
And to hold my own in terrible positions, on land
and sea.
2. Not for an embroiderer, (There will always be plenty of embroiderers—I
welcome them also;)
But for the fibre of things, and for inherent men and women.
3. Not to chisel ornaments,
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 specimens, 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 nothing —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.Let others deny the evil their enemies charge against them—but how can I the like? Nothing ever has been, or ever can be, charged against me, half as bad as the evil I really am; I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my friends, but listen to my enemies—as I myself do; I charge you, too, forever, reject those who would expound 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 gymnast, a steady grower,
Every hour the semen of centuries—and still of centuries.
12.I will follow up these continual lessons of the air, water, earth,
I perceive I have no time to lose.
11.
1.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,
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.
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 planned 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 how I was not palpable once, but am now—and was born on the last day of Fifth Month, in the Year 43 of America, And passed from a babe, in the creeping trance of three summers and three winters, to articulate and walk—All this is equally wonderful.
8.And that I grew six feet high, and that I have become a man thirty-six years old in the Year 79 of America—and that I am here anyhow—are all equally wonderful.
9.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.
10.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.
11.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.
12.Come! I should like to hear you tell me what there is in yourself that is not just as wonderful, And I should like to hear the name of anything between First Day morning and Seventh Day night that is not just as wonderful.
12.
1.This night I am happy; As I walk the beach where the old mother sways to
and fro, singing her savage and husky song,
As I watch the stars shining—I think a thought of the clef of the universes, and of the future.
2.What can the future bring me more than I have?
Do you suppose I wish to enjoy life in other spheres?
3.I say distinctly I comprehend no better sphere than this earth, I comprehend no better life than the life of my body.
4.I do not know what follows the death of my body, But I know well that whatever it is, it is best for me, And I know well that whatever is really Me shall live just as much as before.
5.I am not uneasy but I shall have good housing to myself,
But this is my first—how can I like the rest any
better?
Here I grew up—the studs and rafters are grown
parts of me.
6.I am not uneasy but I am to be beloved by young and old men, and to love them the same,
I suppose the pink nipples of the breasts of women
with whom I shall sleep will touch the side of my
face the same,
But this is the nipple of a breast of my mother, always near and always divine to me, her true child and son, whatever comes.
7.I suppose I am to be eligible to visit the stars, in my
time,
I suppose I shall have myriads of new experiences— and that the experience of this earth will prove only one out of myriads;
But I believe my body and my Soul already indicate
those experiences,
And I believe I shall find nothing in the stars more majestic and beautiful than I have already found on the earth,
And I believe I have this night a clew through the
universes, And I believe I have this night thought a thought of the clef of eternity.   8.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 past, present, future, This vast similitude spans them, and always has
spanned, and shall forever span them, and
compactly hold them.
13.
1.O bitter sprig! Confession sprig! In the bouquet I give you place also—I bind you in,
Proceeding no further till, humbled publicly, I give fair warning, once for all.
2.I own that I have been sly, thievish, mean, a prevaricator, greedy, derelict, And I own that I remain so yet.
3.What foul thought but I think it—or have in me the stuff out of which it is thought?
What in darkness in bed at night, alone or with a
companion?
4.You felons on trials in courts, You convicts in prison cells—you sentenced assassins, chained and handcuffed with iron,
Who am I, that I am not on trial, or in prison?
Me, ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chained with iron, or my ankles with iron?
5.You prostitutes flaunting over the trottoirs, or obscene in your rooms,
Who am I, that I should call you more obscene than
myself?
6.O culpable! O traitor!
O 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?
14.
Unfolded out of the folds of the woman, man comes
unfolded, as 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 formed of perfect body,
Unfolded only out of the inimitable poem of the
woman, 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, 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.
15.
1.Night on the Prairies;
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 aspirations, 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 tumbled upon 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, touched with the lives of other globes,
arrived as far along as those of the earth,
Or waiting to arrive, or passed on farther than those of the earth,
I henceforth no more ignore them than I ignore my
own life, Or the lives on the earth arrived as far as mine, or waiting to arrive.
6.O how plainly I see now that life cannot exhibit all to me—as the day cannot,
O I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited
by death.
16.
Sea-water, and all living below it,
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.
17.
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 see the wife misused by her husband—I see the
treacherous seducer of the young woman,
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
casting lots who shall be killed, to preserve the
lives of the rest,
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant 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.
18.
1.O me, man of slack faith so long! Standing aloof—denying portions so long;
Me with mole's eyes, unrisen to buoyancy and vision
—unfree,
Only aware to-day of compact, all-diffused truth,
Discovering to-day there is no lie, or form of lie,
and can be none, but grows just as inevitably
upon itself as the truth does upon itself,
Or as any law of the earth, or any natural production of the earth does.
2.(This is curious, and may not be realized immediately —But it must be realized;
I feel in myself that I represent falsehoods equally
with the rest, And that the universe does.)
3.Where has failed a perfect return, indifferent of lies
or the truth? Is it upon the ground, or in water or fire? or in the spirit of man? or in the meat and blood?
4.Meditating among liars, and retreating sternly into
myself, I see that there are really no liars or
lies after all, And that nothing fails its perfect return—And that what are called lies are perfect returns,
And that each thing exactly represents itself, and
what has preceded it,
And that the truth includes all, and is compact, just
as much as space is compact,
And that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount
of the truth—but that all is truth without exception,
And henceforth I will go celebrate anything I see
or am,
And sing and laugh, and deny nothing.
19.
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,
Wonders as of those countries—the soil, trees, cities,
inhabitants, whatever they may be,
Splendid suns, the moons and rings, the countless
combinations and effects, Such-like, and as good as such-like, visible here or
anywhere, stand provided for in a handful of
space, which I extend my arm and half enclose
with my hand,
That contains the start of each and all—the virtue,
the germs of all; That is the theory as of origins.
20.
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, Whether I shall dart forth the true rays, the ones
that wait unfired, (Did you think the sun was shining its brightest? No—it has not yet fully risen;) Whether I shall complete what is here started, Whether I shall attain my own height, to justify these,
yet unfinished, Whether I shall make the Poem of the New World, transcending all others—depends, rich persons,
upon you, Depends, whoever you are now filling the current
Presidentiad, upon you, Upon you, Governor, Mayor, Congressman, And you, contemporary America.
21.
1.Now I make a leaf of Voices—for I have found noth- ing mightier than they are,
And I have found that no word spoken, but is beau- tiful, in its place.
2.O what is it in me that makes me tremble so at
voices?
3.Surely, whoever speaks to me in the right voice, him or her I shall follow, as the waters follow the moon, silently, with fluid steps, any where around the globe.
4.Now I believe that all waits for the right voices;
Where is the practised and perfect organ? Where is the developed Soul?
For I see every word uttered thence has deeper,
sweeter, new sounds, impossible on less terms.
5.I see brains and lips closed—I see tympans and tem- ples unstruck, Until that comes which has the quality to strike and
to unclose,
Until that comes which has the quality to bring forth
what lies slumbering, forever ready, in all words.
22.
1.What am I, after all, but a child, pleased with the sound of my own name? repeating it over and over,
I cannot tell why it affects me so much, when I hear it from women's voices, and from men's voices, or from my own voice, I stand apart to hear—it never tires me.
2. To you, your name also, Did you think there was nothing but two or three
pronunciations in the sound of your name?
23.
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?
What is the relation between me and them?
24.
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, flushed and full-blooded—it is I—So
long!
We must separate—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.