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,
Come tell me where I am speeding -- tell me my
destination.
I UNDERSTAND your anguish, but I cannot help you,
I approach, hear, behold -- the sad mouth, the look
out of the eyes, your mute inquiry,
Whither I go from the bed I now recline on, come
tell me;
Old age, alarmed, uncertain -- A young woman's
voice appealing to me, for comfort,
A young man's voice, Shall I not escape?
A THOUSAND perfect men and women appear,
Around each gathers a cluster of friends, and gay
children and youths, with offerings.
A MASK -- a perpetual natural disguiser of herself,
Concealing her face, concealing her form,
Changes and transformations every hour, every mo-
ment,
Falling upon her even when she sleeps.
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,
He has the simple magnificence of health and
strength,
His face strikes as with flashes of lightning whoever
it turns toward.
THREE old men slowly pass, followed by three others,
and they by three others,
They are beautiful -- the one in the middle of each
group holds his companions by the hand,
As they walk, they give out perfume wherever they
walk.
WOMEN sit, or move to and fro -- some old, some
young,
The young are beautiful -- but the old are more
beautiful than the young.
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?
Is it to wet the soil of graves?
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,
You shall see how I stump clergymen, and confound
them,
You shall see me showing a scarlet tomato, and a
white pebble from the beach.
BEHAVIOR -- fresh, native, copious, each one for him-
self or herself,
Nature and the Soul expressed -- America and free-
dom expressed -- In it the finest art,
In it pride, cleanliness, sympathy, to have their
chance,
In it physique, intellect, faith -- in it just as much as
to manage an army or a city, or to write a book
-- perhaps more,
The youth, the laboring person, the poor person,
rivalling all the rest -- perhaps outdoing the
rest,
The effects of the universe no greater than its;
For there is nothing in the whole universe that can
be more effective than a man's or woman's daily
behavior can be,
In any position, in any one of These States.
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 parched, snows chilled, rivers wet, per-
severes till he reaches his destination,
More than I have charged myself, heeded or un-
heeded, to compose a free march for These
States,
To be exhilarating music to them, years, centuries
hence.
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,
And those appear that perplex me.
SLEEP-CHASINGS.
1. I WANDER all night in my vision,
Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly step-
ping and stopping,
Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of
sleepers,
Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted,
contradictory,
Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping.
2. How solemn they look there, stretched and still!
How quiet they breathe, the little children in their
cradles!
3. The wretched features of ennuyès, the white features
of corpses, the livid faces of drunkards, the sick-
gray faces of onanists,
The gashed bodies on battle-fields, the insane in their
strong-doored rooms, the sacred idiots, the new-
born emerging from gates, and the dying emer-
ging from gates,
The night pervades them and infolds them.
4. The married couple sleep calmly in their bed -- he
with his palm on the hip of the wife, and she
with her palm on the hip of the husband,
The sisters sleep lovingly side by side in their bed,
The men sleep lovingly side by side in theirs,
And the mother sleeps, with her little child carefully
wrapped.
5. The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep,
The prisoner sleeps well in the prison -- the run-
away son sleeps,
The murderer that is to be hung next day -- how
does he sleep?
And the murdered person -- how does he sleep?
6. The female that loves unrequited sleeps,
And the male that loves unrequited sleeps,
The head of the money-maker that plotted all day
sleeps,
And the enraged and treacherous dispositions --
all, all sleep.
7. I stand in the dark with drooping eyes by the worst-
suffering and the most restless,
I pass my hands soothingly to and fro a few inches
from them,
The restless sink in their beds -- they fitfully sleep.
8. Now I pierce the darkness -- new beings appear,
The earth recedes from me into the night,
I saw that it was beautiful, and I see that what is not
the earth is beautiful.
9. I go from bedside to bedside -- I sleep close with
the other sleepers, each in turn,
I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other
dreamers,
And I become the other dreamers.
10. I am a dance -- Play up, there! the fit is whirling
me fast!
11. I am the ever-laughing -- it is new moon and twilight,
I see the hiding of douceurs -- I see nimble ghosts
whichever way I look,
Cache, and cache again, deep in the ground and sea,
and where it is neither ground or sea.
12. Well do they do their jobs, those journeymen divine,
Only from me can they hide nothing, and would not
if they could,
I reckon I am their boss, and they make me a pet
besides,
And surround me and lead me, and run ahead when
I walk,
To lift their cunning covers, to signify me with
stretched arms, and resume the way;
Onward we move! a gay gang of blackguards! with
mirth-shouting music and wild-flapping pennants
of joy!
13. I am the actor, the actress, the voter, the politician,
The emigrant and the exile, the criminal that stood
in the box,
He who has been famous, and he who shall be famous
after to-day,
The stammerer, the well-formed person, the wasted
or feeble person.
14. I am she who adorned herself and folded her hair
expectantly,
My truant lover has come, and it is dark.
15. Double yourself and receive me, darkness!
Receive me and my lover too -- he will not let me go
without him.
16. I roll myself upon you, as upon a bed -- I resign
myself to the dusk.
17. He whom I call answers me and takes the place of
my lover,
He rises with me silently from the bed.
18. Darkness! you are gentler than my lover -- his flesh
was sweaty and panting,
I feel the hot moisture yet that he left me.
19. My hands are spread forth, I pass them in all
directions,
I would sound up the shadowy shore to which you
are journeying.
20. Be careful, darkness! already, what was it touched
me?
I thought my lover had gone, else darkness and he
are one,
I hear the heart-beat -- I follow, I fade away.
21. O hot-cheeked and blushing! O foolish hectic!
O for pity's sake, no one must see me now! my
clothes were stolen while I was abed,
Now I am thrust forth, where shall I run?
22. Pier that I saw dimly last night, when I looked from
the windows!
Pier out from the main, let me catch myself with you
and stay -- I will not chafe you,
I feel ashamed to go naked about the world.
23. I am curious to know where my feet stand -- and
what this is flooding me, childhood or manhood
-- and the hunger that crosses the bridge
between.
24. The cloth laps a first sweet eating and drinking,
Laps life-swelling yolks -- laps ear of rose-corn, milky
and just ripened;
The white teeth stay, and the boss-tooth advances in
darkness,
And liquor is spilled on lips and bosoms by touching
glasses, and the best liquor afterward.
25. I descend my western course, my sinews are flaccid,
Perfume and youth course through me, and I am
their wake.
26. It is my face yellow and wrinkled, instead of the
old woman's,
I sit low in a straw-bottom chair, and carefully darn
my grandson's stockings.
27. It is I too, the sleepless widow looking out on the
winter midnight,
I see the sparkles of starshine on the icy and pallid
earth.
28. A shroud I see, and I am the shroud -- I wrap a body
and lie in the coffin,
It is dark here under ground -- it is not evil or pain
here -- it is blank here, for reasons.
29. It seems to me that everything in the light and air
ought to be happy,
Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let
him know he has enough.
30. I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer swimming naked
through the eddies of the sea,
His brown hair lies close and even to his head --
he strikes out with courageous arms -- he urges
himself with his legs,
I see his white body -- I see his undaunted eyes,
I hate the swift-running eddies that would dash him
head-foremost on the rocks.
31. What are you doing, you ruffianly red-trickled waves?
Will you kill the courageous giant? Will you kill
him in the prime of his middle age?
32. Steady and long he struggles,
He is baffled, banged, bruised -- he holds out while
his strength holds out,
The slapping eddies are spotted with his blood --
they bear him away -- they roll him, swing him,
turn him,
His beautiful body is borne in the circling eddies,
it is continually bruised on rocks,
Swiftly and out of sight is borne the brave corpse.
33. I turn, but do not extricate myself,
Confused, a past-reading, another, but with darkness
yet.
34. The beach is cut by the razory ice-wind -- the wreck-
guns sound,
The tempest lulls -- the moon comes floundering
through the drifts.
35. I look where the ship helplessly heads end on -- I
hear the burst as she strikes -- I hear the howls
of dismay -- they grow fainter and fainter.
36. I cannot aid with my wringing fingers,
I can but rush to the surf, and let it drench me and
freeze upon me.
37. I search with the crowd -- not one of the company is
washed to us alive;
In the morning I help pick up the dead and lay them
in rows in a barn.
38. Now of the old war-days, the defeat at Brooklyn,
Washington stands inside the lines -- he stands on the
intrenched hills, amid a crowd of officers,
His face is cold and damp -- he cannot repress the
weeping drops,
He lifts the glass perpetually to his eyes -- the color
is blanched from his cheeks,
He sees the slaughter of the southern braves confided
to him by their parents.
39. The same, at last and at last, when peace is declared,
He stands in the room of the old tavern -- the well-
beloved soldiers all pass through,
The officers speechless and slow draw near in their
turns,
The chief encircles their necks with his arm, and
kisses them on the cheek,
He kisses lightly the wet cheeks one after another --
he shakes hands, and bids good-by to the army.
40. Now I tell what my mother told me to-day as we sat
at dinner together,
Of when she was a nearly grown girl, living home
with her parents on the old homestead.
41. A red squaw came one breakfast-time to the old
homestead,
On her back she carried a bundle of rushes for
rush-bottoming chairs,
Her hair, straight, shiny, coarse, black, profuse, half-
enveloped her face,
Her step was free and elastic, and her voice sounded
exquisitely as she spoke.
42. My mother looked in delight and amazement at the
stranger,
She looked at the freshness of her tall-borne face, and
full and pliant limbs,
The more she looked upon her she loved her,
Never before had she seen such wonderful beauty and
purity,
She made her sit on a bench by the jamb of the fire-
place -- she cooked food for her,
She had no work to give her, but she gave her
remembrance and fondness.
43. The red squaw staid all the forenoon, and toward the
middle of the afternoon she went away,
O my mother was loth to have her go away!
All the week she thought of her -- she watched for
her many a month,
She remembered her many a winter and many a
summer,
But the red squaw never came, nor was heard of
there again.
44. Now Lucifer was not dead -- or if he was, I am his
sorrowful terrible heir,
I have been wronged -- I am oppressed -- I hate him
that oppresses me,
I will either destroy him, or he shall release me.
45. Damn him! how he does defile me!
How he informs against my brother and sister, and
takes pay for their blood!
How he laughs when I look down the bend, after the
steamboat that carries away my woman!
46. Now the vast dusk bulk that is the whale's bulk, it
seems mine,
Warily, sportsman! though I lie so sleepy and slug-
gish, my tap is death.
47. A show of the summer softness! a contact of some-
thing unseen! an amour of the light and air!
I am jealous, and overwhelmed with friendliness,
And will go gallivant with the light and air myself,
And have an unseen something to be in contact with
them also.
48. O love and summer! you are in the dreams, and
in me!
Autumn and winter are in the dreams -- the farmer
goes with his thrift,
The droves and crops increase, and the barns are well-
filled.
49. Elements merge in the night -- ships make tacks in
the dreams,
The sailor sails -- the exile returns home,
The fugitive returns unharmed -- the immigrant is
back beyond months and years,
The poor Irishman lives in the simple house of his
childhood, with the well-known neighbors and
faces,
They warmly welcome him -- he is barefoot again, he
forgets he is well off;
The Dutchman voyages home, and the Scotchman
and Welshman voyage home, and the native of
the Mediterranean voyages home,
To every port of England, France, Spain, enter well-
filled ships,
The Swiss foots it toward his hills -- the Prussian goes
his way, the Hungarian his way, and the Pole
his way,
The Swede returns, and the Dane and Norwegian
return.
50. The homeward bound, and the outward bound,
The beautiful lost swimmer, the ennuyè, the onanist,
the female that loves unrequited, the money-
maker,
The actor and actress, those through with their parts,
and those waiting to commence,
The affectionate boy, the husband and wife, the voter,
the nominee that is chosen, and the nominee that
has failed,
The great already known, and the great any time
after to-day,
The stammerer, the sick, the perfect-formed, the
homely,
The criminal that stood in the box, the judge that
sat and sentenced him, the fluent lawyers, the
jury, the audience,
The laugher and weeper, the dancer, the midnight
widow, the red squaw,
The consumptive, the erysipelite, the idiot, he that
is wronged,
The antipodes, and every one between this and them
in the dark,
I swear they are averaged now -- one is no better
than the other,
The night and sleep have likened them and restored
them.
51. I swear they are all beautiful!
Every one that sleeps is beautiful -- everything in
the dim light is beautiful,
The wildest and bloodiest is over, and all is peace.
52. Peace is always beautiful,
The myth of heaven indicates peace and night.
53. The myth of heaven indicates the Soul;
The Soul is always beautiful -- it appears more or it
appears less -- it comes, or it lags behind,
It comes from its embowered garden, and looks
pleasantly on itself, and encloses the world,
Perfect and clean the genitals previously jetting, and
perfect and clean the womb cohering,
The head well-grown, proportioned and plumb, and
the bowels and joints proportioned and plumb.
54. The Soul is always beautiful,
The universe is duly in order, everything is in its
place,
What is arrived is in its place, and what waits is
in its place;
The twisted skull waits, the watery or rotten blood
waits,
The child of the glutton or venerealee waits long, and
the child of the drunkard waits long, and the
drunkard himself waits long,
The sleepers that lived and died wait -- the far
advanced are to go on in their turns, and the
far behind are to go on in their turns,
The diverse shall be no less diverse, but they shall
flow and unite -- they unite now.
55. The sleepers are very beautiful as they lie unclothed,
They flow hand in hand over the whole earth, from
east to west, as they lie unclothed,
The Asiatic and African are hand in hand -- the
European and American are hand in hand,
Learned and unlearned are hand in hand, and male
and female are hand in hand,
The bare arm of the girl crosses the bare breast of
her lover -- they press close without lust -- his
lips press her neck,
The father holds his grown or ungrown son in his
arms with measureless love, and the son holds
the father in his arms with measureless love,
The white hair of the mother shines on the white
wrist of the daughter,
The breath of the boy goes with the breath of the
man, friend is inarmed by friend,
The scholar kisses the teacher, and the teacher kisses
the scholar -- the wronged is made right,
The call of the slave is one with the master's call, and
the master salutes the slave,
The felon steps forth from the prison -- the insane
becomes sane -- the suffering of sick persons is
relieved,
The sweatings and fevers stop -- the throat that was
unsound is sound -- the lungs of the consumptive
are resumed -- the poor distressed head is free,
The joints of the rheumatic move as smoothly as ever,
and smoother than ever,
Stiflings and passages open -- the paralyzed become
supple,
The swelled and convulsed and congested awake to
themselves in condition,
They pass the invigoration of the night, and the
chemistry of the night, and awake.
56. I too pass from the night,
I stay a while away O night, but I return to you
again, and love you.
57. Why should I be afraid to trust myself to you?
I am not afraid -- I have been well brought forward
by you,
I love the rich running day, but I do not desert her
in whom I lay so long,
I know not how I came of you, and I know not where
I go with you -- but I know I came well, and
shall go well.
58. I will stop only a time with the night, and rise
betimes,
I will duly pass the day, O my mother, and duly
return to you.
BURIAL.
1. To think of it!
To think of time -- of all that retrospection!
To think of to-day, and the ages continued hence-
forward!
2. Have you guessed you yourself would not continue?
Have you dreaded those earth-beetles?
Have you feared the future would be nothing to you?
3. Is to-day nothing? Is the beginningless past nothing?
If the future is nothing, they are just as surely
nothing.
4. To think that the sun rose in the east! that men
and women were flexible, real, alive! that every-
thing was alive!
To think that you and I did not see, feel, think, nor
bear our part!
To think that we are now here, and bear our part!
5. Not a day passes -- not a minute or second, without
an accouchment!
Not a day passes -- not a minute or second, without a
corpse!
6. The dull nights go over, and the dull days also,
The soreness of lying so much in bed goes over,
The physician, after long putting off, gives the silent
and terrible look for an answer,
The children come hurried and weeping, and the
brothers and sisters are sent for,
Medicines stand unused on the shelf -- (the camphor-
smell has long pervaded the rooms,)
The faithful hand of the living does not desert the
hand of the dying,
The twitching lips press lightly on the forehead of
the dying,
The breath ceases, and the pulse of the heart ceases,
The corpse stretches on the bed, and the living look
upon it,
It is palpable as the living are palpable.
7. The living look upon the corpse with their eye-sight,
But without eye-sight lingers a different living, and
looks curiously on the corpse.
8. To think that the rivers will flow, and the snow fall,
and fruits ripen, and act upon others as upon
us now -- yet not act upon us!
To think of all these wonders of city and country,
and others taking great interest in them -- and
we taking no interest in them!
9. To think how eager we are in building our houses!
To think others shall be just as eager, and we quite
indifferent!
10. I see one building the house that serves him a few
years, or seventy or eighty years at most,
I see one building the house that serves him longer
than that.
11. Slow-moving and black lines creep over the whole
earth -- they never cease -- they are the burial
lines,
He that was President was buried, and he that is now
President shall surely be buried.
12. Cold dash of waves at the ferry-wharf -- posh and
ice in the river, half-frozen mud in the streets,
a gray discouraged sky overhead, the short last
daylight of Twelfth Month,
A hearse and stages -- other vehicles give place --
the funeral of an old Broadway stage-driver, the
cortege mostly drivers.
13. Steady the trot to the cemetery, duly rattles the
death-bell, the gate is passed, the new-dug grave
is halted at, the living alight, the hearse un-
closes,
The coffin is passed out, lowered and settled, the
whip is laid on the coffin, the earth is swiftly
shovelled in,
The mound above is flatted with the spades --
silence,
A minute, no one moves or speaks -- it is done,
He is decently put away -- is there anything more?
14. He was a good fellow, free-mouthed, quick-tempered,
not bad-looking, able to take his own part, witty,
sensitive to a slight, ready with life or death for
a friend, fond of women, gambled, ate hearty,
drank hearty, had known what it was to be
flush, grew low-spirited toward the last, sickened,
was helped by a contribution, died, aged forty-
one years -- and that was his funeral.
15. Thumb extended, finger uplifted, apron, cape, gloves,
strap, wet-weather clothes, whip carefully chosen,
boss, spotter, starter, hostler, somebody loafing
on you, you loafing on somebody, head-way, man
before and man behind, good day's work, bad
day's work, pet stock, mean stock, first out, last
out, turning in at night,
To think that these are so much and so nigh to
other drivers -- and he there takes no interest
in them!
16. The markets, the government, the working-man's
wages -- to think what account they are through
our nights and days!
To think that other working-men will make just as
great account of them -- yet we make little or
no account!
17. The vulgar and the refined -- what you call sin and
what you call goodness -- to think how wide a
difference!
To think the difference will still continue to others,
yet we lie beyond the difference.
18. To think how much pleasure there is!
Have you pleasure from looking at the sky? have
you pleasure from poems?
Do you enjoy yourself in the city? or engaged in
business? or planning a nomination and elec-
tion? or with your wife and family?
Or with your mother and sisters? or in womanly
house-work? or the beautiful maternal cares?
These also flow onward to others -- you and I flow
onward,
But in due time you and I shall take less interest
in them.
19. Your farm, profits, crops, -- to think how engrossed
you are!
To think there will still be farms, profits, crops -- yet
for you, of what avail?
20. What will be, will be well -- for what is, is well,
To take interest is well, and not to take interest shall
be well.
21. The sky continues beautiful,
The pleasure of men with women shall never be sated,
nor the pleasure of women with men, nor the
pleasure from poems,
The domestic joys, the daily house-work or business,
the building of houses -- these are not phan-
tasms -- they have weight, form, location;
Farms, profits, crops, markets, wages, government,
are none of them phantasms,
The difference between sin and goodness is no
delusion,
The earth is not an echo -- man and his life, and all
the things of his life, are well-considered.
22. You are not thrown to the winds -- you gather cer-
tainly and safely around yourself,
Yourself! Yourself! Yourself, forever and ever!
23. It is not to diffuse you that you were born of your
mother and father -- it is to identify you,
It is not that you should be undecided, but that you
should be decided;
Something long preparing and formless is arrived and
formed in you,
You are thenceforth secure, whatever comes or goes.
24. The threads that were spun are gathered, the weft
crosses the warp, the pattern is systematic.
25. The preparations have every one been justified,
The orchestra have sufficiently tuned their instru-
ments, the baton has given the signal.
26. The guest that was coming -- he waited long, for
reasons -- he is now housed,
He is one of those who are beautiful and happy --
he is one of those that to look upon and be
with is enough.
27. The law of the past cannot be eluded,
The law of the present and future cannot be eluded,
The law of the living cannot be eluded -- it is eter-
nal,
The law of promotion and transformation cannot be
eluded,
The law of heroes and good-doers cannot be eluded,
The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons --
not one iota of it can be eluded.
28. Slow-moving and black lines go ceaselessly over the
earth,
Northerner goes carried, and southerner goes carried,
and they on the Atlantic side, and they on the
Pacific, and they between, and all through the
Mississippi country, and all over the earth.
29. The great masters and kosmos are well as they go --
the heroes and good-doers are well,
The known leaders and inventors, and the rich owners
and pious and distinguished, may be well,
But there is more account than that -- there is strict
account of all.
30. The interminable hordes of the ignorant and wicked
are not nothing,
The barbarians of Africa and Asia are not nothing,
The common people of Europe are not nothing -- the
American aborigines are not nothing,
The infected in the immigrant hospital are not
nothing -- the murderer or mean person is not
nothing,
The perpetual successions of shallow people are not
nothing as they go,
The lowest prostitute is not nothing -- the mocker of
religion is not nothing as he goes.
31. I shall go with the rest -- we have satisfaction,
I have dreamed that we are not to be changed so
much, nor the law of us changed,
I have dreamed that heroes and good-doers shall
be under the present and past law,
And that murderers, drunkards, liars, shall be under
the present and past law,
For I have dreamed that the law they are under now
is enough.
32. And I have dreamed that the satisfaction is not so
much changed, and that there is no life with-
out satisfaction;
What is the earth? what are body and Soul, without
satisfaction?
33. I shall go with the rest,
We cannot be stopped at a given point -- that is no
satisfaction,
To show us a good thing, or a few good things, for a
space of time -- that is no satisfaction,
We must have the indestructible breed of the best,
regardless of time.
34. If otherwise, all these things came but to ashes of
dung,
If maggots and rats ended us, then alarm! for we are
betrayed!
Then indeed suspicion of death.
35. Do you suspect death? If I were to suspect death, I
should die now,
Do you think I could walk pleasantly and well-suited
toward annihilation?
36. Pleasantly and well-suited I walk,
Whither I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good,
The whole universe indicates that it is good,
The past and the present indicate that it is good.
37. How beautiful and perfect are the animals! How
perfect is my Soul!
How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon
it!
What is called good is perfect, and what is called bad
is just as perfect,
The vegetables and minerals are all perfect, and the
imponderable fluids are perfect;
Slowly and surely they have passed on to this, and
slowly and surely they yet pass on.
38. My Soul! if I realize you, I have satisfaction,
Animals and vegetables! if I realize you, I have sat-
isfaction,
Laws of the earth and air! if I realize you, I have
satisfaction.
39. I cannot define my satisfaction, yet it is so,
I cannot define my life, yet it is so.
40. O it comes to me now!
I swear I think now that everything without excep-
tion has an eternal Soul!
The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of
the sea have! the animals!
41. I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!
That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous
float is for it, and the cohering is for it!
And all preparation is for it! and identity is for it!
and life and death are altogether for it!
TO MY SOUL
1. As nearing departure,
As the time draws nigh, glooming from you,
A cloud -- a dread beyond, of I know not what, dark-
ens me.
2. I shall go forth,
I shall traverse The States -- but I cannot tell whither
or how long;
Perhaps soon, some day or night while I am singing,
my voice will suddenly cease.
3. O Soul!
Then all may arrive to but this;
The glances of my eyes, that swept the daylight,
The unspeakable love I interchanged with women,
My joys in the open air -- my walks through the Man-
nahatta,
The continual good will I have met -- the curious
attachment of young men to me,
My reflections alone -- the absorption into me from
the landscape, stars, animals, thunder, rain,
and snow, in my wanderings alone,
The words of my mouth, rude, ignorant, arrogant --
my many faults and derelictions,
The light touches, on my lips, of the lips of my com-
rades, at parting,
The tracks which I leave, upon the side-walks and
fields,
May but arrive at this beginning of me,
This beginning of me -- and yet it is enough, O Soul,
O Soul, we have positively appeared -- that is enough.
So long!
1. To conclude -- I announce what comes after me,
The thought must be promulged, that all I know at
any time suffices for that time only -- not subse-
quent time;
I announce greater offspring, orators, days, and then
depart.
2. I remember I said to myself at the winter-close, before
my leaves sprang at all, that I would become a
candid and unloosed summer-poet,
I said I would raise my voice jocund and strong, with
reference to consummations.
3. When America does what was promised,
When each part is peopled with free people,
When there is no city on earth to lead my city, the
city of young men, the Mannahatta city -- But
when the Mannahatta leads all the cities of the
earth,
When there are plentiful athletic bards, inland and
seaboard,
When through These States walk a hundred millions
of superb persons,
When the rest part away for superb persons, and con-
tribute to them,
When fathers, firm, unconstrained, open-eyed -- When
breeds of the most perfect mothers denote
America,
Then to me ripeness and conclusion.
4. Yet not me, after all -- let none be content with me,
I myself seek a man better than I am, or a woman
better than I am,
I invite defiance, and to make myself superseded,
All I have done, I would cheerfully give to be trod
under foot, if it might only be the soil of supe-
rior poems.
5. I have established nothing for good,
I have but established these things, till things farther
onward shall be prepared to be established,
And I am myself the preparer of things farther
onward.
6. I have pressed through in my own right,
I have offered my style to every one -- I have jour-
neyed with confident step,
While my pleasure is yet at the full, I whisper
So long,
And take the young woman's hand, and the young
man's hand, for the last time.
7. Once more I enforce you to give play to yourself --
and not depend on me, or on any one but
yourself,
Once more I proclaim the whole of America for each
individual, without exception
8. As I have announced the true theory of the youth,
manhood, womanhood, of The States, I adhere
to it;
As I have announced myself on immortality, the body,
procreation, hauteur, prudence,
As I joined the stern crowd that still confronts the
President with menacing weapons -- I adhere
to all,
As I have announced each age for itself, this moment
I set the example.
9. I demand the choicest edifices to destroy them;
Room! room! for new far-planning draughtsmen and
engineers!
Clear that rubbish from the building-spots and the
paths!
10. So long!
I announce natural persons to arise,
I announce justice triumphant,
I announce uncompromising liberty and equality,
I announce the justification of candor, and the justi-
fication of pride.
11. I announce that the identity of These States is a
single identity only,
I announce the Union more and more compact,
I announce splendors and majesties to make all the
previous politics of the earth insignificant.
12. I announce adhesiveness -- I say it shall be limitless,
unloosened,
I say you shall yet find the friend you was look-
ing for.
13. So long!
I announce a man or woman coming -- perhaps you
are the one,
I announce a great individual, fluid as Nature, chaste,
affectionate, compassionate, fully armed.
14. So long!
I announce a life that shall be copious, vehement,
spiritual, bold,
And I announce an old age that shall lightly and
joyfully meet its translation.
15. O thicker and faster!
O crowding too close upon me!
I foresee too much -- it means more than I thought,
It appears to me I am dying.
16. Now throat, sound your last!
Salute me -- salute the future once more. Peal the
old cry once more.
17. Screaming electric, the atmosphere using,
At random glancing, each as I notice absorbing,
Swiftly on, but a little while alighting,
Curious enveloped messages delivering,
Sparkles hot, seed ethereal, down in the dirt dropping,
Myself unknowing, my commission obeying, to ques-
tion it never daring,
To ages, and ages yet, the growth of the seed leaving,
To troops out of me rising -- they the tasks I have set
promulging,
To women certain whispers of myself bequeathing --
their affection me more clearly explaining,
To young men my problems offering -- no dallier I --
I the muscle of their brains trying,
So I pass -- a little time vocal, visible, contrary,
Afterward, a melodious echo, passionately bent for --
death making me undying,
The best of me then when no longer visible -- for
toward that I have been incessantly preparing.
18. What is there more, that I lag and pause, and crouch
extended with unshut mouth?
Is there a single final farewell?
19. My songs cease -- I abandon them,
From behind the screen where I hid, I advance per-
sonally.
20. This is no book,
Who touches this, touches a man,
(Is it night? Are we here alone?)
It is I you hold, and who holds you,
I spring from the pages into your arms -- decease
calls me forth.
21. O how your fingers drowse me!
Your breath falls around me like dew -- your pulse
lulls the tympans of my ears,
I feel immerged from head to foot,
Delicious -- enough.
22. Enough, O deed impromptu and secret!
Enough, O gliding present! Enough, O summed-up
past!
23. Dear friend, whoever you are, here, take this kiss,
I give it especially to you -- Do not forget me,
I feel like one who has done his work -- I progress on,
The unknown sphere, more real than I dreamed,
more direct, darts awakening rays about me --
So long!
Remember my words -- I love you -- I depart from
materials,
I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead.
WALT WHITMAN
FROM time to time echoes reach this country, from across the Atlantic, of controversies regarding the literary and worldly well-being of the American poet, Walt Whitman. For instance, Mr. Joaquin Miller delivers a lecture to an American audience, telling them that Whitman is disgracefully treated by his countrymen; and forthwith some one writes from the United States to a London review to say that Mr. Miller is all in the wrong, and the American public well affected, and even affectionately disposed, towards Whitman. Lately the West Jersey Press (26th January) has published an article named "Walt Whitman's Actual American Position." It comes to us authenticated by Whitman's own words: -- "My theory is that the plain truth of the situation here is best stated; it is even worse than described in the article." It may, therefore, interest some of our readers if we reproduce the principal passages: --
The real truth is that with the exception of a very few readers (women equally with men), Whitman's poems in their public reception have fallen still-born in this country. They have been met, and are met to-day, with the determined denial, disgust, and scorn of orthodox American authors, publishers, and editors, and, in a pecuniary and worldly sense, have certainly wrecked the life of their author.
"From 1845 to 1855 Whitman, then in Brooklyn and New York cities, bade fair to be a good business man, and to make his mark and fortune in the usual way -- owned several houses, was worth some money, and 'doing well.' But, about the latter date, he suddenly abandoned all, and commenced writing poems, got possessed by the notion that he must make epics or lyrics, 'fit for the New World.' . . . . Little or no impression (at least ostensibly) seems to have been made. Still he stands alone. No established publishing house will yet publish his books. Most of the stores will not even sell them. In fact, his works have never been really published at all. Worse still; for the last three years he left them in charge of book agents in New York city, who, taking advantage of the author's illness and helplessness, have, three of them, one after another, successively thievishly embezzled every dollar of the proceeds!
"Repeated attempts to secure a small income by writing for the magazines during his illness have been utter failures. The Atlantic will not touch him. His offerings to Scribner are returned with insulting notes; the Galaxy the same. Harper's did print a couple of his pieces two years ago, but imperative orders from head-quarters have stopped anything further. All the established American poets studiously ignore Whitman. . . . . But the poet himself is more resolute and persevering than ever. 'Old, poor, and paralyzed,' he has, for a twelve-month past, been occupying himself by preparing, largely with his own handiwork, here in Camden, a small edition of his complete works in two volumes, which he himself now sells, partly 'to keep the wolf from the door' in old age, and partly to give, before he dies, as absolute an expression as may be to his ideas. 'Leaves of Grass' is mainly the same volume previously issued, but has some small new pieces, and gives two characteristic portraits. Of 'Two Rivulets' he has printed the newer parts here in Camden."