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A Stansberry Research proíbe expressamente aos seus escritores de ter um interesse financeiro em qualquer segurança que eles recomendem aos nossos assinantes. E todos os Stansberry Research (e empresas afiliadas), funcionários e agentes devem aguardar 24 horas após uma recomendação comercial inicial ser publicada na Internet, ou 72 horas após a publicação de uma mala direta, antes de atuar sobre essa recomendação. Protegido pelas leis de direitos autorais dos Estados Unidos e tratados internacionais. Este site só pode ser usado de acordo com o contrato de assinatura e qualquer reprodução, cópia ou redistribuição (eletrônica ou não, inclusive na World Wide Web), no todo ou em parte, é estritamente proibida sem a autorização expressa por escrito da Stansberry Research, LLC. 1125 N Charles St, Baltimore, MD 21201. Clique para enviar poemas para DayPoems, comente em DayPoems ou em um poema dentro, comente em outros sites de poesia, atualize links ou simplesmente entre em contato. Fórum DayPoems. Projeto Gutenberg. Uma enorme coleção de livros como texto, produzido como uma empresa voluntária a partir de 1990. Esta é a fonte da primeira poesia colocada no DayPoems. Tina Blues Guia para iniciantes da Prosody. Exatamente o que o título diz, e vale a pena ler. Epicanthic Fold. Se um cara em algum lugar na Ásia faz um blog e ninguém lê isso, realmente existe popomo. net. Esculturas em miniatura, de inspiração minimalista, criadas a partir de cereais industriais, um projeto de arte no Lewis and Clark College em Portland, Oregon. Pink. popomo. net. Mais projetos de Portland oarena. net. Furby, Eliza, MrFriss e MissFriss. Save Point 0.8.1. Portland, Oregon, exposição, 13 de agosto a setembro. 5, 2004, em Disjecta. Canção de mim mesmo Por Walt Whitman Eu celebrei e cantei-me, e o que eu suponho que você deve assumir, Pois cada átomo que pertence a mim como bem pertence a você. Eu louco e convido minha alma, me inclino e loafe à minha facilidade observando uma lança de grama de verão. Minha língua, cada átomo do meu sangue, formado a partir deste solo, este ar, Nascido aqui de pais nascidos aqui de pais do mesmo, e seus pais são os mesmos, eu agora tenho trinta e sete anos em perfeito estado de saúde, começando com a esperança de cessar Não até a morte. Credos e escolas em suspenso, Retirando um tempo suficiente, o que é, mas nunca esquecido, abro para o bem ou o mal, permito falar em todos os perigos, Natureza sem cheque com energia original. As casas e os quartos estão cheios de perfumes, as prateleiras estão cheias de perfumes, respiro a fragrância e conheço e gosto disso. A destilação também me intoxicaria, mas não vou deixar isso. A atmosfera não é um perfume, não tem gosto da destilação, é inodoro, é para minha boca para sempre, eu estou apaixonado por isso. Eu irei ao banco junto à madeira e me tornarei desnudado e nu, eu sou Louco por ele estar em contato comigo. A fumaça do meu próprio sopro, Echoes, ondulações, sussurros zumbidos, raiz do amor, fio de seda, entrepierna e videira, Minha respiração e inspiração, o batimento do meu coração, a passagem de sangue e ar através dos meus pulmões, O cheiro de Folhas verdes e folhas secas, e da costa e pedras do mar da cova escura, e do feno no celeiro, O som das belchd palavras da minha voz afrouxada aos redemoinhos do vento, Alguns beijos leves, alguns abraços , Um alcance de armas, O jogo de brilho e sombra sobre as árvores, como os galhos flexíveis, o prazer sozinho ou na corrida das ruas, ou ao longo dos campos e dos lados das colinas, o sentimento de saúde, Meio-dia trilão, a canção de mim subindo da cama e encontrando o sol. Você acreditou mil hectares muito, você acreditou na terra. Você pratiu tanto tempo para aprender a ler? Você se sentiu tão orgulhoso de obter o significado de poemas. Pare com esse dia e noite e você deve possuir a origem de todos os poemas. Vocês devem possuir o bem da terra e do sol, (há milhões de sóis deixados). Você não deve mais tomar as coisas em segunda ou terceira mão, nem olhar através dos olhos dos mortos, nem alimentar os espectros nos livros, Você também não olhará pelos meus olhos, nem tirará as coisas de mim, você deve ouvir todos os lados e filtrá-los de si mesmo. Ouvi o que os falantes falavam, a conversa sobre o começo e o fim, mas não falo sobre o começo ou o fim. Nunca houve mais inícios do que existe, nem mais juventude ou idade do que existe agora, e nunca mais será perfeição do que existe, nem mais céu ou inferno do que existe agora. Inspecione e exija e exija, Sempre o impulso procriante do mundo. Fora da escuridão o oposto é igual a adiantamento, sempre substância e aumento, sempre sexo, Sempre um tecido de identidade, sempre distinção, sempre uma raça de vida. Para elaborar é inútil, aprendido e desaprendido, sinta que é assim. Certeza, com a certeza mais certa, aplainar os montantes, bem entrelaçados, apoiados nas vigas, Stout como um cavalo, carinhoso, altivo, elétrico, eu e esse mistério aqui estamos. Claro e doce é minha alma, e claro e doce é tudo o que não é minha alma. Falta uma falta de ambos, e o invisível é provado pelo visto, até que não se vê e recebe prova por sua vez. Mostrando o melhor e dividindo-o com a idade da idade mais violenta, Conhecendo a forma física perfeita e a equanimidade das coisas, enquanto eles discutem, eu estou em silêncio, e me banho e me admiro. Bem-vindo é todo órgão e atributo de mim, e de qualquer homem saudável e limpo, nem uma polegada nem uma partícula de polegada é vil, e nenhum deve ser menos familiar do que o resto. Estou satisfeito - vejo, dance, ria, cante Enquanto o companheiro de cama abraçante e amoroso dorme ao meu lado durante a noite e se retira no peep do dia com um passo sigiloso, deixando-me cestas cobertas com toalhas brancas inchando Casa com a abundância. Posso adiar minha aceitação e realização e gritar aos meus olhos, que eles se voltem de olhar para dentro e para fora da estrada, e, de imediato, cifre e me mostre um centavo, exatamente o valor de um e exatamente o valor de dois E que está à frente Trippers e askers me cercam, as pessoas que conheço, o efeito sobre minha vida adiantada ou a ala e a cidade em que vivo, ou a nação, as últimas datas, descobertas, invenções, sociedades, autores antigos e novos O meu jantar, o vestido, os associados, os olhares, os elogios, as dívidas, a indiferença real ou imaginada de algum homem ou mulher que eu amo, a doença de um dos meus amigos ou de mim mesmo, ou a falta ou perda ou falta de dinheiro, ou Depressões ou exaltações, batalhas, os horrores da guerra fratricida, a febre do duvidoso Notícias, eventos agitados. Estes vêm para mim dias e noites e vão de mim novamente, mas eles não são eu mesmo. Além dos estribos de puxar e puxar o que eu sou, Stands divertidos, complacentes, compassivos, ociosos, unitários, Olha para baixo, está ereto ou dobra um braço em um certo descanso impalpável. Olhando com cabeça curva curiosa, o que virá a seguir, Ambos dentro e fora do jogo, observando e imaginando. Para trás, vejo nos meus dias em que transpiro através da névoa com lingüistas e contendores, não tenho zombarias nem argumentos, testemunho e espero. Eu acredito em você minha alma, o outro que eu sou não deve abater-se para você, e você não deve ser abaixado para o outro. Loafe comigo na grama, solte a pausa de sua garganta, Não palavras, nem música nem rima. Eu quero, não personalizado ou palestra, nem mesmo o melhor, Somente a calma que eu gosto, o zumbido de sua voz com válvula. Eu me importo com o quanto uma vez que nós colocamos uma manhã de verão tão transparente, como você se instalou na cabeça com os meus quadris e girou suavemente sobre mim, e separou a camisa do meu peito e mergulhou sua língua no meu coração desnudo. Até sentir a minha barba e chegar até você segurar meus pés. Rapidamente levantou-se e espalhou-me a paz e o conhecimento que passam todo o argumento da terra, e sei que a mão de Deus é a promessa minha, e eu sei que o espírito de Deus é o meu irmão, e Que todos os homens nascidos são também meus irmãos, e as mulheres minhas irmãs e amantes, e que um kelson da criação é amor. E, sem limites, são folhas rígidas ou caídas nos campos, e formigas castanhas nos pequenos poços debaixo deles, E manchas de musgo da cerca do verme, pedras heapd, ancião, mullein e pung-weed. Uma criança disse o que é a grama buscá-la com as mãos cheias Como eu poderia responder a criança, eu não sei o que é mais do que ele. Eu acho que deve ser a bandeira da minha disposição, de coisas verdes esperançosas tecidas. Ou eu acho que é o lenço do Senhor, Um presente perfumado e um remembrancer desenhou-se, levando o nome dos donos de alguma forma nos cantos, para que possamos ver e comentar, e dizer a quem ou eu acho que a grama é em si uma criança, a produzida Bebê da vegetação. Ou eu acho que é um hieróglifo uniforme, E isso significa, brotando em zonas amplas e zonas estreitas, Crescendo entre pessoas negras como entre brancas, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressista, Cuff, eu dou as mesmas, eu as recebo da mesma forma. E agora parece-me o belo cabelo não cortado de túmulos. Tenderly vou usar você capim de curling, pode ser que você transpire dos seios de homens jovens, pode ser se eu os conhecesse, eu teria amado eles, pode ser você é de pessoas idosas, ou de prole levado em breve fora de Suas mães voltam, e aqui estão as voltas das mães. Esta grama é muito escura para ser das cabeças brancas de mães antigas, mais sombrias do que as barbas incolores de homens idosos, escuras para vir de debaixo dos fracos telhados vermelhos das bocas. Ó percebo, afinal, muitas línguas que proferem, e percebo que não vêm dos telhados das bocas por nada. Gostaria de poder traduzir as dicas sobre os homens e as mulheres mortos, e as dicas sobre velhos e mães, e a prole tirada logo de suas voltas. O que você acha que se tornou dos jovens e dos velhos E o que você acha que se tornou das mulheres e dos filhos Eles estão vivos e bem em algum lugar, O mais pequeno broto mostra que realmente não há morte, e se alguma vez foi levado para a frente da vida , E não espera no final para prendê-lo, e interrompeu o momento da vida. Tudo vai para dentro e para fora, nada colapsa, E morrer é diferente do que alguém suposto, e mais afortunado. Alguém suposto ser afortunado de nascer apressa-me a informá-lo é tão afortunado de morrer, e eu sei disso. Eu passo a morte com o morrer e o nascimento com o bebê recém-lavado, e não estou contente entre o meu chapéu e as botas, E peruse vários objetos, nem os dois nem todos são bons, a Terra boa e as estrelas bem, e seus adjuntos todos Boa. Eu não sou uma terra nem um adjunto de uma terra, eu sou companheiro e companheiro de pessoas, todos tão imortais e insondáveis quanto eu (não sabem o quão imortais, mas eu sei.) Todo tipo para si e para si próprio Para mim, meus homens e mulheres, para mim, aqueles que foram meninos e que amam mulheres. Para mim, o homem orgulhoso e sente como ferir ser desprezado. Para mim, o doce coração e a velha empregada, para mim, mães. E as mães das mães, para mim lábios que sorriram, olhos que derramaram lágrimas, para mim, crianças e criadores de crianças. Descobre que você não é culpado de mim, nem está obsoleto nem descartado, vejo através do tecido largo e do guingão, seja ou não, e estou ao redor, tenaz, adquirente, incansável e não pode ser abalado. O pequeno dorme no berço, eu levanto a gaze e olho por muito tempo, e escovo silenciosamente as moscas com a mão. O jovem e a menina de rosto vermelho se desviam da colina espessa, eu os vejo de cima. O suicídio se espalha no chão sangrento do quarto, eu testemunho o cadáver com seus cabelos mexidos, observo onde a pistola caiu. O blab do pavimento, os pneus de carrinhos, a palha das sapatos de bota, falam dos promenaders, o omnibus pesado, o motorista com o polegar interrogatório, o clank dos cavalos do corte no chão do granito, os trenós de neve, tilintando, Gritou piadas, peles de bolinhas de neve, hurrahs para favoritos populares, a fúria de mobs rousd, a aba da ninhada, um homem doente dentro do hospital, o encontro dos inimigos, o juramento repentino, os golpes e a queda A multidão entusiasmada, o policial com sua estrela rapidamente trabalhando sua passagem para o centro da multidão, As pedras impassíveis que recebem e retornam tantos ecos, Que gemidos de over-fed ou half-starvd que se deixam cair pelo sol ou em ataques. Exclamações de mulheres levadas repentinamente que se apressam em casa e dão à luz bebês. O que o discurso vivo e enterrado está sempre vibrando aqui, o que os atritos se resguardam pelo decoro, os prisioneiros de criminosos, as lágrimas, as ofertas adúlteras feitas, as aceitações, as rejeições com os lábios convexos, eu me importo Ou o show ou ressonância deles - - Eu venho e eu partio. As grandes portas do celeiro do país ficam abertas e prontas, A grama seca da época da colheita carrega o vagão lentamente estirado, A luz clara brilha sobre os intercâmbios marrom e verde, As armaduras são empacotadas para o corte flácido. Eu estou lá, eu ajudo, eu vim esticado no topo da carga, senti seus choques suaves, uma perna reclinada no outro, eu pulo das vigas cruzadas e agarre o trevo e o timothy, e role a cabeça nos calcanhares e emaranhe-me Cabelos cheios de mechas. Sozinho nas montanhas e na montanha Eu caço, vagando maravilhado com a minha própria leveza e alegria, Ao final da tarde, escolhendo um local seguro para passar a noite, Acendendo um fogo e grelhando o jogo do novo matar, adormecendo nas folhas recolhidas com Meu cachorro e minha arma ao meu lado. A tosquiadeira dos Yankees está debaixo de suas velas do céu, ela corta o brilho e brilha, meus olhos se acalmaram a terra, eu me inclino na proa ou grito alegremente do convés. Os barqueiros e os escavadores de palhaço surgiram cedo e pararam para mim, coloquei meus trowser-ends nas minhas botas e fui e passei um bom tempo. Você deveria ter estado conosco naquele dia ao redor da chaleira. Eu vi o casamento do caçador ao ar livre no extremo oeste, a noiva era uma menina vermelha. Seu pai e seus amigos sentaram-se perto de pernas cruzadas e idiotas, eles tinham mocassins em seus pés e grandes cobertores grossos pendurados em seus Em um banco, descansava o caçador, ele estava mais alto em peles, sua luxuriante barba e cachos protegiam seu pescoço, ele segurava a noiva com a mão. Ela tinha cílios longos, a cabeça estava nua, suas fechaduras lisas grosseiras desceram sobre ela Membros voluptuosos e alcançou seus pés. O escravo fugitivo veio para minha casa e parou para fora, eu ouvi seus movimentos estalando os galhos da pilha de lenha, Através da meia porta da cozinha, eu vi ele limpos e fracos, E foi onde ele se sentou em um tronco e o levou para dentro E assegurou-lhe, e trouxe água e encheu uma banheira para o seu corpo suado e os pés bruisd, e deu-lhe um quarto que entrou do meu próprio, e deu-lhe roupas grossas e limpas, e lembre-se perfeitamente de seus olhos giratórios e sua incomodidade, E Lembre-se de colocar piasters nas gargalhadas do pescoço e dos tornozelos. Ele ficou comigo uma semana antes de ser recuperado e passava para o norte, eu o fiz sentar ao meu lado na mesa, meu tiro ao fogo na esquina. Vinte e oito jovens se banham pela margem, vinte e oito jovens e todos tão amigáveis Vinte e oito anos de vida feminina e todos tão solitários. Ela possui a bela casa pela ascensão do banco, Ela esconde o belo e ricamente apóia as persianas da janela. Qual dos jovens gosta de o melhor Ah, o homely deles é lindo para ela. Para onde você está fora, senhora, eu vejo você, você mergulha na água lá, mas mantenha o estoque ainda em seu quarto. Dançando e rindo ao longo da praia veio o vigésimo nono banhista, o resto não a viu, mas ela os viu e os amava. As barbas dos jovens brilharam com molhado, corria de seus longos cabelos, Pequenos riachos passavam por seus corpos. Uma mão invisível também passou por seus corpos, desceu tremendo de suas têmporas e costelas. Os jovens flutuam nas costas, as barrigas brancas se projetam ao sol, não perguntam quem se aferra rapidamente a elas, não sabem quem sopra e declina com arco pendente e dobrável. Eles não pensam a quem souse com spray. O açougueiro coloca suas roupas de matar, ou aguda sua faca na barraca no mercado, eu adoro desfrutar de sua repartição e seu shuffle e derrubar. Os ferreiros com cofres agarrados e peludos rodeiam a bigorna, cada um tem seu trenó principal, eles estão todos fora, há um grande calor no fogo. Do limiar cinza-cintilante eu sigo seus movimentos, A máscara de sua cintura toca mesmo com seus braços maciços, Overhand os martelos balançam, sobremaneira tão lento, com muita segurança, eles não se apressam, cada homem bate em seu lugar. O negro segura firmemente as rédeas de seus quatro cavalos, o bloco se encaixa embaixo da sua corrente amarrada. O negro que conduz a longa escora do pátio de pedra, firme e alto, ergueu-se sobre uma perna na corda, Sua camisa azul expõe seu amplo pescoço e peito e afrouxa-se sobre a sua banda de quadril. Seu olhar é calmo e comandante, ele tira a bengala do chapéu da sua testa. O sol cai sobre seus cabelos e bigodes crocantes, cai no preto De seus membros polidos e perfeitos. Eu vejo o pitoresco gigante e o amo, e eu não paro por aí, eu também vou com a equipe. Em mim, o caresser da vida, onde quer que se mova, para trás e para a frente, para os niches de lado e dobradinho, não faltam pessoas ou objetos, absorvendo tudo para mim e para essa música. Boi que chocalhe o jugo e encadeie ou pare na sombra frondosa, o que você expressa em seus olhos. Parece-me mais do que toda a impressão que li na minha vida. Meu piso assusta o drake de madeira e o pato de madeira na minha distracção distante e de um dia. Eles se levantam, eles circundam lentamente. Eu acredito nesses propósitos alados, e reconheço vermelho, amarelo, branco, tocando dentro de mim, e considere verde e violeta e a coroa tufada intencional. E não chame a tartaruga indigna porque ela não é outra coisa, e a floresta nunca Estudou a gama, ainda assim trilha muito bem para mim, e o olhar da maré da baía envergonha-me de mim. O gander selvagem conduz seu rebanho durante a noite legal, Ya-buzina ele diz, e me parece um convite, The pert pode supor que não tem sentido, mas eu estou perto, encontre seu propósito e coloque-o lá em direção ao céu invernal . O alce de casco afiado do norte, o gato no peitoril da casa, o chickadee, o cão da pradaria, a lixo da porca grunhindo enquanto puxam suas tetinas, a ninhada da galinha e ela com sua metade - Asas espalhadas, vejo nelas e em mim mesmo a mesma lei antiga. A pressão do meu pé para a terra brota de cem afetos. Eles desprezam o melhor que posso fazer para relacioná-los. Estou amadurecendo do outro lado, dos homens que vivem entre o gado ou o gosto do oceano ou das madeiras. Dos construtores e orientadores dos navios e dos trabalhadores dos machados e dos mauls, e os motoristas dos cavalos, posso comer e dormir com Eles semana e semana. O que é mais comum, mais barato, mais próximo, mais fácil, é Me, Me indo para as minhas chances, gastando por grandes retornos, Adornando-me para me conceder o primeiro que me levará, Não pedindo que o céu descenda à minha boa vontade, Dispersando-o livremente para sempre. O contralto puro canta no sótão do órgão. O carpinteiro veste sua prancha, a língua de seu foreplane assobia o seu centeio ascendente selvagem. As crianças casadas e solteiras viajam para casa no jantar de Ação de Graças. O piloto pega o pino-rei, ele se afasta com Um braço forte, o companheiro está apoiado no barco da baleia, a lança e o arpão estão prontos, o atirador de patos caminha por trechos silenciosos e cautelosos, os diáconos são ordenados com as mãos cruzadas no altar. A garota giratória recua e avança para O zumbido da grande roda, o fazendeiro pára pelas barras enquanto ele caminha em um loafe do primeiro dia e olha para a aveia e centeio. O lunático é levado finalmente para o asilo um caso confirmado (Ele nunca dormirá mais Como ele fez no berço no quarto da cama de suas mães) A impressora de jornais com cabeça cinza e mandíbulas magras trabalha no caso dele, ele gira seu quid de tabaco enquanto seus olhos escorreram com o manuscrito. Os membros malformados estão amarrados à mesa dos cirurgiões, O que é removido cai horrivelmente no balde O quadrado O garoto é vendido no leilão, o bêbado acena com a cabeça no fogão do bar, o maquinista enrola as mangas, o policial viaja a sua batida, as marcas do portão que passam. O jovem dirige o vagão, (Eu o amo, embora eu não o conheça) As cintas de meia-raça em suas botas de luz para competir na corrida, O tiro de peru ocidental atrai velho e jovem, alguns se apoiam em seus rifles, alguns se sentam em troncos, Fora de A multidão pisa o atirador, assume a posição, nivela sua peça. Os grupos de imigrantes recém-chegados cobrem o cais ou o dique. À medida que os pateiros de lã entram no campo de açougue, o superintendente os vê de sua sela. A sala de baile, os senhores corram para os seus parceiros, os dançarinos se curvam um ao outro. A juventude fica acordada no sótão do telhado de cedro e se dirige à chuva musical, O Wolverine coloca armadilhas no riacho que ajuda a preencher o Huron, The A ropinha envolto em seu pano amarelo, oferece mocassins e sacos para venda, Os colegas conhecedores Ao longo da galeria de exposições com os olhos meio fechados dobrados lateralmente, à medida que as mãos do convés fazem rápido o barco a vapor, a prancha é jogada para os passageiros que se deslocam, a jovem irmã mantém a madeixa enquanto a irmã mais velha o enrolle numa bola E pára de vez em quando para os nós, a esposa de um ano está se recuperando e feliz, tendo passado uma semana por seu primeiro filho, a garota Yankee do secador limpo trabalha com sua máquina de costura ou na fábrica ou no moinho, a pavimentação - O homem se inclina sobre o seu difamador de duas mãos, os repórteres levam moscas rapidamente sobre o caderno de notas, o pintor de letreiros está com letras de azul e ouro, o garoto do canal trota no caminho de reboque, o guarda-livros conta em sua mesa, O maquinista encerra seu fio, o maestro bate o tempo para a banda e todos os artistas o seguem. A criança é batizada, o convertido está fazendo suas primeiras profissões, a regata é espalhada na baía, a corrida é iniciada (como o branco As velas brilham) O fazendeiro observando seu carro sai para eles que se desviariam, The ped (O comprador se preocupa com o centavo estranho) A noiva esmaga seu vestido branco, a mão minuciosa do relógio se move lentamente, o comedor de ópio reclina com cabeça rígida e lábios justos, The A prostituta arranca seu xale, o capô sopra no pescoço embriagado e em pimpled. A multidão rir dos seus juramentos de escuta negra, os homens se zombam e piscam uns aos outros. (Miserável eu não ri de seus juramentos nem te arraste) O Presidente que segura um armário O conselho está rodeado pelos grandes secretários, na praça anda três matronas majestosas e amigáveis com os braços entrelaçados. A tripulação do pacote de peixe prepara camadas repetidas de alabote no porão, O Missourian cruza as planícies tocando suas mercadorias e seu gado. O coletor de tarifas atravessa o comboio que ele den aviso com o tremor da mudança solta. Os homens do chão estão deitado no chão, os tinners estão estivando no telhado, os pedreiros estão chamando de argamassa, em um único arquivo cada um empunhando o seu hod passar Os trabalhadores Estações Perseguindo-se, a multidão indescritível é reunida, é a quarta do sétimo mês, (o que salta de canhão e braços pequenos). As estações se seguem, as aradas, a semeadeira corta e o grão de inverno cai no chão. Os lagos do pescador pescam e aguardam pelo buraco na superfície gelada, os tocos ficam espessos ao redor da clareira, o posseiro atinge profundamente seu machado, Flatboatmen faz rápido para o anoitecer perto da madeira de algodão ou nozes, Coon - Os buscadores atravessam as regiões do rio Vermelho ou através da Draind pelo Tennessee, ou através das do Arkansas, as tochas brilham no escuro que paira no Chattahooche ou Altamahaw, os Patriarcas sentam-se na ceia com filhos e netos e bisneto ao redor Eles, em paredes de adobie, em tendas de lona, caçadores de repouso e caçadores após os dias de esporte, a cidade dorme e o país dorme, os vivos dormem por seu tempo, os mortos dormem por seu tempo, o velho marido dorme com sua esposa e O youn O marido dorme por sua esposa E estes tendem para dentro para mim, e eu tendem para fora para eles, E, como é para ser mais ou menos deste, e de todos esses eu entrei a música de mim mesmo. Eu sou do velho e do jovem, dos tolos tanto quanto os sábios, Independentemente dos outros, sempre considerados dos outros, tanto maternos como paternos, tanto um filho como um homem, Stuffd com o material grosso e enchido com o Tudo bem, um da nação de muitas nações, o menor e o maior, um sulista logo que um norte-norte-americano, um plantador indiferente e hospitaleiro pelo Oconee vivo. Um ianque ligou meu próprio caminho pronto para Comércio, minhas articulações as articulações mais curtas da terra e as articulações mais severas da terra, um Kentucky caminhando pelo vale do Elkhorn em minhas perneiras de pele de cervo, um Louisianian ou Georgian, Um barqueiro sobre lagos ou baías ou ao longo das costas, um Hoosier, Badger Buckeye Em casa em sapatos de neve Kanadianos ou no mato, ou com pescadores de Terra Nova, Em casa na frota de barcos de gelo, navegando com o resto e aderindo, Em casa nas colinas de Vermont ou no bosque de Maine, ou o rancho texano, camarada de californianos, camarada de norte-ocidentais livres (Amando suas grandes proporções) Camarada de novatos e cobras, camarada de todos os que apertam a mão e bem-vindos para beber e carne, Um aprendiz com o mais simples, um professor do mais pensativo, Um novato que começa ainda experiente de miríades de estações, De Cada matiz e casta sou eu, de todos os rankings e religiões, Fazendeiro, mecânico, artista, cavalheiro, marinheiro, quaker, Prisioneiro, chique, barulhento, advogado, médico, padre. Eu resisto a qualquer coisa melhor do que a minha própria diversidade, Respire o ar, mas deixe muito depois de mim, E não estou preso e estou no meu lugar. (A mariposa e os ovos de peixe estão em seu lugar, os solos brilhantes que vejo e os sóis escuros que não consigo ver estão no lugar deles, o palpável está em seu lugar e o impalpável está em seu lugar.) Estes são realmente os pensamentos De todos os homens em todas as idades e terras, eles não são originais comigo. Se eles não são seus, tanto quanto os meus, não são nada ou quase nada. Se eles não são o enigma e a desvinculação do enigma não são nada, Se eles não são tão próximos quanto distantes eles não são nada. Esta é a grama que cresce onde quer que a terra e a água, o ar comum que banha o globo. Com música forte, eu venho, com minhas cornetas e meus tambores, eu não jogo marchas para vencedores aceitos, eu jogo marchas para pessoas conquistadas e mortas. Você já ouviu dizer que era bom ganhar o dia em que eu também disse que é bom cair, as batalhas se perdem no mesmo espírito em que são conquistadas. Eu bati e libro pelos mortos, sopro minhas embutições, meu mais alto e mais alegre para eles. Vivas para aqueles que falharam E para aqueles cujos navios de guerra afundaram no mar E para aqueles que se afundaram no mar E para todos os generais que perderam compromissos e todos superaram heróis E os inúmeros heróis desconhecidos iguais aos maiores heróis conhecidos. É a refeição igualmente preparada, essa é a carne para a fome natural. É para os ímpios, exatamente como os justos, eu faço compromissos com todos, não vou ter uma única pessoa desprezada ou deixada de lado, a mulher mantida, o esponente, o ladrão , São convidados, o escravo pesado é convidado, o venerealee é convidado. Não haverá diferença entre eles e o resto. Esta é a pressão de uma mão tênue, isto é o flutuador e o cheiro dos cabelos, Este é o toque dos meus lábios para o seu, este é o murmúrio do anseio. Esta é a profundidade e a altura que refletem meu próprio rosto. Essa é a fusão pensativa de Eu e a tomada novamente. Você acha que tenho um propósito intrincado? Bem, eu tenho, pois os chuveiros do quarto mês têm, e a mica do lado de uma rocha tem. Você acha que eu iria surpreender A luz do dia surpreende o início do redstart no twitter. Atrapalhei mais do que eles. Esta hora eu digo coisas em confiança, eu não posso contar a todos, mas eu vou te dizer. Quem vai lá ansiando, grosseiro, místico, nu Como é que eu extrai força da carne de vaca Eu como o que é um homem de qualquer forma, o que eu sou o que você é Tudo. Eu marque como meu, você deve compensá-lo com o seu próprio. Perdi-me ouvindo. Eu não gorro que snivel em todo o mundo, que meses são aspiradores e o chão, mas wallow e sujidade. Whimpering e camionagem dobra com pós para inválidos, a conformidade vai para o quarto removido, eu uso meu chapéu como eu por dentro ou por dentro. Por que eu devo rezar por que devo venerar e ser cerimonial. Através dos estratos, analisados para um cabelo, aconselhados com médicos e calculados por perto, não encontro gordura mais doce do que as minhas mãos aos meus próprios ossos. Em todas as pessoas eu me vejo, nada mais e nem um milho de cevada menos, E o bom ou o mal, eu digo de mim mesmo, digo sobre eles. Eu sei que sou sólido e som, Para mim os objetos convergentes do universo fluem perpetuamente, Todos estão escritos para mim, e devo obter o que a escrita significa. Eu sei que estou imortal, eu sei que essa órbita minha não pode ser varrida por uma bússola de carpinteiros, eu sei que não vou passar como um corte de carlacue de criança com um bastão queimado à noite. Eu sei que sou o mês de agosto, não perturbo meu espírito para se reivindicar ou ser entendido, vejo que as leis elementares nunca se desculparam, (eu considero que eu não me comporto mais orgulhoso que o nível em que eu planta minha casa, afinal). Eu existo Como sou, isso basta, se nenhum outro no mundo estiver ciente de que eu me sinto satisfeito, e se todos e todos estiverem cientes de que eu me sinto satisfeito. One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself, And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait. My foothold is tenond and mortisd in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time. I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul, The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me, The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new tongue. I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men. I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development. Have you outstript the rest are you the President It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on. I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night. Press close bare-bosomd night--press close magnetic nourishing night Night of south winds--night of the large few stars Still nodding night--mad naked summer night. Smile O voluptuous cool-breathd earth Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees Earth of departed sunset--earth of the mountains misty-topt Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake Far-swooping elbowd earth--rich apple-blossomd earth Smile, for your lover comes. Prodigal, you have given me love--therefore I to you give love O unspeakable passionate love. You sea I resign myself to you also--I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land, Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse, Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you. Sea of stretchd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovelld yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases. Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others arms. I am he attesting sympathy, (Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them) I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also. What blurt is this about virtue and about vice Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finders or rejecters gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown. Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be workd over and rectified I find one side a balance and the antipedal side a balance, Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start. This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel. Endless unfolding of words of ages And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely. It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing. Hurrah for positive science long live exact demonstration Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches, These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas. This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician. Gentlemen, to you the first honors always Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling. Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that plot and conspire. Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest. Unscrew the locks from the doors Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me. Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms. Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseasd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs, Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff, And of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the deformd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung. Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veild and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigurd. I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is. I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touchd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you Firm masculine colter it shall be you Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you You my rich blood your milky stream pale strippings of my life Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you My brain it shall be your occult convolutions Root of washd sweet-flag timorous pond-snipe nest of guarded duplicate eggs it shall be you Mixd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you Sun so generous it shall be you Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you Hands I have taken, face I have kissd, mortal I have ever touchd, i t shall be you. I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again. That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books. To behold the day-break The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low. Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven. The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heavd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me, If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me. We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak. My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds. Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why dont you let it out then Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded Waiting in gloom, protected by frost, The dirt receding before my prophetical screams, I underlying causes to balance them at last, My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things, Happiness, (which whoever hears me let him or her set out in search of this day.) My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really am, Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me, I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you. Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic. Now I will do nothing but listen, To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it. I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals, I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night, Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals, The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick, The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence, The heaveeyo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters, The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and colord lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march playd at the head of the association marching two and two, (They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.) I h ear the violoncello, (tis the young mans hearts complaint,) I hear the keyd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music--this suits me. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full. I hear the traind soprano (what work with hers is this) The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possessd them, It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lickd by the indolent waves, I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath, Steepd amid honeyd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death, At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, And that we call Being. To be in any form, what is that (Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither,) If nothing lay more developd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough. Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me. I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one elses is about as much as I can stand. Is this then a touch quivering me to a new identity, Flames and ether making a rush for my veins, Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them, My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself, On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs, Straining the udder of my heart for its withheld drip, Behaving licentious toward me, taking no denial, Depriving me of my best as for a purpose, Unbuttoning my clothes, holding me by the bare waist, Deluding my confusion with the calm of the sunlight and pasture-fields, Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away, They bribed to swap off with touch and go and graze at the edges of me, No consideration, no regard for my draining strength or my anger, Fetching the rest of the herd around to enjoy them a while, Then all uniting to stand on a headland and worry me. The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me. I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there. You villain touch what are you doing my breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for me. Blind loving wrestling touch, sheathd hooded sharp-toothd touch Did it make you ache so, leaving me Parting trackd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward. Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden. All truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, (What is less or more than a touch) Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul. (Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies is so.) A minute and a drop of me settle my brain, I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps, And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman, And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other, And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it becomes omnific, And until one and all shall delight us, and we them. I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars, And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren, And the tree-toad is a chef-doeuvre for the highest, And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven, And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery, And the cow crunching with depressd head surpasses any statue, And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels. I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stuccod with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, But call any thing back again when I desire it. In vain the speeding or shyness, In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach, In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powderd bones, In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes, In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low, In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky, In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs, In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods, In vain the razor-billd auk sails far north to Labrador, I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff. I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-containd, I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth. So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession. I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms. A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving. His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return. I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you. Space and Time now I see it is true, what I guessd at, What I guessd when I loafd on the grass, What I guessd while I lay alone in my bed, And again as I walkd the beach under the paling stars of the morning. My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision. By the citys quadrangular houses--in log huts, camping with lumber-men, Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Weeding my onion-patch or hosing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, trailing in forests, Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new purchase, Scorchd ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat down the shallow river, Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, where the buck turns furiously at the hunter, Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, where the otter is feeding on fish, Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou, Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tall Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flowerd cotton plant, over the rice in its low moist field, Over the sharp-peakd farm house, with its scallopd scum and slender shoots from the gutters, Over the western persimmon, over the long-leavd corn, o ver the delicate blue-flower flax, Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there with the rest, Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the breeze Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low scragged limbs, Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of the brush, Where the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and the wheat-lot, Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great goldbug drops through the dark, Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to the meadow, Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous shuddering of their hides, Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andirons straddle the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoons from the rafters Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling its cylinders, Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs, Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, (floating in it myself and looking composedly down,) Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand, Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it, Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant of smoke, Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water, Where the half-burnd brig is riding on unknown currents, Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupting below Where the dense-starrd flag is borne at the head of the regiments, Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island, Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance, Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside, Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game of base-ball, At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances, drinking, laughter, At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the juice through a straw, At apple-peel ings wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find, At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings, house-raisings Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles, screams, weeps, Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks are scatterd, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel, Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud to the mare, where the cock is treading the hen, Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with short jerks, Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome prairie, Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square miles far and near, Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long-lived swan is curving and winding, Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her near-human laugh, Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hid by the high weeds, Where band-neckd partridges roost in a ring on the ground with their heads out, Where bur ial coaches enter the archd gates of a cemetery, Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees, Where the yellow-crownd heron comes to the edge of the marsh at night and feeds upon small crabs, Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon, Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree over the well, Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wired leaves, Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs, Through the gymnasium, through the curtaind saloon, through the office or public hall Pleasd with the native and pleasd with the foreign, pleasd with the new and old, Pleasd with the homely woman as well as the handsome, Pleasd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks melodiously, Pleasd with the tune of the choir of the whitewashd church, Pleasd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preacher, impressd seriously at the camp-meeting Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole foreno on, flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass, Wandering the same afternoon with my face turnd up to the clouds, or down a lane or along the beach, My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle Coming home with the silent and dark-cheekd bush-boy, (behind me he rides at the drape of the day,) Far from the settlements studying the print of animals feet, or the moccasin print, By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient, Nigh the coffind corpse when all is still, examining with a candle Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure, Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any, Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him, Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while, Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by my side, Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars, Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the diam eter of eighty thousand miles, Speeding with taild meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest, Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly, Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning, Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing, I tread day and night such roads. I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripend and look at quintillions green. I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, My course runs below the soundings of plummets. I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me. I anchor my ship for a little while only, My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me. I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue. I ascend to the foretruck, I take my place late at night in the crows-nest, We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough, Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty, The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is plain in all directions, The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them, We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged, We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still feet and caution, Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruind city, The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe. I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires, I turn the bridgroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself, I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips. My voice is the wifes voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my mans body up dripping and drownd. I understand the large hearts of heroes, The courage of present times and all times, How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steamship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm, How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faithful of days and faithful of nights, And chalkd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will not desert you How he followd with them and tackd with them three days and would not give it up, How he saved the drifting company at last, How the lank loose-gownd women lookd when boated from the side of their prepared graves, How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharp-lippd unshaved men All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine, I am the man, I sufferd, I was there. The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemnd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, coverd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am. I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinnd with the ooze of my skin, I fall on the weeds and stones, The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks. Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe. I am the mashd fireman with breast-bone broken, Tumbling walls buried me in their debris, Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels, They have cleard the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth. I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches. Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself. I am an old artillerist, I tell of my forts bombardment, I am there again. Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive. I take part, I see and hear the whole, The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aimd shots, The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip, Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs, The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion, The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air. Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me--mind--the entrenchments. Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth, (I tell not the fall of Alamo, Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo,) Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve young men. Retreating they had formd in a hollow square with their baggage for breastworks, Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance, Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone, They treated for an honorable capitulation, receivd writing and seal, gave up their arms and marchd back prisoners of war. They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age. The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer, The work commenced about five oclock and was over by eight. None obeyd the command to kneel, Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight, A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead lay together, The maimd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw them there, Some half-killd attempted to crawl away, These were despatchd with bayonets or batterd with the blunts of muskets, A youth not seventeen years old seizd his assassin till two more came to release him, The three were all torn and coverd with the boys blood. At eleven oclock began the burning of the bodies That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men. Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars List to the yarn, as my grandmothers father the sailor told it to me. Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,) His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be Along the lowerd eve he came horribly raking us. We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touchd, My captain lashd fast with his own hands. We had receivd some eighteen pound shots under the water, On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead. Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten oclock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported, The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves. The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust. Our frigate takes fire, The other asks if we demand quarter If our colors are struck and the fighting done Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting. Only three guns are in use, One is directed by the captain himself against the enemys main-mast, Two well servd with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks. The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top, They hold out bravely during the whole of the action. Not a moments cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine. One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking. Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns. Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us. Stretchd and still lies the midnight, Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness, Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the one we have conquerd, The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a countenance white as a sheet, Near by the corpse of the child that servd in the cabin, The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully curld whiskers, The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and below, The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty, Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of flesh upon the masts and spars, Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of waves, Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent, A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining, Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by the shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors, The hiss of the surgeons knife, the gn awing teeth of his saw, Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long, dull, tapering groan, These so, these irretrievable. You laggards there on guard look to your arms In at the conquerd doors they crowd I am possessd Embody all presences outlawd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain. For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, It is I let out in the morning and barrd at night. Not a mutineer walks handcuffd to jail but I am handcuffd to him and walk by his side, (I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat on my twitching lips.) Not a youngster is taken for larceny but I go up too, and am tried and sentenced. Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp, My face is ash-colord, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat. Askers embody themselves in me and I am embodied in them, I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg. Enough enough enough Somehow I have been stunnd. Stand back Give me a little time beyond my cuffd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake. That I could forget the mockers and insults That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and bloody crowning. I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me. I troop forth replenishd with supreme power, one of an average unending procession, Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines, Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth, The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years. Eleves, I salute you come forward Continue your annotations, continue your questionings. The friendly and flowing savage, who is he Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it Is he some Southwesterner raisd out-doors is he Kanadian Is he from the Mississippi country Iowa, Oregon, California The mountains prairie-life, bush-life or sailor from the sea Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him, They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them. Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncombd head, laughter, and naivete, Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations, They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers, They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of the glance of his eyes. Flaunt of the sunshine I need not your bask--lie over You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also. Earth you seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, but cannot, And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot, And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days. Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself. You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarfd chops till I blow grit within you, Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, And any thing I have I bestow. I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you. To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him. On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes. (This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.) To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door. Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, Let the physician and the priest go home. I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down hang your whole weight upon me. I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an armd force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves. Sleep--I and they keep guard all night, Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you, I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself, And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so. I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs, And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help. I heard what was said of the universe, Heard it and heard it of several thousand years It is middling well as far as it goes--but is that all Magnifying and applying come I, Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters, Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah, Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson, Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha, In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf, the crucifix engraved, With Odin and the hideous-faced Mexitli and every idol and image, Taking them all for what they are worth and not a cent more, Admitting they were alive and did the work of their days, (They bore mites as for unfledgd birds who have now to rise and fly and sing for themselves,) Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself, bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see, Discovering as much or more in a framer framing a house, Putting higher claims for him there with his rolld-up sleeves driving the malle t and chisel, Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke or a hair on the back of my hand just as curious as any revelation, Lads ahold of fire-engines and hook-and-ladder ropes no less to me than the gods of the antique wars, Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction, Their brawny limbs passing safe over charrd laths, their white foreheads whole and unhurt out of the flames By the mechanics wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for every person born, Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels with shirts baggd out at their waists, The snag-toothd hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to come, Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his brother and sit by him while he is tried for forgery What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about me, and not filling the square rod then, The bull and the bug never worshippd half enough, Dung and dirt more admirable than was dreamd, Th e supernatural of no account, myself waiting my time to be one of the supremes, The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as the best, and be as prodigious By my life-lumps becoming already a creator, Putting myself here and now to the ambushd womb of the shadows. A call in the midst of the crowd, My own voice, orotund sweeping and final. Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, Now the performer launches his nerve, he has passd his prelude on the reeds within. Easily written loose-fingerd chords--I feel the thrum of your climax and close. My head slues round on my neck, Music rolls, but not from the organ, Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine. Ever the hard unsunk ground, Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever the air and the ceaseless tides, Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real, Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thornd thumb, that breath of itches and thirsts, Ever the vexers hoot hoot till we find where the sly one hides and bring him forth, Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life, Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death. Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking, To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going, Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving, A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming. This is the city and I am one of the citizens, Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets, newspapers, schools, The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate. The little plentiful manikins skipping around in collars and taild coats I am aware who they are, (they are positively not worms or fleas,) I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest is deathless with me, What I do and say the same waits for them, Every thought that flounders in me the same flounders in them. I know perfectly well my own egotism, Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself. Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring This printed and bound book--but the printer and the printing-office boy The well-taken photographs--but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms The black ship maild with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets--but the pluck of the captain and engineers In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture--but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes The sky up there--yet here or next door, or across the way The saints and sages in history--but you yourself Sermons, creeds, theology--but the fathomless human brain, And what is reason and what is love and what is life I do not despise you priests, all time, the world over, My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths, Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between ancient and modern, Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years, Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the gods, sal uting the sun, Making a fetich of the first rock or stump, powowing with sticks in the circle of obis, Helping the llama or brahmin as he trims the lamps of the idols, Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic procession, rapt and austere in the woods a gymnosophist, Drinking mead from the skull-cap, to Shastas and Vedas admirant, minding the Koran, Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife, beating the serpent-skin drum, Accepting the Gospels, accepting him that was crucified, knowing assuredly that he is divine, To the mass kneeling or the puritans prayer rising, or sitting patiently in a pew, Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting dead-like till my spirit arouses me, Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of pavement and land, Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits. One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like man leaving charges before a journey. Down-hearted doubters dull and excluded, Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, disheartend, atheistical, I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair and unbelief. How the flukes splash How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, I take my place among you as much as among any, The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely the same. I do not know what is untried and afterward, But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail. Each who passes is considerd, each who stops is considerd, not single one can it fall. It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peepd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with bitterness worse than gall, Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad disorder, Nor the numberless slaughterd and wreckd, nor the brutish koboo calld the ordure of humanity, Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in, Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth, Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of myriads that inhabit them, Nor the present, nor the least wisp that is known. It is time to explain myself--let us stand up. What is known I strip away, I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown. The clock indicates the moment--but what does eternity indicate We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them. Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety. I do not call one greater and one smaller, That which fills its period and place is equal to any. Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, (What have I to do with lamentation) I am an acme of things accomplishd, and I an encloser of things to be. My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, All below duly traveld, and still I mount and mount. Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there, I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist, And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon. Long I was huggd close--long and long. Immense have been the preparations for me, Faithful and friendly the arms that have helpd me. Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings, They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it. For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care. All forces have been steadily employd to complete and delight me, Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul. O span of youth ever-pushd elasticity O manhood, balanced, florid and full. My lovers suffocate me, Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night, Crying by day, Ahoy from the rocks of the river, swinging and chirping over my head, Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush, Lighting on every moment of my life, Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them to be mine. Old age superbly rising O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows after and out of itself, And the dark hush promulges as much as any. I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems. Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, Outward and outward and forever outward. My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels, He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit, And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them. There is no stoppage and never can be stoppage, If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail the long run, We should surely bring up again where we now stand, And surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther. A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span or make it impatient, They are but parts, any thing is but a part. See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that, Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that. My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain, The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms, The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there. I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured. I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all) My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods, No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair, I have no chair, no church, no philosophy, I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange, But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll, My left hand hooking you round the waist, My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road. Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself. It is not far, it is within reach, Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know, Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land. Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth, Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go. If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip, And in due time you shall repay the same service to me, For after we start we never lie by again. This day before dawn I ascended a hill and lookd at the crowded heaven, And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be filld and satisfied then And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond. You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself. Sit a while dear son, Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink, But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence. Long enough have you dreamd contemptible dreams, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life. Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore, Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair. I am the teacher of athletes, He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own, He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher. The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, but in his own right, Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear, Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak, Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel cuts, First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bulls eye, to sail a skiff, to sing a song or play on the banjo, Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox over all latherers, And those well-tannd to those that keep out of the sun. I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me I follow you whoever you are from the present hour, My words itch at your ears till you understand them. I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while I wait for a boat, (It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you, Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosend.) I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a house, And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her who privately stays with me in the open air. If you would understand me go to the heights or water-shore, The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves key, The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words. No shutterd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they. The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with him all day, The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice, In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen and love them. The soldier campd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek me. My face rubs to the hunters face when he lies down alone in his blanket, The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon, The young mother and old mother comprehend me, The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget where they are, They and all would resume what I have told them. I have said that the soul is not more than the body, And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, And nothing, not God, is greater to one than ones self is, And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud, And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the earth, And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the learning of all times, And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it may become a hero, And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheeld universe, And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes. And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God, For I who am curious about each am not curious about God, (No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and about death.) I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself. Why should I wish to see God better than this day I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass, I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is signd by Gods name, And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoeer I go, Others will punctually come for ever and ever. And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me. To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes, I see the elder-hand pressing receiving supporting, I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors, And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape. And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polishd breasts of melons. And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, O suns--O grass of graves--O perpetual transfers and promotions, If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of day and dusk--toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs. I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night, I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected, And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small. There is that in me--I do not know what it is--but I know it is in me. Wrenchd and sweaty--calm and cool then my body becomes, I sleep--I sleep long. I do not know it--it is without name--it is a word unsaid, It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol. Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me. Perhaps I might tell more. Outlines I plead for my brothers and sisters. Do you see O my brothers and sisters It is not chaos or death--it is form, union, plan--it is eternal life--it is Happiness. The past and present wilt--I have filld them, emptied them. And proceed to fill my next fold of the future. Listener up there what have you to confide to me Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening, (Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.) Do I contradict myself Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab. Who has done his days work who will soonest be through with his supper Who wishes to walk with me Will you speak before I am gone will you prove already too late The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadowd wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you. DayPoems Poem No. 1900 Comment on DayPoems If you are like us, you have strong feelings about poetry, and about each poem you read. Let it all out Comment on this poem, any poem, DayPoems, other poetry places or the art of poetry at DayPoems Feedback . Wont you help support DayPoems Click here to learn more about how you can keep DayPoems on the Web. The DayPoems web site, daypoems. net, is copyright 2001-2005 by Timothy K. Bovee. Todos os direitos reservados. The authors of poetry and other material appearing on DayPoems retain full rights to their work. Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors. The editor of DayPoems will gladly assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors. Support DayPoems. Buy your books here Latest Chapbooks from Powells.
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