Walt Whitman

“ Words no more, for hearken and see, My song is there in the open air, and I must sing, With the banner and pennant a-flapping. I’ll weave the chord and twine in, Man’s desire and babe’s desire, I’ll twine them in, I’ll put in life, I’ll put the bayonet’s flashing point, I’ll let bullets and slugs whizz, (As one carrying a symbol and menace far into the future, Crying with trumpet voice, Arouse and beware! Beware and arouse!) I’ll pour the verse with streams of blood, full of volition, full of joy, Then loosen, launch forth, to go and compete, With the banner and pennant a-flapping. ”

“ You said in your soul, I will be empire of empires, overshadowing all else, past and present, putting the history of Old-World dynasties, conquests behind me, as of no account—making a new history, a history of democracy, making old history a dwarf—I alone inaugurating largeness, culminating time. If these, O lands of America, are indeed the prizes, the determinations of your soul, be it so. But behold the cost, and already specimens of the cost. Thought you greatness was to ripen for you like a pear? ”

“ O if one could but fly like a bird!
O to escape, to sail forth as in a ship!
To glide with thee O soul, o'er all, in all, as a ship o'er the waters;
Gathering these hints, the preludes, the blue sky, the grass, the morning drops of dew,
The lilac-scent, the bushes with dark green heart-shaped leaves,
Wood-violets, the little delicate pale blossoms called innocence,
Samples and sorts not for themselves alone, but for their atmosphere,
To grace the bush I love—to sing with the birds,
A warble for joy of lilac-time, returning in reminiscence. ”

“ Even now, your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away from you, Your true Soul and Body appear before me, They stand forth out of affairs-out of commerce, shops, law, science, work, farms, clothes, the house, medicine, print, buying, selling, eating, drinking, suffering, dying.
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem;
I whisper with my lips close to your ear,
I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you. ”

“ POETRY TO-DAY IN AMERICA SHAKSPERE—THE FUTURE
Strange as it may seem, the topmost proof of a race is its own born poetry. The presence of that, or the absence, each tells its story. As the flowering rose or lily, as the ripened fruit to a tree, the apple or the peach, no matter how fine the trunk, or copious or rich the branches and foliage, here waits sine qua non at last. The stamp of entire and finished greatness to any nation, to the American Republic among the rest, must be sternly withheld till it has put what it stands for in the blossom of original, first-class poems. ”

“ 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 comrades,
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. ”

“ Illustrious what we name space, sphere of unnumber’d spirits, Illustrious the mystery of motion in all beings, even the tiniest insect, Illustrious the attribute of speech, the senses, the body, Illustrious the passing light—illustrious the pale reflection on the new moon in the western sky, Illustrious whatever I see or hear or touch, to the last. Good in all, In the satisfaction and aplomb of animals, In the annual return of the seasons, In the hilarity of youth, In the strength and flush of manhood, In the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age, In the superb vistas of death. ”

“ And here and hence O Union, all the work and workmen thine! None separate from thee—henceforth One only, we and thou, (For the blood of the children, what is it, only the blood maternal? And lives and works, what are they all at last, except the roads to faith and death?) While we rehearse our measureless wealth, it is for thee, dear Mother, We own it all and several to-day indissoluble in thee; Think not our chant, our show, merely for products gross or lucre— it is for thee, the soul in thee, electric, spiritual! Our farms, inventions, crops, we own in thee! cities and States in thee! ”

“ War, death, cataclysm like this, America, Take deep to thy proud prosperous heart. E’en as I chant, lo! out of death, and out of ooze and slime, The blossoms rapidly blooming, sympathy, help, love, From West and East, from South and North and over sea, Its hot-spurr’d hearts and hands humanity to human aid moves on; And from within a thought and lesson yet. Thou ever-darting Globe! through Space and Air! Thou waters that encompass us! Thou that in all the life and death of us, in action or in sleep! ”

“ Shalt soar toward the fulfilment of the future, the spirit of the body and the mind, The soul, its destinies. The soul, its destinies, the real real, (Purport of all these apparitions of the real;) In thee America, the soul, its destinies, Thou globe of globes! thou wonder nebulous! By many a throe of heat and cold convuls’d, (by these thyself solidifying,) Thou mental, moral orb—thou New, indeed new, Spiritual World! The Present holds thee not—for such vast growth as thine, For such unparallel’d flight as thine, such brood as thine, The FUTURE only holds thee and can hold thee. ”

“ As I watch'd where you pass'd and was lost in the netherward black of the night,
As my soul in its trouble dissatisfied sank, as where you sad orb,
Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.
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Sing on there in the swamp,
O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call,
I hear, I come presently, I understand you,
But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain'd me,
The star my departing comrade holds and detains me.
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O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone? ”

“ From deep secluded recesses, From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still, Came the carol of the bird. And the charm of the carol rapt me, As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night, And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird. Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later delicate death. Prais’d be the fathomless universe, For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, And for love, sweet love—but praise! ”

“ And you, Californian mountains—That you each
and all find somebody else to be your singer of
songs,
For I can be your singer of songs no longer—One
who loves me is jealous of me, and withdraws me
from all but love,
With the rest I dispense—I sever from what I
thought would suffice me, for it does not—it is
now empty and tasteless to me,
I heed knowledge, and the grandeur of The States,
and the example of heroes, no more,
I am indifferent to my own songs—I will go with
him I love,
It is to be enough for us that we are together—We
never separate again. ”

“ Thy lover me, for always I have loved thee,
Even as basking babe, then happy boy alone by some wood edge, thy touching-distant beams enough,
Or man matured, or young or old, as now to thee I launch my invocation.
(Thou canst not with thy dumbness me deceive,
I know before the fitting man all Nature yields,
Though answering not in words, the skies, trees, hear his voice—and thou O sun,
As for thy throes, thy perturbations, sudden breaks and shafts of flame gigantic,
I understand them, I know those flames, those perturbations well.) ”

“ Who believes not only in our globe with its sun and moon, but in other globes with their suns and moons, Who, constructing the house of himself or herself, not for a day but for all time, sees races, eras, dates, generations, The past, the future, dwelling there, like space, inseparable together.
Others May Praise What They Like Others may praise what they like; But I, from the banks of the running Missouri, praise nothing in art or aught else, Till it has well inhaled the atmosphere of this river, also the western prairie-scent, And exudes it all again. ”

“ After all not to create only, or found only, But to bring perhaps from afar what is already founded, To give it our own identity, average, limitless, free, To fill the gross the torpid bulk with vital religious fire, Not to repel or destroy so much as accept, fuse, rehabilitate, To obey as well as command, to follow more than to lead, These also are the lessons of our New World; While how little the New after all, how much the Old, Old World! Long and long has the grass been growing, Long and long has the rain been falling, Long has the globe been rolling round. ”

“ Forth from their masks, no matter what, From the huge festering trunk, from craft and guile and tears, Health to emerge and joy, joy universal. Out of the bulk, the morbid and the shallow, Out of the bad majority, the varied countless frauds of men and states, Electric, antiseptic yet, cleaving, suffusing all, Only the good is universal. 3 Over the mountain-growths disease and sorrow, An uncaught bird is ever hovering, hovering, High in the purer, happier air. From imperfection’s murkiest cloud, Darts always forth one ray of perfect light, One flash of heaven’s glory. ”

“ With the poet, the skald, the saga, the myth, and the
oracle,
With the sale of slaves—with enthusiasts—with
the troubadour, the crusader, and the monk,
With those old continents whence we have come to this
new continent,
With the fading kingdoms and kings over there,
With the fading religions and priests,
With the small shores we look back to, from our own
large and present shores,
With countless years drawing themselves onward, and
arrived at these years,
You and Me arrived—America arrived, and making
this year,
This year! sending itself ahead countless years to
come. ”

“ To rise at peep of day and pass forth nimbly to work, To plough land in the fall for winter-sown crops, To plough land in the spring for maize, To train orchards, to graft the trees, to gather apples in the fall. O to bathe in the swimming-bath, or in a good place along shore, To splash the water! to walk ankle-deep, or race naked along the shore. O to realize space! The plenteousness of all, that there are no bounds, To emerge and be of the sky, of the sun and moon and flying clouds, as one with them. O the joy a manly self-hood! ”

“ My foothold is tenon’d and mortis’d in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time. 21 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. ”