92. The City Dead-House



BY the City Dead-House, by the gate,       
As idly sauntering, wending my way from the clangor,       
I curious pause—for lo! an outcast form, a poor dead prostitute brought;       
Her corpse they deposit unclaim’d—it lies on the damp brick pavement;       
The divine woman, her body—I see the Body—I look on it alone,            5   
That house once full of passion and beauty—all else I notice not;       
Nor stillness so cold, nor running water from faucet, nor odors morbific impress me;       
But the house alone—that wondrous house—that delicate fair house—that ruin!       
That immortal house, more than all the rows of dwellings ever built!       
Or white-domed Capitol itself, with majestic figure surmounted—or all the old high-spired cathedrals;     10   
That little house alone, more than them all—poor, desperate house!       
Fair, fearful wreck! tenement of a Soul! itself a Soul!       
Unclaim’d, avoided house! take one breath from my tremulous lips;       
Take one tear, dropt aside as I go, for thought of you,       
Dead house of love! house of madness and sin, crumbled! crush’d!     15   
House of life—erewhile talking and laughing—but ah, poor house! dead, even then;       
Months, years, an echoing, garnish’d house—but dead, dead, dead.

93. A Farm-Picture



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

94. Carol of Occupations



1

COME closer to me;       
Push close, my lovers, and take the best I possess;       
Yield closer and closer, and give me the best you possess.       
     
This is unfinish’d business with me—How is it with you?       
(I was chill’d with the cold types, cylinder, wet paper between us.)            5   
     
Male and Female!       
I pass so poorly with paper and types, I must pass with the contact of bodies and souls.       
     
American masses!       
I do not thank you for liking me as I am, and liking the touch of me—I know that it is good for you to do so.       
     
2

This is the carol of occupations;     10   
In the labor of engines and trades, and the labor of fields, I find the developments,       
And find the eternal meanings.       
     
Workmen and Workwomen!       
Were all educations, practical and ornamental, well display’d out of me, what would it amount to?       
Were I as the head teacher, charitable proprietor, wise statesman, what would it amount to?     15   
Were I to you as the boss employing and paying you, would that satisfy you?       
     
The learn’d, virtuous, benevolent, and the usual terms;       
A man like me, and never the usual terms.       
     
Neither a servant nor a master am I;       
I take no sooner a large price than a small price—I will have my own, whoever enjoys me;     20   
I will be even with you, and you shall be even with me.       
     
If you stand at work in a shop, I stand as nigh as the nighest in the same shop;       
If you bestow gifts on your brother or dearest friend, I demand as good as your brother or dearest friend;       
If your lover, husband, wife, is welcome by day or night, I must be personally as welcome;       
If you become degraded, criminal, ill, then I become so for your sake;     25   
If you remember your foolish and outlaw’d deeds, do you think I cannot remember my own foolish and outlaw’d deeds?       
If you carouse at the table, I carouse at the opposite side of the table;       
If you meet some stranger in the streets, and love him or her—why I often meet strangers in the street, and love them.       
     
Why, what have you thought of yourself?       
Is it you then that thought yourself less?     30   
Is it you that thought the President greater than you?       
Or the rich better off than you? or the educated wiser than you?       
     
Because you are greasy or pimpled, or that you were once drunk, or a thief,       
Or diseas’d, or rheumatic, or a prostitute—or are so now;       
Or from frivolity or impotence, or that you are no scholar, and never saw your name in print,     35   
Do you give in that you are any less immortal?       
     
3

Souls of men and women! it is not you I call unseen, unheard, untouchable and untouching;       
It is not you I go argue pro and con about, and to settle whether you are alive or no;       
I own publicly who you are, if nobody else owns.       
     
Grown, half-grown, and babe, of this country and every country, in-doors and out-doors, one just as much as the other, I see,     40   
And all else behind or through them.       
     
The wife—and she is not one jot less than the husband;       
The daughter—and she is just as good as the son;       
The mother—and she is every bit as much as the father.       
     
Offspring of ignorant and poor, boys apprenticed to trades,     45   
Young fellows working on farms, and old fellows working on farms,       
Sailor-men, merchant-men, coasters, immigrants,       
All these I see—but nigher and farther the same I see;       
None shall escape me, and none shall wish to escape me.       
     
I bring what you much need, yet always have,     50   
Not money, amours, dress, eating, but as good;       
I send no agent or medium, offer no representative of value, but offer the value itself.       
     
There is something that comes home to one now and perpetually;       
It is not what is printed, preach’d, discussed—it eludes discussion and print;       
It is not to be put in a book—it is not in this book;     55   
It is for you, whoever you are—it is no farther from you than your hearing and sight are from you;       
It is hinted by nearest, commonest, readiest—it is ever provoked by them.       
     
You may read in many languages, yet read nothing about it;       
You may read the President’s Message, and read nothing about it there;       
Nothing in the reports from the State department or Treasury department, or in the daily papers or the weekly papers,     60   
Or in the census or revenue returns, prices current, or any accounts of stock.       
     
4

The sun and stars that float in the open air;       
The apple-shaped earth, and we upon it—surely the drift of them is something grand!       
I do not know what it is, except that it is grand, and that it is happiness,       
And that the enclosing purport of us here is not a speculation, or bon-mot, or reconnoissance,     65   
And that it is not something which by luck may turn out well for us, and without luck must be a failure for us,       
And not something which may yet be retracted in a certain contingency.       
     
The light and shade, the curious sense of body and identity, the greed that with perfect complaisance devours all things, the endless pride and out-stretching of man, unspeakable joys and sorrows,       
The wonder every one sees in every one else he sees, and the wonders that fill each minute of time forever,       
What have you reckon’d them for, camerado?     70   
Have you reckon’d them for a trade, or farm-work? or for the profits of a store?       
Or to achieve yourself a position? or to fill a gentleman’s leisure, or a lady’s leisure?       
     
Have you reckon’d the landscape took substance and form that it might be painted in a picture?       
Or men and women that they might be written of, and songs sung?       
Or the attraction of gravity, and the great laws and harmonious combinations, and the fluids of the air, as subjects for the savans?     75   
Or the brown land and the blue sea for maps and charts?       
Or the stars to be put in constellations and named fancy names?       
Or that the growth of seeds is for agricultural tables, or agriculture itself?       
     
Old institutions—these arts, libraries, legends, collections, and the practice handed along in manufactures—will we rate them so high?       
Will we rate our cash and business high?—I have no objection;     80   
I rate them as high as the highest—then a child born of a woman and man I rate beyond all rate.       
     
We thought our Union grand, and our Constitution grand;       
I do not say they are not grand and good, for they are;       
I am this day just as much in love with them as you;       
Then I am in love with you, and with all my fellows upon the earth.     85   
     
We consider bibles and religions divine—I do not say they are not divine;       
I say they have all grown out of you, and may grow out of you still;       
It is not they who give the life—it is you who give the life;       
Leaves are not more shed from the trees, or trees from the earth, than they are shed out of you.       
     
5

When the psalm sings instead of the singer;     90   
When the script preaches instead of the preacher;       
When the pulpit descends and goes, instead of the carver that carved the supporting desk;       
When I can touch the body of books, by night or by day, and when they touch my body back again;       
When a university course convinces, like a slumbering woman and child convince;       
When the minted gold in the vault smiles like the night-watchman’s daughter;     95   
When warrantee deeds loafe in chairs opposite, and are my friendly companions;       
I intend to reach them my hand, and make as much of them as I do of men and women like you.       
     
The sum of all known reverence I add up in you, whoever you are;       
The President is there in the White House for you—it is not you who are here for him;       
The Secretaries act in their bureaus for you—not you here for them;    100   
The Congress convenes every Twelfth-month for you;       
Laws, courts, the forming of States, the charters of cities, the going and coming of commerce and mails, are all for you.       
     
List close, my scholars dear!       
All doctrines, all politics and civilization, exurge from you;       
All sculpture and monuments, and anything inscribed anywhere, are tallied in you;    105   
The gist of histories and statistics as far back as the records reach, is in you this hour, and myths and tales the same;       
If you were not breathing and walking here, where would they all be?       
The most renown’d poems would be ashes, orations and plays would be vacuums.       
     
All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it;       
(Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of the arches and cornices?)    110   
     
All music is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the instruments;       
It is not the violins and the cornets—it is not the oboe nor the beating drums, nor the score of the baritone singer singing his sweet romanza—nor that of the men’s chorus, nor that of the women’s chorus,       
It is nearer and farther than they.       
     
6

Will the whole come back then?       
Can each see signs of the best by a look in the looking-glass? is there nothing greater or more?    115   
Does all sit there with you, with the mystic, unseen Soul?       
     
Strange and hard that paradox true I give;       
Objects gross and the unseen Soul are one.       
     
House-building, measuring, sawing the boards;       
Blacksmithing, glass-blowing, nail-making, coopering, tin-roofing, shingle-dressing,    120   
Ship-joining, dock-building, fish-curing, ferrying, flagging of side-walks by flaggers,       
The pump, the pile-driver, the great derrick, the coal-kiln and brick-kiln,       
Coal-mines, and all that is down there,—the lamps in the darkness, echoes, songs, what meditations, what vast native thoughts looking through smutch’d faces,       
Iron-works, forge-fires in the mountains, or by the river-banks—men around feeling the melt with huge crowbars—lumps of ore, the due combining of ore, limestone, coal—the blast-furnace and the puddling-furnace, the loup-lump at the bottom of the melt at last—the rolling-mill, the stumpy bars of pig-iron, the strong, clean-shaped T-rail for railroads;       
Oil-works, silk-works, white-lead-works, the sugar-house, steam-saws, the great mills and factories;    125   
Stone-cutting, shapely trimmings for façades, or window or door-lintels—the mallet, the tooth-chisel, the jib to protect the thumb,       
Oakum, the oakum-chisel, the caulking-iron—the kettle of boiling vault-cement, and the fire under the kettle,       
The cotton-bale, the stevedore’s hook, the saw and buck of the sawyer, the mould of the moulder, the working-knife of the butcher, the ice-saw, and all the work with ice,       
The implements for daguerreotyping—the tools of the rigger, grappler, sail-maker, block-maker,       
Goods of gutta-percha, papier-maché, colors, brushes, brush-making, glazier’s implements,    130   
     
O you robust, sacred!       
I cannot tell you how I love you;       
All I love America for, is contained in men and women like you.       
     
The veneer and glue-pot, the confectioner’s ornaments, the decanter and glasses, the shears and flat-iron,       
The awl and knee-strap, the pint measure and quart measure, the counter and stool, the writing-pen of quill or metal—the making of all sorts of edged tools,    135   
The brewery, brewing, the malt, the vats, every thing that is done by brewers, also by wine-makers, also vinegar-makers,       
Leather-dressing, coach-making, boiler-making, rope-twisting, distilling, sign-painting, lime-burning, cotton-picking—electro-plating, electrotyping, stereotyping,       
Stave-machines, planing-machines, reaping-machines, ploughing-machines, thrashing-machines, steam wagons,       
The cart of the carman, the omnibus, the ponderous dray;       
Pyrotechny, letting off color’d fire-works at night, fancy figures and jets;    140   
Beef on the butcher’s stall, the slaughter-house of the butcher, the butcher in his killing-clothes,       
The pens of live pork, the killing-hammer, the hog-hook, the scalder’s tub, gutting, the cutter’s cleaver, the packer’s maul, and the plenteous winter-work of pork-packing;       
Flour-works, grinding of wheat, rye, maize, rice—the barrels and the half and quarter barrels, the loaded barges, the high piles on wharves and levees;       
The men, and the work of the men, on railroads, coasters, fish-boats, canals;       
The daily routine of your own or any man’s life—the shop, yard, store, or factory;    145   
These shows all near you by day and night—workman! whoever you are, your daily life!       
In that and them the heft of the heaviest—in them far more than you estimated, and far less also;       
In them realities for you and me—in them poems for you and me;       
In them, not yourself—you and your Soul enclose all things, regardless of estimation;       
In them the development good—in them, all themes and hints.    150   
     
I do not affirm what you see beyond is futile—I do not advise you to stop;       
I do not say leadings you thought great are not great;       
But I say that none lead to greater, than those lead to.       
     
7

Will you seek afar off? you surely come back at last,       
In things best known to you, finding the best, or as good as the best,    155   
In folks nearest to you finding the sweetest, strongest, lovingest;       
Happiness, knowledge, not in another place, but this place—not for another hour, but this hour;       
Man in the first you see or touch—always in friend, brother, nighest neighbor—Woman in mother, lover, wife;       
The popular tastes and employments taking precedence in poems or any where,       
You workwomen and workmen of These States having your own divine and strong life,    160   
And all else giving place to men and women like you.

95. Thoughts



1

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


2

Of waters, forests, hills;       
Of the earth at large, whispering through medium of me;       
Of vista—Suppose some sight in arriere, through the formative chaos, presuming the growth, fulness, life, now attain’d on the journey;       
(But I see the road continued, and the journey ever continued;)            5   
—Of what was once lacking on earth, and in due time has become supplied—And of what will yet be supplied,       
Because all I see and know, I believe to have purport in what will yet be supplied.

96. The Sleepers



1

I WANDER all night in my vision,       
Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and stopping,       
Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers,       
Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted, contradictory,       
Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping.            5   
     
How solemn they look there, stretch’d and still!       
How quiet they breathe, the little children in their cradles!       
     
The wretched features of ennuyés, the white features of corpses, the livid faces of drunkards, the sick-gray faces of onanists,       
The gash’d bodies on battle-fields, the insane in their strong-door’d rooms, the sacred idiots, the new-born emerging from gates, and the dying emerging from gates,       
The night pervades them and infolds them.     10   
     
The married couple sleep calmly in their bed—he with his palm on the hip of the wife, and she with her palm on the hip of the husband,       
The sisters sleep lovingly side by side in their bed,       
The men sleep lovingly side by side in theirs,       
And the mother sleeps, with her little child carefully wrapt.       
     
The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep,     15   
The prisoner sleeps well in the prison—the run-away son sleeps;       
The murderer that is to be hung next day—how does he sleep?       
And the murder’d person—how does he sleep?       
     
The female that loves unrequited sleeps,       
And the male that loves unrequited sleeps,     20   
The head of the money-maker that plotted all day sleeps,       
And the enraged and treacherous dispositions—all, all sleep.       
     
2

I stand in the dark with drooping eyes by the worst-suffering and the most restless,       
I pass my hands soothingly to and fro a few inches from them,       
The restless sink in their beds—they fitfully sleep.     25   
     
Now I pierce the darkness—new beings appear,       
The earth recedes from me into the night,       
I saw that it was beautiful, and I see that what is not the earth is beautiful.       
     
I go from bedside to bedside—I sleep close with the other sleepers, each in turn,       
I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers,     30   
And I become the other dreamers.       
     
3

I am a dance—Play up, there! the fit is whirling me fast!       
     
I am the ever-laughing—it is new moon and twilight,       
I see the hiding of douceurs—I see nimble ghosts whichever way I look,       
Cache, and cache again, deep in the ground and sea, and where it is neither ground or sea.     35   
     
Well do they do their jobs, those journeymen divine,       
Only from me can they hide nothing, and would not if they could,       
I reckon I am their boss, and they make me a pet besides,       
And surround me and lead me, and run ahead when I walk,       
To lift their cunning covers, to signify me with stretch’d arms, and resume the way;     40   
Onward we move! a gay gang of blackguards! with mirth-shouting music, and wild-flapping pennants of joy!       
     
4

I am the actor, the actress, the voter, the politician;       
The emigrant and the exile, the criminal that stood in the box,       
He who has been famous, and he who shall be famous after to-day,       
The stammerer, the well-form’d person, the wasted or feeble person.     45   
     
5

I am she who adorn’d herself and folded her hair expectantly,       
My truant lover has come, and it is dark.       
     
Double yourself and receive me, darkness!       
Receive me and my lover too—he will not let me go without him.       
     
I roll myself upon you, as upon a bed—I resign myself to the dusk.     50   
     
6

He whom I call answers me, and takes the place of my lover,       
He rises with me silently from the bed.       
     
Darkness! you are gentler than my lover—his flesh was sweaty and panting,       
I feel the hot moisture yet that he left me.       
     
My hands are spread forth, I pass them in all directions,     55   
I would sound up the shadowy shore to which you are journeying.       
     
Be careful, darkness! already, what was it touch’d me?       
I thought my lover had gone, else darkness and he are one,       
I hear the heart-beat—I follow, I fade away.       
     
7

O hot-cheek’d and blushing! O foolish hectic!     60   
O for pity’s sake, no one must see me now! my clothes were stolen while I was abed,       
Now I am thrust forth, where shall I run?       
     
Pier that I saw dimly last night, when I look’d from the windows!       
Pier out from the main, let me catch myself with you, and stay—I will not chafe you,       
I feel ashamed to go naked about the world.     65   
     
I am curious to know where my feet stand—and what this is flooding me, childhood or manhood—and the hunger that crosses the bridge between.       
     
8

The cloth laps a first sweet eating and drinking,       
Laps life-swelling yolks—laps ear of rose-corn, milky and just ripen’d;       
The white teeth stay, and the boss-tooth advances in darkness,       
And liquor is spill’d on lips and bosoms by touching glasses, and the best liquor afterward.     70   
     
9

I descend my western course, my sinews are flaccid,       
Perfume and youth course through me, and I am their wake.       
     
It is my face yellow and wrinkled, instead of the old woman’s,       
I sit low in a straw-bottom chair, and carefully darn my grandson’s stockings.       
     
It is I too, the sleepless widow, looking out on the winter midnight,     75   
I see the sparkles of starshine on the icy and pallid earth.       
     
A shroud I see, and I am the shroud—I wrap a body, and lie in the coffin,       
It is dark here under ground—it is not evil or pain here—it is blank here, for reasons.       
     
It seems to me that everything in the light and air ought to be happy,       
Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let him know he has enough.     80   
     
10

I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer, swimming naked through the eddies of the sea,       
His brown hair lies close and even to his head—he strikes out with courageous arms—he urges himself with his legs,       
I see his white body—I see his undaunted eyes,       
I hate the swift-running eddies that would dash him head-foremost on the rocks.       
     
What are you doing, you ruffianly red-trickled waves?     85   
Will you kill the courageous giant? Will you kill him in the prime of his middle age?       
     
Steady and long he struggles,       
He is baffled, bang’d, bruis’d—he holds out while his strength holds out,       
The slapping eddies are spotted with his blood—they bear him away—they roll him, swing him, turn him,       
His beautiful body is borne in the circling eddies, it is continually bruis’d on rocks,     90   
Swiftly and out of sight is borne the brave corpse.

11

I turn, but do not extricate myself,       
Confused, a past-reading, another, but with darkness yet.       
     
The beach is cut by the razory ice-wind—the wreck-guns sound,       
The tempest lulls—the moon comes floundering through the drifts.     95   
     
I look where the ship helplessly heads end on—I hear the burst as she strikes—I hear the howls of dismay—they grow fainter and fainter.       
     
I cannot aid with my wringing fingers,       
I can but rush to the surf, and let it drench me and freeze upon me.       
     
I search with the crowd—not one of the company is wash’d to us alive;       
In the morning I help pick up the dead and lay them in rows in a barn.    100   
     
12

Now of the older war-days, the defeat at Brooklyn,       
Washington stands inside the lines—he stands on the intrench’d hills, amid a crowd of officers,       
His face is cold and damp—he cannot repress the weeping drops,       
He lifts the glass perpetually to his eyes—the color is blanch’d from his cheeks,       
He sees the slaughter of the southern braves confided to him by their parents.    105   
     
The same, at last and at last, when peace is declared,       
He stands in the room of the old tavern—the well-belov’d soldiers all pass through,       
The officers speechless and slow draw near in their turns,       
The chief encircles their necks with his arm, and kisses them on the cheek,       
He kisses lightly the wet cheeks one after another—he shakes hands, and bids good-by to the army.    110   
     
13

Now I tell what my mother told me to-day as we sat at dinner together,       
Of when she was a nearly grown girl, living home with her parents on the old homestead.       
     
A red squaw came one breakfast time to the old homestead,       
On her back she carried a bundle of rushes for rush-bottoming chairs,       
Her hair, straight, shiny, coarse, black, profuse, half-envelop’d her face,    115   
Her step was free and elastic, and her voice sounded exquisitely as she spoke.       
     
My mother look’d in delight and amazement at the stranger,       
She look’d at the freshness of her tall-borne face, and full and pliant limbs,       
The more she look’d upon her, she loved her,       
Never before had she seen such wonderful beauty and purity,    120   
She made her sit on a bench by the jamb of the fireplace—she cook’d food for her,       
She had no work to give her, but she gave her remembrance and fondness.       
     
The red squaw staid all the forenoon, and toward the middle of the afternoon she went away,       
O my mother was loth to have her go away!       
All the week she thought of her—she watch’d for her many a month,    125   
She remember’d her many a winter and many a summer,       
But the red squaw never came, nor was heard of there again.       
     
14

Now Lucifer was not dead—or if he was, I am his sorrowful terrible heir;       
I have been wrong’d—I am oppress’d—I hate him that oppresses me,       
I will either destroy him, or he shall release me.    130   
     
Damn him! how he does defile me!       
How he informs against my brother and sister, and takes pay for their blood!       
How he laughs when I look down the bend, after the steamboat that carries away my woman!       
     
Now the vast dusk bulk that is the whale’s bulk, it seems mine;       
Warily, sportsman! though I lie so sleepy and sluggish, the tap of my flukes is death.    135   
     
15

A show of the summer softness! a contact of something unseen! an amour of the light and air!       
I am jealous, and overwhelm’d with friendliness,       
And will go gallivant with the light and air myself,       
And have an unseen something to be in contact with them also.       
     
O love and summer! you are in the dreams, and in me!    140   
Autumn and winter are in the dreams—the farmer goes with his thrift,       
The droves and crops increase, and the barns are well-fill’d.       
     
16

Elements merge in the night—ships make tacks in the dreams,       
The sailor sails—the exile returns home,       
The fugitive returns unharm’d—the immigrant is back beyond months and years,    145   
The poor Irishman lives in the simple house of his childhood, with the well-known neighbors and faces,       
They warmly welcome him—he is barefoot again, he forgets he is well off;       
The Dutchman voyages home, and the Scotchman and Welshman voyage home, and the native of the Mediterranean voyages home,       
To every port of England, France, Spain, enter well-fill’d ships,       
The Swiss foots it toward his hills—the Prussian goes his way, the Hungarian his way, and the Pole his way,    150   
The Swede returns, and the Dane and Norwegian return.       
     
17

The homeward bound, and the outward bound,       
The beautiful lost swimmer, the ennuyé, the onanist, the female that loves unrequited, the money-maker,       
The actor and actress, those through with their parts, and those waiting to commence,       
The affectionate boy, the husband and wife, the voter, the nominee that is chosen, and the nominee that has fail’d,    155   
The great already known, and the great any time after to-day,       
The stammerer, the sick, the perfect-form’d, the homely,       
The criminal that stood in the box, the judge that sat and sentenced him, the fluent lawyers, the jury, the audience,       
The laugher and weeper, the dancer, the midnight widow, the red squaw,       
The consumptive, the erysipelite, the idiot, he that is wrong’d,    160   
The antipodes, and every one between this and them in the dark,       
I swear they are averaged now—one is no better than the other,       
The night and sleep have liken’d them and restored them.       
     
I swear they are all beautiful;       
Every one that sleeps is beautiful—everything in the dim light is beautiful,    165   
The wildest and bloodiest is over, and all is peace.       
     
18

Peace is always beautiful,       
The myth of heaven indicates peace and night.       
     
The myth of heaven indicates the Soul;       
The Soul is always beautiful—it appears more or it appears less—it comes, or it lags behind,    170   
It comes from its embower’d garden, and looks pleasantly on itself, and encloses the world,       
Perfect and clean the genitals previously jetting, and perfect and clean the womb cohering,       
The head well-grown, proportion’d and plumb, and the bowels and joints proportion’d and plumb.       
     
19

The Soul is always beautiful,       
The universe is duly in order, everything is in its place,    175   
What has arrived is in its place, and what waits is in its place;       
The twisted skull waits, the watery or rotten blood waits,       
The child of the glutton or venerealee waits long, and the child of the drunkard waits long, and the drunkard himself waits long,       
The sleepers that lived and died wait—the far advanced are to go on in their turns, and the far behind are to come on in their turns,       
The diverse shall be no less diverse, but they shall flow and unite—they unite now.    180   
     
20

The sleepers are very beautiful as they lie unclothed,       
They flow hand in hand over the whole earth, from east to west, as they lie unclothed,       
The Asiatic and African are hand in hand—the European and American are hand in hand,       
Learn’d and unlearn’d are hand in hand, and male and female are hand in hand,       
The bare arm of the girl crosses the bare breast of her lover—they press close without lust—his lips press her neck,    185   
The father holds his grown or ungrown son in his arms with measureless love, and the son holds the father in his arms with measureless love,       
The white hair of the mother shines on the white wrist of the daughter,       
The breath of the boy goes with the breath of the man, friend is inarm’d by friend,       
The scholar kisses the teacher, and the teacher kisses the scholar—the wrong’d is made right,       
The call of the slave is one with the master’s call, and the master salutes the slave,    190   
The felon steps forth from the prison—the insane becomes sane—the suffering of sick persons is reliev’d,       
The sweatings and fevers stop—the throat that was unsound is sound—the lungs of the consumptive are resumed—the poor distress’d head is free,       
The joints of the rheumatic move as smoothly as ever, and smoother than ever,       
Stiflings and passages open—the paralyzed become supple,       
The swell’d and convuls’d and congested awake to themselves in condition,    195   
They pass the invigoration of the night, and the chemistry of the night, and awake.       
     
21

I too pass from the night,       
I stay a while away, O night, but I return to you again, and love you.       
     
Why should I be afraid to trust myself to you?       
I am not afraid—I have been well brought forward by you;    200   
I love the rich running day, but I do not desert her in whom I lay so long,       
I know not how I came of you, and I know not where I go with you—but I know I came well, and shall go well.       
     
I will stop only a time with the night, and rise betimes;       
I will duly pass the day, O my mother, and duly return to you.

97. Carol of Words



1

EARTH, round, rolling, compact—suns, moons, animals—all these are words to be said;       
Watery, vegetable, sauroid advances—beings, premonitions, lispings of the future,       
Behold! these are vast words to be said.       
     
Were you thinking that those were the words—those upright lines? those curves, angles, dots?       
No, those are not the words—the substantial words are in the ground and sea,            5   
They are in the air—they are in you.       
     
Were you thinking that those were the words—those delicious sounds out of your friends’ mouths?       
No, the real words are more delicious than they.       
     
Human bodies are words, myriads of words;       
In the best poems re-appears the body, man’s or woman’s, well-shaped, natural, gay,     10   
Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.       
     
2

Air, soil, water, fire—these are words;       
I myself am a word with them—my qualities interpenetrate with theirs—my name is nothing to them;       
Though it were told in the three thousand languages, what would air, soil, water, fire, know of my name?       
     
A healthy presence, a friendly or commanding gesture, are words, sayings, meanings;     15   
The charms that go with the mere looks of some men and women, are sayings and meanings also.       
     
3

The workmanship of souls is by the inaudible words of the earth;       
The great masters know the earth’s words, and use them more than the audible words.       
     
Amelioration is one of the earth’s words;       
The earth neither lags nor hastens;     20   
It has all attributes, growths, effects, latent in itself from the jump;       
It is not half beautiful only—defects and excrescences show just as much as perfections show.       
     
The earth does not withhold, it is generous enough;       
The truths of the earth continually wait, they are not so conceal’d either;       
They are calm, subtle, untransmissible by print;     25   
They are imbued through all things, conveying themselves willingly,       
Conveying a sentiment and invitation of the earth—I utter and utter,       
I speak not, yet if you hear me not, of what avail am I to you?       
To bear—to better—lacking these, of what avail am I?       
     
4

Accouche! Accouchez!     30   
Will you rot your own fruit in yourself there?       
Will you squat and stifle there?       
     
The earth does not argue,       
Is not pathetic, has no arrangements,       
Does not scream, haste, persuade, threaten, promise,     35   
Makes no discriminations, has no conceivable failures,       
Closes nothing, refuses nothing, shuts none out,       
Of all the powers, objects, states, it notifies, shuts none out.       
     
5

The earth does not exhibit itself, nor refuse to exhibit itself—possesses still underneath;       
Underneath the ostensible sounds, the august chorus of heroes, the wail of slaves,     40   
Persuasions of lovers, curses, gasps of the dying, laughter of young people, accents of bargainers,       
Underneath these, possessing the words that never fail.       
     
To her children, the words of the eloquent dumb great mother never fail;       
The true words do not fail, for motion does not fail, and reflection does not fail;       
Also the day and night do not fail, and the voyage we pursue does not fail.     45   
     
6

Of the interminable sisters,       
Of the ceaseless cotillions of sisters,       
Of the centripetal and centrifugal sisters, the elder and younger sisters,       
The beautiful sister we know dances on with the rest.       
With her ample back towards every beholder,     50   
With the fascinations of youth, and the equal fascinations of age,       
Sits she whom I too love like the rest—sits undisturb’d,       
Holding up in her hand what has the character of a mirror, while her eyes glance back from it,       
Glance as she sits, inviting none, denying none,       
Holding a mirror day and night tirelessly before her own face.     55   
     
7

Seen at hand, or seen at a distance,       
Duly the twenty-four appear in public every day,       
Duly approach and pass with their companions, or a companion,       
Looking from no countenances of their own, but from the countenances of those who are with them,       
From the countenances of children or women, or the manly countenance,     60   
From the open countenances of animals, or from inanimate things,       
From the landscape or waters, or from the exquisite apparition of the sky,       
From our countenances, mine and yours, faithfully returning them,       
Every day in public appearing without fail, but never twice with the same companions.       
     
8

Embracing man, embracing all, proceed the three hundred and sixty-five resistlessly round the sun;     65   
Embracing all, soothing, supporting, follow close three hundred and sixty-five offsets of the first, sure and necessary as they.       
     
9

Tumbling on steadily, nothing dreading,       
Sunshine, storm, cold, heat, forever withstanding, passing, carrying,       
The Soul’s realization and determination still inheriting,       
The fluid vacuum around and ahead still entering and dividing,     70   
No balk retarding, no anchor anchoring, on no rock striking,       
Swift, glad, content, unbereav’d, nothing losing,       
Of all able and ready at any time to give strict account,       
The divine ship sails the divine sea.       
     
10

Whoever you are! motion and reflection are especially for you;     75   
The divine ship sails the divine sea for you.       
     
Whoever you are! you are he or she for whom the earth is solid and liquid,       
You are he or she for whom the sun and moon hang in the sky,       
For none more than you are the present and the past,       
For none more than you is immortality.

11

Each man to himself, and each woman to herself, such is the word of the past and present, and the word of immortality;       
No one can acquire for another—not one!       
Not one can grow for another—not one!       
     
The song is to the singer, and comes back most to him;       
The teaching is to the teacher, and comes back most to him;     85   
The murder is to the murderer, and comes back most to him;       
The theft is to the thief, and comes back most to him;       
The love is to the lover, and comes back most to him;       
The gift is to the giver, and comes back most to him—it cannot fail;       
The oration is to the orator, the acting is to the actor and actress, not to the audience;     90   
And no man understands any greatness or goodness but his own, or the indication of his own.       
     
12

I swear the earth shall surely be complete to him or her who shall be complete!       
I swear the earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains jagged and broken!       
I swear there is no greatness or power that does not emulate those of the earth!       
I swear there can be no theory of any account, unless it corroborate the theory of the earth!     95   
No politics, art, religion, behavior, or what not, is of account, unless it compare with the amplitude of the earth,       
Unless it face the exactness, vitality, impartiality, rectitude of the earth.       
     
13

I swear I begin to see love with sweeter spasms than that which responds love!       
It is that which contains itself—which never invites, and never refuses.       
     
I swear I begin to see little or nothing in audible words!    100   
I swear I think all merges toward the presentation of the unspoken meanings of the earth!       
Toward him who sings the songs of the Body, and of the truths of the earth;       
Toward him who makes the dictionaries of words that print cannot touch.       
     
14

I swear I see what is better than to tell the best;       
It is always to leave the best untold.    105   
     
When I undertake to tell the best, I find I cannot,       
My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots,       
My breath will not be obedient to its organs,       
I become a dumb man.       
     
The best of the earth cannot be told anyhow—all or any is best;    110   
It is not what you anticipated—it is cheaper, easier, nearer;       
Things are not dismiss’d from the places they held before;       
The earth is just as positive and direct as it was before;       
Facts, religions, improvements, politics, trades, are as real as before;       
But the Soul is also real,—it too is positive and direct;    115   
No reasoning, no proof has establish’d it,       
Undeniable growth has establish’d it.       
     
15

This is a poem—a carol of words—these are hints of meanings,       
These are to echo the tones of Souls, and the phrases of Souls;       
If they did not echo the phrases of Souls, what were they then?    120   
If they had not reference to you in especial, what were they then?       
     
I swear I will never henceforth have to do with the faith that tells the best!       
I will have to do only with that faith that leaves the best untold.       
     
16

Say on, sayers!       
Delve! mould! pile the words of the earth!    125   
Work on—(it is materials you must bring, not breaths;)       
Work on, age after age! nothing is to be lost;       
It may have to wait long, but it will certainly come in use;       
When the materials are all prepared, the architects shall appear.       
     
I swear to you the architects shall appear without fail! I announce them and lead them;    130   
I swear to you they will understand you, and justify you;       
I swear to you the greatest among them shall be he who best knows you, and encloses all, and is faithful to all;       
I swear to you, he and the rest shall not forget you—they shall perceive that you are not an iota less than they;       
I swear to you, you shall be glorified in them.

98. Ah Poverties, Wincings and Sulky Retreats



AH poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats!       
Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me!       
(For what is my life, or any man’s life, but a conflict with foes—the old, the incessant war?)       
You degradations—you tussle with passions and appetites;       
You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds, the sharpest of all;)            5   
You toil of painful and choked articulations—you meannesses;       
You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my tongue the shallowest of any;)       
You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smother’d ennuis;       
Ah, think not you finally triumph—My real self has yet to come forth;       
It shall yet march forth o’ermastering, till all lies beneath me;     10   
It shall yet stand up the soldier of unquestion’d victory.

99. A Boston Ballad, 1854



TO get betimes in Boston town, I rose this morning early;       
Here’s a good place at the corner—I must stand and see the show.       
     
Clear the way there, Jonathan!       
Way for the President’s marshal! Way for the government cannon!       
Way for the Federal foot and dragoons—and the apparitions copiously tumbling.            5   
     
I love to look on the stars and stripes—I hope the fifes will play Yankee Doodle.       
     
How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost troops!       
Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff through Boston town.       
     
A fog follows—antiques of the same come limping,       
Some appear wooden-legged, and some appear bandaged and bloodless.     10   
     
Why this is indeed a show! It has called the dead out of the earth!       
The old grave-yards of the hills have hurried to see!       
Phantoms! phantoms countless by flank and rear!       
Cock’d hats of mothy mould! crutches made of mist!       
Arms in slings! old men leaning on young men’s shoulders!     15   
     
What troubles you, Yankee phantoms? What is all this chattering of bare gums?       
Does the ague convulse your limbs? Do you mistake your crutches for fire-locks, and level them?       
     
If you blind your eyes with tears, you will not see the President’s marshal;       
If you groan such groans, you might balk the government cannon.       
     
For shame, old maniacs! Bring down those toss’d arms, and let your white hair be;     20   
Here gape your great grand-sons—their wives gaze at them from the windows,       
See how well dress’d—see how orderly they conduct themselves.       
     
Worse and worse! Can’t you stand it? Are you retreating?       
Is this hour with the living too dead for you?       
     
Retreat then! Pell-mell!     25   
To your graves! Back! back to the hills, old limpers!       
I do not think you belong here, anyhow.       
     
But there is one thing that belongs here—shall I tell you what it is, gentlemen of Boston?       
I will whisper it to the Mayor—he shall send a committee to England;       
They shall get a grant from the Parliament, go with a cart to the royal vault—haste!     30   
     
Dig out King George’s coffin, unwrap him quick from the grave-clothes, box up his bones for a journey;       
Find a swift Yankee clipper—here is freight for you, black-bellied clipper,       
Up with your anchor! shake out your sails! steer straight toward Boston bay.       
     
Now call for the President’s marshal again, bring out the government cannon,       
Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make another procession, guard it with foot and dragoons.     35   
     
This centre-piece for them:       
Look! all orderly citizens—look from the windows, women!       
     
The committee open the box, set up the regal ribs, glue those that will not stay,       
Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clap a crown on top of the skull.       
     
You have got your revenge, old buster! The crown is come to its own, and more than its own.     40   
     
Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan—you are a made man from this day;       
You are mighty cute—and here is one of your bargains.