100. Year of Meteors, 1859 ’60



YEAR of meteors! brooding year!       
I would bind in words retrospective, some of your deeds and signs;       
I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidentiad;       
I would sing how an old man, tall, with white hair, mounted the scaffold in Virginia;       
(I was at hand—silent I stood, with teeth shut close—I watch’d;            5   
I stood very near you, old man, when cool and indifferent, but trembling with age and your unheal’d wounds, you mounted the scaffold;)       
—I would sing in my copious song your census returns of The States,       
The tables of population and products—I would sing of your ships and their cargoes,       
The proud black ships of Manhattan, arriving, some fill’d with immigrants, some from the isthmus with cargoes of gold;       
Songs thereof would I sing—to all that hitherward comes would I welcome give;     10   
And you would I sing, fair stripling! welcome to you from me, sweet boy of England!       
Remember you surging Manhattan’s crowds, as you pass’d with your cortege of nobles?       
There in the crowds stood I, and singled you out with attachment;       
I know not why, but I loved you... (and so go forth little song,       
Far over sea speed like an arrow, carrying my love all folded,     15   
And find in his palace the youth I love, and drop these lines at his feet;)       
—Nor forget I to sing of the wonder, the ship as she swam up my bay,       
Well-shaped and stately the Great Eastern swam up my bay, she was 600 feet long,       
Her, moving swiftly, surrounded by myriads of small craft, I forget not to sing;       
—Nor the comet that came unannounced out of the north, flaring in heaven;     20   
Nor the strange huge meteor procession, dazzling and clear, shooting over our heads,       
(A moment, a moment long, it sail’d its balls of unearthly light over our heads,       
Then departed, dropt in the night, and was gone;)       
—Of such, and fitful as they, I sing—with gleams from them would I gleam and patch these chants;       
Your chants, O year all mottled with evil and good! year of forebodings! year of the youth I love!     25   
Year of comets and meteors transient and strange!—lo! even here, one equally transient and strange!       
As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone, what is this book,       
What am I myself but one of your meteors?

101. A Broadway Pageant



1

OVER the western sea, hither from Niphon come,       
Courteous, the swart-cheek’d two-sworded envoys,       
Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive,       
Ride to-day through Manhattan.       
     
Libertad!            5   
I do not know whether others behold what I behold,       
In the procession, along with the nobles of Asia, the errand-bearers,       
Bringing up the rear, hovering above, around, or in the ranks marching;       
But I will sing you a song of what I behold, Libertad.       
     
2

When million-footed Manhattan, unpent, descends to her pavements;     10   
When the thunder-cracking guns arouse me with the proud roar I love;       
When the round-mouth’d guns, out of the smoke and smell I love, spit their salutes;       
When the fire-flashing guns have fully alerted me—when heaven-clouds canopy my city with a delicate thin haze;       
When, gorgeous, the countless straight stems, the forests at the wharves, thicken with colors;       
When every ship, richly drest, carries her flag at the peak;     15   
When pennants trail, and street-festoons hang from the windows;       
When Broadway is entirely given up to foot-passengers and foot-standers—when the mass is densest;       
When the façades of the houses are alive with people—when eyes gaze, riveted, tens of thousands at a time;       
When the guests from the islands advance—when the pageant moves forward, visible;       
When the summons is made—when the answer that waited thousands of years, answers;     20   
I too, arising, answering, descend to the pavements, merge with the crowd, and gaze with them.       
     
3

Superb-faced Manhattan!       
Comrade Americanos!—to us, then, at last, the Orient comes.       
     
To us, my city,       
Where our tall-topt marble and iron beauties range on opposite sides—to walk in the space between,     25   
To-day our Antipodes comes.       
     
The Originatress comes,       
The nest of languages, the bequeather of poems, the race of eld,       
Florid with blood, pensive, rapt with musings, hot with passion,       
Sultry with perfume, with ample and flowing garments,     30   
With sunburnt visage, with intense soul and glittering eyes,       
The race of Brahma comes!       
     
4

See, my cantabile! these, and more, are flashing to us from the procession;       
As it moves, changing, a kaleidoscope divine it moves, changing, before us.       
     
For not the envoys, nor the tann’d Japanee from his island only;     35   
Lithe and silent, the Hindoo appears—the Asiatic continent itself appears—the Past, the dead,       
The murky night morning of wonder and fable, inscrutable,       
The envelop’d mysteries, the old and unknown hive-bees,       
The North—the sweltering South—eastern Assyria—the Hebrews—the Ancient of Ancients,       
Vast desolated cities—the gliding Present—all of these, and more, are in the pageant-procession.     40   
     
Geography, the world, is in it;       
The Great Sea, the brood of islands, Polynesia, the coast beyond;       
The coast you, henceforth, are facing—you Libertad! from your Western golden shores       
The countries there, with their populations—the millions en-masse, are curiously here;       
The swarming market places—the temples, with idols ranged along the sides, or at the end—bonze, brahmin, and lama;     45   
The mandarin, farmer, merchant, mechanic, and fisherman;       
The singing-girl and the dancing-girl—the ecstatic person—the secluded Emperors,       
Confucius himself—the great poets and heroes—the warriors, the castes, all,       
Trooping up, crowding from all directions—from the Altay mountains,       
From Thibet—from the four winding and far-flowing rivers of China,     50   
From the Southern peninsulas, and the demi-continental islands—from Malaysia;       
These, and whatever belongs to them, palpable, show forth to me, and are seiz’d by me,       
And I am seiz’d by them, and friendlily held by them,       
Till, as here, them all I chant, Libertad! for themselves and for you.       
     
5

For I too, raising my voice, join the ranks of this pageant;     55   
I am the chanter—I chant aloud over the pageant;       
I chant the world on my Western Sea;       
I chant, copious, the islands beyond, thick as stars in the sky;       
I chant the new empire, grander than any before—As in a vision it comes to me;       
I chant America, the Mistress—I chant a greater supremacy;     60   
I chant, projected, a thousand blooming cities yet, in time, on those groups of sea-islands;       
I chant my sail-ships and steam-ships threading the archipelagoes;       
I chant my stars and stripes fluttering in the wind;       
I chant commerce opening, the sleep of ages having done its work—races, reborn, refresh’d;       
Lives, works, resumed—The object I know not—but the old, the Asiatic, renew’d, as it must be,     65   
Commencing from this day, surrounded by the world.       
     
6

And you, Libertad of the world!       
You shall sit in the middle, well-pois’d, thousands of years;       
As to-day, from one side, the nobles of Asia come to you;       
As to-morrow, from the other side, the Queen of England sends her eldest son to you.     70   
     
7

The sign is reversing, the orb is enclosed,       
The ring is circled, the journey is done;       
The box-lid is but perceptibly open’d—nevertheless the perfume pours copiously out of the whole box.       
     
8

Young Libertad!       
With the venerable Asia, the all-mother,     75   
Be considerate with her, now and ever, hot Libertad—for you are all;       
Bend your proud neck to the long-off mother, now sending messages over the archipelagoes to you;       
Bend your proud neck low for once, young Libertad.       
     
9

Were the children straying westward so long? so wide the tramping?       
Were the precedent dim ages debouching westward from Paradise so long?     80   
Were the centuries steadily footing it that way, all the while unknown, for you, for reasons?       
     
They are justified—they are accomplish’d—they shall now be turn’d the other way also, to travel toward you thence;       
They shall now also march obediently eastward, for your sake, Libertad.

102. Thought



OF persons arrived at high positions, ceremonies, wealth, scholarships, and the like;       
To me, all that those persons have arrived at, sinks away from them, except as it results to their Bodies and Souls,       
So that often to me they appear gaunt and naked;       
And often, to me, each one mocks the others, and mocks himself or herself,       
And of each one, the core of life, namely happiness, is full of the rotten excrement of maggots,            5   
And often, to me, those men and women pass unwittingly the true realities of life, and go toward false realities,       
And often, to me, they are alive after what custom has served them, but nothing more,       
And often, to me, they are sad, hasty, unwaked sonnambules, walking the dusk.

103. There was a Child went Forth



THERE was a child went forth every day;       
And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became;       
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.       
     
The early lilacs became part of this child,       
And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,            5   
And the Third-month lambs, and the sow’s pink-faint litter, and the mare’s foal, and the cow’s calf,       
And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-side,       
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there—and the beautiful curious liquid,       
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads—all became part of him.       
     
The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of him;     10   
Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow corn, and the esculent roots of the garden,       
And the apple-trees cover’d with blossoms, and the fruit afterward, and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road;       
And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-house of the tavern, whence he had lately risen,       
And the school-mistress that pass’d on her way to the school,       
And the friendly boys that pass’d—and the quarrelsome boys,     15   
And the tidy and fresh-cheek’d girls—and the barefoot negro boy and girl,       
And all the changes of city and country, wherever he went.       
     
His own parents,       
He that had father’d him, and she that had conceiv’d him in her womb, and birth’d him,       
They gave this child more of themselves than that;     20   
They gave him afterward every day—they became part of him.       
     
The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table;       
The mother with mild words—clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks by;       
The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger’d, unjust;       
The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,     25   
The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture—the yearning and swelling heart,       
Affection that will not be gainsay’d—the sense of what is real—the thought if, after all, it should prove unreal,       
The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time—the curious whether and how,       
Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?       
Men and women crowding fast in the streets—if they are not flashes and specks, what are they?     30   
The streets themselves, and the façades of houses, and goods in the windows,       
Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank’d wharves—the huge crossing at the ferries,       
The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset—the river between,       
Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white or brown, three miles off,       
The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide—the little boat slack-tow’d astern,     35   
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,       
The strata of color’d clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away solitary by itself—the spread of purity it lies motionless in,       
The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud;       
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

104. Longings for Home



O MAGNET-SOUTH! O glistening, perfumed South! My South!       
O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse, and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me!       
O dear to me my birth-things—All moving things, and the trees where I was born—the grains, plants, rivers;       
Dear to me my own slow sluggish rivers where they flow, distant, over flats of silvery sands, or through swamps;       
Dear to me the Roanoke, the Savannah, the Altamahaw, the Pedee, the Tombigbee, the Santee, the Coosa, and the Sabine;            5   
O pensive, far away wandering, I return with my Soul to haunt their banks again;       
Again in Florida I float on transparent lakes—I float on the Okeechobee—I cross the hummock land, or through pleasant openings, or dense forests;       
I see the parrots in the woods—I see the papaw tree and the blossoming titi;       
Again, sailing in my coaster, on deck, I coast off Georgia—I coast up the Carolinas,       
I see where the live-oak is growing—I see where the yellow-pine, the scented bay-tree, the lemon and orange, the cypress, the graceful palmetto;     10   
I pass rude sea-headlands and enter Pamlico Sound through an inlet, and dart my vision inland;       
O the cotton plant! the growing fields of rice, sugar, hemp!       
The cactus, guarded with thorns—the laurel-tree, with large white flowers;       
The range afar—the richness and barrenness—the old woods charged with mistletoe and trailing moss,       
The piney odor and the gloom—the awful natural stillness, (Here in these dense swamps the freebooter carries his gun, and the fugitive slave has his conceal’d hut;)     15   
O the strange fascination of these half-known, half-impassable swamps, infested by reptiles, resounding with the bellow of the alligator, the sad noises of the night-owl and the wild-cat, and the whirr of the rattlesnake;       
The mocking-bird, the American mimic, singing all the forenoon—singing through the moon-lit night,       
The humming-bird, the wild turkey, the raccoon, the opossum;       
A Tennessee corn-field—the tall, graceful, long-leav’d corn—slender, flapping, bright green with tassels—with beautiful ears, each well-sheath’d in its husk;       
An Arkansas prairie—a sleeping lake, or still bayou;     20   
O my heart! O tender and fierce pangs—I can stand them not—I will depart;       
O to be a Virginian, where I grew up! O to be a Carolinian!       
O longings irrepressible! O I will go back to old Tennessee, and never wander more!

105. You Felons on Trial in Courts



YOU felons on trial in courts;       
You convicts in prison-cells—you sentenced assassins, chain’d and hand-cuff’d with iron;       
Who am I, too, that I am not on trial, or in prison?       
Me, ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chain’d with iron, or my ankles with iron?       
     
You prostitutes flaunting over the trottoirs, or obscene in your rooms,            5   
Who am I, that I should call you more obscene than myself?       
     
O culpable!       
I acknowledge—I exposé!       
(O admirers! praise not me! compliment not me! you make me wince,       
I see what you do not—I know what you do not.)     10   
     
Inside these breast-bones I lie smutch’d and choked;       
Beneath this face that appears so impassive, hell’s tides continually run;       
Lusts and wickedness are acceptable to me;       
I walk with delinquents with passionate love;       
I feel I am of them—I belong to those convicts and prostitutes myself,     15   
And henceforth I will not deny them—for how can I deny myself?

106. To a Common Prostitute



BE composed—be at ease with me—I am Walt Whitman, liberal and lusty as Nature;       
Not till the sun excludes you, do I exclude you;       
Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you, do my words refuse to glisten and rustle for you.       
     
My girl, I appoint with you an appointment—and I charge you that you make preparation to be worthy to meet me,       
And I charge you that you be patient and perfect till I come.            5   
     
Till then, I salute you with a significant look, that you do not forget me.

107. I was Looking a Long While



I WAS looking a long while for a clue to the history of the past for myself, and for these chants—and now I have found it;       
It is not in those paged fables in the libraries, (them I neither accept nor reject;)       
It is no more in the legends than in all else;       
It is in the present—it is this earth to-day;       
It is in Democracy—(the purport and aim of all the past;)            5   
It is the life of one man or one woman to-day—the average man of to-day;       
It is in languages, social customs, literatures, arts;       
It is in the broad show of artificial things, ships, machinery, politics, creeds, modern improvements, and the interchange of nations,       
All for the average man of to-day.

108. To a President



ALL you are doing and saying is to America dangled mirages,       
You have not learn’d of Nature—of the politics of Nature, you have not learn’d the great amplitude, rectitude, impartiality;       
You have not seen that only such as they are for These States,       
And that what is less than they, must sooner or later lift off from These States.

109. To The States



WHY reclining, interrogating? Why myself and all drowsing?       
What deepening twilight! scum floating atop of the waters!       
Who are they, as bats and night-dogs, askant in the Capitol?       
What a filthy Presidentiad! (O south, your torrid suns! O north, your arctic freezings!)       
Are those really Congressmen? are those the great Judges? is that the President?            5   
Then I will sleep awhile yet—for I see that These States sleep, for reasons;       
(With gathering murk—with muttering thunder and lambent shoots, we all duly awake,       
South, north, east, west, inland and seaboard, we will surely awake.)