Emotions and Feelings

Excelsior

WHO has gone farthest? For lo! have not I gone farther?
And who has been just? For I would be the most just person of the


earth;
And who most cautious? For I would be more cautious;
And who has been happiest? O I think it is I! I think no one was ever


happier than I;
And who has lavish'd all? For I lavish constantly the best I have;
And who has been firmest? For I would be firmer;
And who proudest? For I think I have reason to be the proudest son


alive--for I am the son of the brawny and tall-topt city;
And who has been bold and true? For I would be the boldest and truest
being of the universe;
And who benevolent? For I would show more benevolence than all the
rest;

And who has projected beautiful words through the longest time? Have
I not outvied him? have I not said the words that shall stretch
through longer time? 10

And who has receiv'd the love of the most friends? For I know what it
is to receive the passionate love of many friends;
And who possesses a perfect and enamour'd body? For I do not believe
any one possesses a more perfect or enamour'd body than mine;
And who thinks the amplest thoughts? For I will surround those
thoughts;
And who has made hymns fit for the earth? For I am mad with devouring
extasy to make joyous hymns for the whole earth!

Excelsior

WHO has gone farthest? For lo! have not I gone farther?
And who has been just? For I would be the most just person of the


earth;
And who most cautious? For I would be more cautious;
And who has been happiest? O I think it is I! I think no one was ever


happier than I;
And who has lavish'd all? For I lavish constantly the best I have;
And who has been firmest? For I would be firmer;
And who proudest? For I think I have reason to be the proudest son


alive--for I am the son of the brawny and tall-topt city;
And who has been bold and true? For I would be the boldest and truest
being of the universe;
And who benevolent? For I would show more benevolence than all the
rest;

And who has projected beautiful words through the longest time? Have
I not outvied him? have I not said the words that shall stretch
through longer time? 10

And who has receiv'd the love of the most friends? For I know what it
is to receive the passionate love of many friends;
And who possesses a perfect and enamour'd body? For I do not believe
any one possesses a more perfect or enamour'd body than mine;
And who thinks the amplest thoughts? For I will surround those
thoughts;
And who has made hymns fit for the earth? For I am mad with devouring
extasy to make joyous hymns for the whole earth!

Drum-Taps

Aroused and angry,
I thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war;
But soon my fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd, and I resign'd


myself,
To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead.

Drum-Taps

FIRST, O songs, for a prelude,
Lightly strike on the stretch'd tympanum, pride and joy in my city,
How she led the rest to arms--how she gave the cue,
How at once with lithe limbs, unwaiting a moment, she sprang;
(O superb! O Manhattan, my own, my peerless!
O strongest you in the hour of danger, in crisis! O truer than


steel!)
How you sprang! how you threw off the costumes of peace with
indifferent hand;
How your soft opera-music changed, and the drum and fife were heard
in their stead;
How you led to the war, (that shall serve for our prelude, songs of
soldiers,)
How Manhattan drum-taps led. 10

Forty years had I in my city seen soldiers parading;
Forty years as a pageant--till unawares, the Lady of this teeming and


turbulent city,
Sleepless amid her ships, her houses, her incalculable wealth,
With her million children around her--suddenly,
At dead of night, at news from the south,
Incens'd, struck with clench'd hand the pavement.


A shock electric--the night sustain'd it;
Till with ominous hum, our hive at day-break pour'd out its myriads.


From the houses then, and the workshops, and through all the
doorways,
Leapt they tumultuous--and lo! Manhattan arming. 20


To the drum-taps prompt,
The young men falling in and arming;
The mechanics arming, (the trowel, the jack-plane, the blacksmith's


hammer, tost aside with precipitation;)
The lawyer leaving his office, and arming--the judge leaving the
court;
The driver deserting his wagon in the street, jumping down, throwing
the reins abruptly down on the horses' backs;
The salesman leaving the store--the boss, book-keeper, porter, all
leaving;


Squads gather everywhere by common consent, and arm;

The new recruits, even boys--the old men show them how to wear their
accoutrements--they buckle the straps carefully;

Outdoors arming--indoors arming--the flash of the musket-barrels;

The white tents cluster in camps--the arm'd sentries around--the
sunrise cannon, and again at sunset; 30

Arm'd regiments arrive every day, pass through the city, and embark
from the wharves;

(How good they look, as they tramp down to the river, sweaty, with
their guns on their shoulders!

How I love them! how I could hug them, with their brown faces, and
their clothes and knapsacks cover'd with dust!)

The blood of the city up--arm'd! arm'd! the cry everywhere;

The flags flung out from the steeples of churches, and from all the
public buildings and stores;

The tearful parting--the mother kisses her son--the son kisses his
mother;

(Loth is the mother to part--yet not a word does she speak to detain
him;)

The tumultuous escort--the ranks of policemen preceding, clearing the
way;

The unpent enthusiasm--the wild cheers of the crowd for their
favorites;

The artillery--the silent cannons, bright as gold, drawn along,
rumble lightly over the stones; 40

(Silent cannons--soon to cease your silence!

Soon, unlimber'd, to begin the red business;)

All the mutter of preparation--all the determin'd arming;

The hospital service--the lint, bandages, and medicines;

The women volunteering for nurses--the work begun for, in earnest--no
mere parade now;

War! an arm'd race is advancing!--the welcome for battle--no turning
away;

War! be it weeks, months, or years--an arm'd race is advancing to
welcome it.

Mannahatta a-march!--and it's O to sing it well!

It's O for a manly life in the camp!

And the sturdy artillery! 50

The guns, bright as gold--the work for giants--to serve well the
guns:

Unlimber them! no more, as the past forty years, for salutes for
courtesies merely;

Put in something else now besides powder and wadding.

And you, Lady of Ships! you Mannahatta!

Old matron of this proud, friendly, turbulent city!

Often in peace and wealth you were pensive, or covertly frown'd amid
all your children;

But now you smile with joy, exulting old Mannahatta!

Drum-Taps

Aroused and angry,
I thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war;
But soon my fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd, and I resign'd


myself,
To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead.

Drum-Taps

FIRST, O songs, for a prelude,
Lightly strike on the stretch'd tympanum, pride and joy in my city,
How she led the rest to arms--how she gave the cue,
How at once with lithe limbs, unwaiting a moment, she sprang;
(O superb! O Manhattan, my own, my peerless!
O strongest you in the hour of danger, in crisis! O truer than


steel!)
How you sprang! how you threw off the costumes of peace with
indifferent hand;
How your soft opera-music changed, and the drum and fife were heard
in their stead;
How you led to the war, (that shall serve for our prelude, songs of
soldiers,)
How Manhattan drum-taps led. 10

Forty years had I in my city seen soldiers parading;
Forty years as a pageant--till unawares, the Lady of this teeming and


turbulent city,
Sleepless amid her ships, her houses, her incalculable wealth,
With her million children around her--suddenly,
At dead of night, at news from the south,
Incens'd, struck with clench'd hand the pavement.


A shock electric--the night sustain'd it;
Till with ominous hum, our hive at day-break pour'd out its myriads.


From the houses then, and the workshops, and through all the
doorways,
Leapt they tumultuous--and lo! Manhattan arming. 20


To the drum-taps prompt,
The young men falling in and arming;
The mechanics arming, (the trowel, the jack-plane, the blacksmith's


hammer, tost aside with precipitation;)
The lawyer leaving his office, and arming--the judge leaving the
court;
The driver deserting his wagon in the street, jumping down, throwing
the reins abruptly down on the horses' backs;
The salesman leaving the store--the boss, book-keeper, porter, all
leaving;


Squads gather everywhere by common consent, and arm;

The new recruits, even boys--the old men show them how to wear their
accoutrements--they buckle the straps carefully;

Outdoors arming--indoors arming--the flash of the musket-barrels;

The white tents cluster in camps--the arm'd sentries around--the
sunrise cannon, and again at sunset; 30

Arm'd regiments arrive every day, pass through the city, and embark
from the wharves;

(How good they look, as they tramp down to the river, sweaty, with
their guns on their shoulders!

How I love them! how I could hug them, with their brown faces, and
their clothes and knapsacks cover'd with dust!)

The blood of the city up--arm'd! arm'd! the cry everywhere;

The flags flung out from the steeples of churches, and from all the
public buildings and stores;

The tearful parting--the mother kisses her son--the son kisses his
mother;

(Loth is the mother to part--yet not a word does she speak to detain
him;)

The tumultuous escort--the ranks of policemen preceding, clearing the
way;

The unpent enthusiasm--the wild cheers of the crowd for their
favorites;

The artillery--the silent cannons, bright as gold, drawn along,
rumble lightly over the stones; 40

(Silent cannons--soon to cease your silence!

Soon, unlimber'd, to begin the red business;)

All the mutter of preparation--all the determin'd arming;

The hospital service--the lint, bandages, and medicines;

The women volunteering for nurses--the work begun for, in earnest--no
mere parade now;

War! an arm'd race is advancing!--the welcome for battle--no turning
away;

War! be it weeks, months, or years--an arm'd race is advancing to
welcome it.

Mannahatta a-march!--and it's O to sing it well!

It's O for a manly life in the camp!

And the sturdy artillery! 50

The guns, bright as gold--the work for giants--to serve well the
guns:

Unlimber them! no more, as the past forty years, for salutes for
courtesies merely;

Put in something else now besides powder and wadding.

And you, Lady of Ships! you Mannahatta!

Old matron of this proud, friendly, turbulent city!

Often in peace and wealth you were pensive, or covertly frown'd amid
all your children;

But now you smile with joy, exulting old Mannahatta!

Despairing Cries

DESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night,

The sad voice of Death--the call of my nearest lover, putting forth,

alarmed, uncertain,

This sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me,

Come tell me where I am speeding--tell me my destination.

I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you,

I approach, hear, behold--the sad mouth, the look out of the eyes,

your mute inquiry,

Whither I go from the bed I now recline on, come tell me;

Old age, alarmed, uncertain--A young woman's voice appealing to me,

for comfort,

A young man's voice, Shall I not escape?

Despairing Cries

DESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night,

The sad voice of Death--the call of my nearest lover, putting forth,

alarmed, uncertain,

This sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me,

Come tell me where I am speeding--tell me my destination.

I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you,

I approach, hear, behold--the sad mouth, the look out of the eyes,

your mute inquiry,

Whither I go from the bed I now recline on, come tell me;

Old age, alarmed, uncertain--A young woman's voice appealing to me,

for comfort,

A young man's voice, Shall I not escape?

Come Up From The Fields, Father

Come up from the fields, father, here's a letter from our Pete;
And come to the front door, mother-here's a letter from thy dear
son.

Lo, 'tis autumn;
Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder,
Cool and sweeten Ohio's villages, with leaves fluttering in the


moderate wind;
Where apples ripe in the orchards hang, and grapes on the trellis'd

vines;
(Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines?
Smell you the buckwheat, where the bees were lately buzzing?)


Above all, lo, the sky, so calm, so transparent after the rain, and
with wondrous clouds;
Below, too, all calm, all vital and beautiful-and the farm prospers
well. 10


Down in the fields all prospers well;
But now from the fields come, father-come at the daughter's call;
And come to the entry, mother-to the front door come, right away.


Fast as she can she hurries-something ominous-her steps trembling;
She does not tarry to smoothe her hair, nor adjust her cap.


Open the envelope quickly;
O this is not our son's writing, yet his name is sign'd;
O a strange hand writes for our dear son-O stricken mother's soul!
All swims before her eyes-flashes with black-she catches the main


words only;
Sentences broken-gun-shot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish,
taken to hospital, 20
At present low, but will soon be better.

Ah, now, the single figure to me,
Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio, with all its cities and farms,
Sickly white in the face, and dull in the head, very faint,
By the jamb of a door leans.


Grieve not so, dear mother, (the just-grown daughter speaks through

her sobs;
The little sisters huddle around, speechless and dismay'd ;)
See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better.


Alas, poor boy, he will never be better, (nor may-be needs to be

better, that brave and simple soul ;)
While they stand at home at the door, he is dead already; 30
The only son is dead.

But the mother needs to be better;


She, with thin form, presently drest in black;

By day her meals untouch'd-then at night fitfully sleeping, often

waking,

In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longing,

O that she might withdraw unnoticed-silent from life, escape and

withdraw,

To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son.

City Of Orgies

CITY of orgies, walks and joys!
City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make
you illustrious,
Not the pageants of you--not your shifting tableaux, your spectacles,
repay me;
Not the interminable rows of your houses--nor the ships at the
wharves,
Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright windows, with
goods in them;
Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my share in the soiree
or feast;
Not those--but, as I pass, O Manhattan! your frequent and swift flash

of eyes offering me love,
Offering response to my own--these repay me;
Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.

By The Bivouac's Fitful Flame

BY the bivouac's fitful flame,
A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow;--but first


I note,
The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim outline,
The darkness, lit by spots of kindled fire--the silence;
Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving;
The shrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily


watching me;)
While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wondrous thoughts,
Of life and death--of home and the past and loved, and of those that

are far away;
A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground,
By the bivouac's fitful flame. 10

Behold This Swarthy Face

BEHOLD this swarthy face--these gray eyes,

This beard--the white wool, unclipt upon my neck,

My brown hands, and the silent manner of me, without charm;

Yet comes one, a Manhattanese, and ever at parting, kisses me lightly

on the lips with robust love,

And I, on the crossing of the street, or on the ship's deck, give a

kiss in return;

We observe that salute of American comrades, land and sea,

We are those two natural and nonchalant persons.

Brother Of All, With Genesrous Hand

BROTHER of all, with generous hand,
Of thee, pondering on thee, as o'er thy tomb, I and my Soul,
A thought to launch in memory of thee,
A burial verse for thee.


What may we chant, O thou within this tomb?
What tablets, pictures, hang for thee, O millionaire?
--The life thou lived'st we know not,
But that thou walk'dst thy years in barter, 'mid the haunts of


brokers;
Nor heroism thine, nor war, nor glory.


Yet lingering, yearning, joining soul with thine, 10
If not thy past we chant, we chant the future,
Select, adorn the future.


Lo, Soul, the graves of heroes!
The pride of lands--the gratitudes of men,
The statues of the manifold famous dead, Old World and New,
The kings, inventors, generals, poets, (stretch wide thy vision,


Soul,)
The excellent rulers of the races, great discoverers, sailors,
Marble and brass select from them, with pictures, scenes,
(The histories of the lands, the races, bodied there,
In what they've built for, graced and graved, 20
Monuments to their heroes.)

Silent, my Soul,
With drooping lids, as waiting, ponder'd,
Turning from all the samples, all the monuments of heroes.


While through the interior vistas,
Noiseless uprose, phantasmic (as, by night, Auroras of the North,)
Lambent tableaux, prophetic, bodiless scenes,
Spiritual projections.


In one, among the city streets, a laborer's home appear'd,
After his day's work done, cleanly, sweet-air'd, the gaslight
burning, 30
The carpet swept, and a fire in the cheerful stove.


In one, the sacred parturition scene,
A happy, painless mother birth'd a perfect child.


In one, at a bounteous morning meal,
Sat peaceful parents, with contented sons.


In one, by twos and threes, young people,
Hundreds concentering, walk'd the paths and streets and roads,



Toward a tall-domed school.


In one a trio, beautiful,
Grandmother, loving daughter, loving daughter's daughter, sat, 40
Chatting and sewing.


In one, along a suite of noble rooms,
'Mid plenteous books and journals, paintings on the walls, fine


statuettes,
Were groups of friendly journeymen, mechanics, young and old,
Reading, conversing.

All, all the shows of laboring life,
City and country, women's, men's and children's,
Their wants provided for, hued in the sun, and tinged for once with


joy,
Marriage, the street, the factory, farm, the house-room, lodgingroom,
Labor and toil, the bath, gymnasium, play-ground, library,

college, 50
The student, boy or girl, led forward to be taught;
The sick cared for, the shoeless shod--the orphan father'd and

mother'd,
The hungry fed, the houseless housed;
(The intentions perfect and divine,
The workings, details, haply human.)

O thou within this tomb,
From thee, such scenes--thou stintless, lavish Giver,
Tallying the gifts of Earth--large as the Earth,
Thy name an Earth, with mountains, fields and rivers.


Nor by your streams alone, you rivers, 60
By you, your banks, Connecticut,
By you, and all your teeming life, Old Thames,
By you, Potomac, laving the ground Washington trod--by you Patapsco,
You, Hudson--you, endless Mississippi--not by you alone,
But to the high seas launch, my thought, his memory.


Lo, Soul, by this tomb's lambency,
The darkness of the arrogant standards of the world,
With all its flaunting aims, ambitions, pleasures.


(Old, commonplace, and rusty saws,
The rich, the gay, the supercilious, smiled at long, 70
Now, piercing to the marrow in my bones,
Fused with each drop my heart's blood jets,
Swim in ineffable meaning.)


Lo, Soul, the sphere requireth, portioneth,



To each his share, his measure,
The moderate to the moderate, the ample to the ample.


Lo, Soul, see'st thou not, plain as the sun,
The only real wealth of wealth in generosity,
The only life of life in goodness?

Brother Of All, With Genesrous Hand

BROTHER of all, with generous hand,
Of thee, pondering on thee, as o'er thy tomb, I and my Soul,
A thought to launch in memory of thee,
A burial verse for thee.


What may we chant, O thou within this tomb?
What tablets, pictures, hang for thee, O millionaire?
--The life thou lived'st we know not,
But that thou walk'dst thy years in barter, 'mid the haunts of


brokers;
Nor heroism thine, nor war, nor glory.


Yet lingering, yearning, joining soul with thine, 10
If not thy past we chant, we chant the future,
Select, adorn the future.


Lo, Soul, the graves of heroes!
The pride of lands--the gratitudes of men,
The statues of the manifold famous dead, Old World and New,
The kings, inventors, generals, poets, (stretch wide thy vision,


Soul,)
The excellent rulers of the races, great discoverers, sailors,
Marble and brass select from them, with pictures, scenes,
(The histories of the lands, the races, bodied there,
In what they've built for, graced and graved, 20
Monuments to their heroes.)

Silent, my Soul,
With drooping lids, as waiting, ponder'd,
Turning from all the samples, all the monuments of heroes.


While through the interior vistas,
Noiseless uprose, phantasmic (as, by night, Auroras of the North,)
Lambent tableaux, prophetic, bodiless scenes,
Spiritual projections.


In one, among the city streets, a laborer's home appear'd,
After his day's work done, cleanly, sweet-air'd, the gaslight
burning, 30
The carpet swept, and a fire in the cheerful stove.


In one, the sacred parturition scene,
A happy, painless mother birth'd a perfect child.


In one, at a bounteous morning meal,
Sat peaceful parents, with contented sons.


In one, by twos and threes, young people,
Hundreds concentering, walk'd the paths and streets and roads,



Toward a tall-domed school.


In one a trio, beautiful,
Grandmother, loving daughter, loving daughter's daughter, sat, 40
Chatting and sewing.


In one, along a suite of noble rooms,
'Mid plenteous books and journals, paintings on the walls, fine


statuettes,
Were groups of friendly journeymen, mechanics, young and old,
Reading, conversing.

All, all the shows of laboring life,
City and country, women's, men's and children's,
Their wants provided for, hued in the sun, and tinged for once with


joy,
Marriage, the street, the factory, farm, the house-room, lodgingroom,
Labor and toil, the bath, gymnasium, play-ground, library,

college, 50
The student, boy or girl, led forward to be taught;
The sick cared for, the shoeless shod--the orphan father'd and

mother'd,
The hungry fed, the houseless housed;
(The intentions perfect and divine,
The workings, details, haply human.)

O thou within this tomb,
From thee, such scenes--thou stintless, lavish Giver,
Tallying the gifts of Earth--large as the Earth,
Thy name an Earth, with mountains, fields and rivers.


Nor by your streams alone, you rivers, 60
By you, your banks, Connecticut,
By you, and all your teeming life, Old Thames,
By you, Potomac, laving the ground Washington trod--by you Patapsco,
You, Hudson--you, endless Mississippi--not by you alone,
But to the high seas launch, my thought, his memory.


Lo, Soul, by this tomb's lambency,
The darkness of the arrogant standards of the world,
With all its flaunting aims, ambitions, pleasures.


(Old, commonplace, and rusty saws,
The rich, the gay, the supercilious, smiled at long, 70
Now, piercing to the marrow in my bones,
Fused with each drop my heart's blood jets,
Swim in ineffable meaning.)


Lo, Soul, the sphere requireth, portioneth,



To each his share, his measure,
The moderate to the moderate, the ample to the ample.


Lo, Soul, see'st thou not, plain as the sun,
The only real wealth of wealth in generosity,
The only life of life in goodness?

Beginning My Studies

BEGINNING my studies, the first step pleas'd me so much,
The mere fact, consciousness--these forms--the power of motion,
The least insect or animal--the senses--eyesight--love;
The first step, I say, aw'd me and pleas'd me so much,
I have hardly gone, and hardly wish'd to go, any farther,
But stop and loiter all the time, to sing it in extatic songs.

Ashes Of Soldiers

Again a verse for sake of you,
You soldiers in the ranks--you Volunteers,
Who bravely fighting, silent fell,
To fill unmention'd graves.


ASHES of soldiers!
As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought,
Lo! the war resumes--again to my sense your shapes,
And again the advance of armies.


Noiseless as mists and vapors,
From their graves in the trenches ascending,
From the cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee,
From every point of the compass, out of the countless unnamed graves,
In wafted clouds, in myraids large, or squads of twos or threes, or


single ones, they come,
And silently gather round me. 10


Now sound no note, O trumpeters!
Not at the head of my cavalry, parading on spirited horses,
With sabres drawn and glist'ning, and carbines by their thighs--(ah,


my brave horsemen!
My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride,
With all the perils, were yours!)


Nor you drummers--neither at reveille, at dawn,
Nor the long roll alarming the camp--nor even the muffled beat for a
burial;
Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums.

But aside from these, and the marts of wealth, and the crowded
promenade,
Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the rest, and


voiceless, 20
The slain elate and alive again--the dust and debris alive,
I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead


soldiers.

Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet;
Draw close, but speak not.


Phantoms of countless lost!
Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions!
Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live.


Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living! sweet are the musical
voices sounding!
But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes.


Dearest comrades! all is over and long gone; 30
But love is not over--and what love, O comrades!



Perfume from battle-fields rising--up from foetor arising.


Perfume therefore my chant, O love! immortal Love!
Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers,
Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride!


Perfume all! make all wholesome!
Make these ashes to nourish and blossom,
O love! O chant! solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry.


Give me exhaustless--make me a fountain,
That I exhale love from me wherever I go, like a moist perennial dew,
For the ashes of all dead soldiers.

As Toilsome I Wander'd

AS TOILSOME I wander'd Virginia's woods,
To the music of rustling leaves, kick'd by my feet, (for 'twas


autumn,)
I mark'd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier,
Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat, (easily all could I

understand;)
The halt of a mid-day hour, when up! no time to lose--yet this sign

left,
On a tablet scrawl'd and nail'd on the tree by the grave,
Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.


Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering;
Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life;
Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt, alone, or in


the crowded street, 10
Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave--comes the inscription
rude in Virginia's woods,
Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.

As If A Phantom Caress'd Me

AS if a phantom caress'd me,
I thought I was not alone, walking here by the shore;
But the one I thought was with me, as now I walk by the shore--the


one I loved, that caress'd me,
As I lean and look through the glimmering light--that one has utterly
disappear'd,
And those appear that are hateful to me, and mock me.

As I Ponder'd In Silence

AS I ponder'd in silence,
Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long,
A Phantom arose before me, with distrustful aspect,
Terrible in beauty, age, and power,
The genius of poets of old lands,
As to me directing like flame its eyes,
With finger pointing to many immortal songs,
And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said;
Know'st thou not, there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards?
And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles, 10
The making of perfect soldiers?


Be it so, then I answer'd,
I too, haughty Shade, also sing war--and a longer and greater one
than any,
Waged in my book with varying fortune--with flight, advance, and
retreat--Victory deferr'd and wavering,
(Yet, methinks, certain, or as good as certain, at the last,)--The

field the world;
For life and death--for the Body, and for the eternal Soul,
Lo! too am come, chanting the chant of battles,
I, above all, promote brave soldiers.

As I Ebb'd With the Ocean of Life

1
As I ebb'd with the ocean of life,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walk'd where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok,
Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant,
Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways,
I musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward,
Held by this electric self out of the pride of which I utter poems,
Was seiz'd by the spirit that trails in the lines underfoot,
The rim, the sediment that stands for all the water and all the


land of the globe.

Fascinated, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt, to follow

those slender windrows,
Chaff, straw, splinters of wood, weeds, and the sea-gluten,
Scum, scales from shining rocks, leaves of salt-lettuce, left by the

tide,
Miles walking, the sound of breaking waves the other side of me,
Paumanok there and then as I thought the old thought of likenesses,
These you presented to me you fish-shaped island,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walk'd with that electric self seeking types.

2
As I wend to the shores I know not,
As I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women wreck'd,
As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me,
As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer,
I too but signify at the utmost a little wash'd-up drift,
A few sands and dead leaves to gather,
Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift.


O baffled, balk'd, bent to the very earth,
Oppress'd with myself that I have dared to open my mouth,
Aware now that amid all that blab whose echoes recoil upon me I


have not once had the least idea who or what I am,
But that before all my arrogant poems the real Me stands yet
untouch'd, untold, altogether unreach'd,
Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory signs and

bows,
With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written,
Pointing in silence to these songs, and then to the sand beneath.

I perceive I have not really understood any thing, not a single
object, and that no man ever can,
Nature here in sight of the sea taking advantage of me to dart
upon me and sting me,
Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all.

3
You oceans both, I close with you,
We murmur alike reproachfully rolling sands and drift, knowing


not why,
These little shreds indeed standing for you and me and all.

You friable shore with trails of debris,
You fish-shaped island, I take what is underfoot,
What is yours is mine my father.


I too Paumanok,


I too have bubbled up, floated the measureless float, and been
wash'd on your shores,

I too am but a trail of drift and debris,

I too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish-shaped island.

I throw myself upon your breast my father,
I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me,
I hold you so firm till you answer me something.


Kiss me my father,


Touch me with your lips as I touch those I love,


Breathe to me while I hold you close the secret of the murmuring
I envy.

4

Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will return,)

Cease not your moaning you fierce old mother,

Endlessly cry for your castaways, but fear not, deny not me,

Rustle not up so hoarse and angry against my feet as I touch you
or gather from you.

I mean tenderly by you and all,

I gather for myself and for this phantom looking down where we
lead, and following me and mine.

Me and mine, loose windrows, little corpses,

Froth, snowy white, and bubbles,

(See, from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last,

See, the prismatic colors glistening and rolling,)

Tufts of straw, sands, fragments,

Buoy'd hither from many moods, one contradicting another,

From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the swell,

Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of liquid or soil,

Up just as much out of fathomless workings fermented and thrown,

A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves floating,
drifted at random,

Just as much for us that sobbing dirge of Nature,

Just as much whence we come that blare of the cloud-trumpets,

We, capricious, brought hither we know not whence, spread out
before you,

You up there walking or sitting,

Whoever you are, we too lie in drifts at your feet.

Among The Multitude

AMONG the men and women, the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none else--not parent, wife, husband, brother, child,


any nearer than I am;
Some are baffled--But that one is not--that one knows me.


Ah, lover and perfect equal!
I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections;
And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.

Among The Multitude

AMONG the men and women, the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none else--not parent, wife, husband, brother, child,


any nearer than I am;
Some are baffled--But that one is not--that one knows me.


Ah, lover and perfect equal!
I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections;
And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.

Adieu To A Solider

ADIEU, O soldier!
You of the rude campaigning, (which we shared,)
The rapid march, the life of the camp,
The hot contention of opposing fronts--the long manoeuver,
Red battles with their slaughter,--the stimulus--the strong, terrific


game,
Spell of all brave and manly hearts--the trains of Time through you,
and like of you, all fill'd,
With war, and war's expression.

Adieu, dear comrade!
Your mission is fulfill'd--but I, more warlike,
Myself, and this contentious soul of mine, 10
Still on our own campaigning bound,
Through untried roads, with ambushes, opponents lined,
Through many a sharp defeat and many a crisis--often baffled,
Here marching, ever marching on, a war fight out--aye here,
To fiercer, weightier battles give expression.

A Sight In Camp

A SIGHT in camp in the day-break grey and dim,
As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air, the path near by the hospital


tent,
Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there, untended

lying,
Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woollen blanket,
Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.


Curious, I halt, and silent stand;
Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest, the first,
just lift the blanket:
Who are you, elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well-grey'd hair,
and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you, my dear comrade? 10

Then to the second I step--And who are you, my child and darling?
Who are you, sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming?

Then to the third--a face nor child, nor old, very calm, as of
beautiful yellow-white ivory;
Young man, I think I know you--I think this face of yours is the face
of the Christ himself;
Dead and divine, and brother of all, and here again he lies.

A Woman Waits For Me

A WOMAN waits for me--she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the
right man were lacking.


Sex contains all,
Bodies, Souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results,
promulgations,
Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal

milk;
All hopes, benefactions, bestowals,
All the passions, loves, beauties, delights of the earth,
All the governments, judges, gods, follow'd persons of the earth,
These are contain'd in sex, as parts of itself, and justifications of


itself.

Without shame the man I like knows and avows the deliciousness of his
sex, 10
Without shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Now I will dismiss myself from impassive women,
I will go stay with her who waits for me, and with those women that


are warm-blooded and sufficient for me;
I see that they understand me, and do not deny me;
I see that they are worthy of me--I will be the robust husband of


those women.

They are not one jot less than I am,
They are tann'd in the face by shining suns and blowing winds,
Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength,
They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike,


retreat, advance, resist, defend themselves,
They are ultimate in their own right--they are calm, clear, wellpossess'd
of themselves. 20


I draw you close to me, you women!
I cannot let you go, I would do you good,
I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for


others' sakes;
Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards,
They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me.


It is I, you women--I make my way,
I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable--but I love you,
I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you,
I pour the stuff to start sons and daughters fit for These States--I


press with slow rude muscle,
I brace myself effectually--I listen to no entreaties, 30
I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated


within me.

Through you I drain the pent-up rivers of myself,


In you I wrap a thousand onward years,
On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America,
The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and athletic girls, new


artists, musicians, and singers,
The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn,
I shall demand perfect men and women out of my love-spendings,
I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and you

interpenetrate now,
I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as I
count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now,
I shall look for loving crops from the birth, life, death,
immortality, I plant so lovingly now. 40

A Hand-Mirror

HOLD it up sternly! See this it sends back! (Who is it? Is it you?)
Outside fair costume--within ashes and filth,
No more a flashing eye--no more a sonorous voice or springy step;
Now some slave's eye, voice, hands, step,
A drunkard's breath, unwholesome eater's face, venerealee's flesh,
Lungs rotting away piecemeal, stomach sour and cankerous,
Joints rheumatic, bowels clogged with abomination,
Blood circulating dark and poisonous streams,
Words babble, hearing and touch callous,
No brain, no heart left--no magnetism of sex; 10
Such, from one look in this looking-glass ere you go hence,
Such a result so soon--and from such a beginning!