Leaves of Grass Part 47

O to escape, to sail forth as in a ship!

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

Outlines for a Tomb [G. P., Buried 1870]

1 What may we chant, O thou within this tomb?

What tablets, outlines, hang for thee, O millionnaire?

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.

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

While through the interior vistas, Noiseless uprose, phantasmic, (as by night Auroras of the north,) Lambent tableaus, 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, 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 concentring, 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, Chatting and sewing.

In one, along a suite of n.o.ble 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, lodging-room, Labor and toll, the bath, gymnasium, playground, library, college, 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.)

3 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 tides.

Nor by your streams alone, you rivers, 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-nor you alone, But to the high seas launch, my thought, his memory.

Out from Behind This Mask [To Confront a Portrait]

1 Out from behind this bending rough-cut mask, These lights and shades, this drama of the whole, This common curtain of the face contain'd in me for me, in you for you, in each for each, (Tragedies, sorrows, laughter, tears-0 heaven!

The pa.s.sionate teeming plays this curtain hid!) This glaze of G.o.d's serenest purest sky, This film of Satan's seething pit, This heart's geography's map, this limitless small continent, this soundless sea; Out from the convolutions of this globe, This subtler astronomic orb than sun or moon, than Jupiter, Venus, Mars, This condensation of the universe, (nay here the only universe, Here the idea, all in this mystic handful wrapt;) These burin'd eyes, flashing to you to pa.s.s to future time, To launch and spin through s.p.a.ce revolving sideling, from these to emanate, To you whoe'er you are-a look.

2 A traveler of thoughts and years, of peace and war, Of youth long sped and middle age declining, (As the first volume of a tale perused and laid away, and this the second, Songs, ventures, speculations, presently to close,) Lingering a moment here and now, to you I opposite turn, As on the road or at some crevice door by chance, or open'd window, Pausing, inclining, baring my head, you specially I greet, To draw and clinch your soul for once inseparably with mine, Then travel travel on.

Vocalism

1 Vocalism, measure, concentration, determination, and the divine power to speak words; Are you full-lung'd and limber-lipp'd from long trial? from vigorous practice? from physique?

Do you move in these broad lands as broad as they?

Come duly to the divine power to speak words?

For only at last after many years, after chast.i.ty, friendship, procreation, prudence, and nakedness, After treading ground and breasting river and lake, After a loosen'd throat, after absorbing eras, temperaments, races, after knowledge, freedom, crimes, After complete faith, after clarifyings, elevations, and removing obstructions, After these and more, it is just possible there comes to a man, woman, the divine power to speak words; Then toward that man or that woman swiftly hasten all-none refuse, all attend, Armies, ships, antiquities, libraries, paintings, machines, cities, hate, despair, amity, pain, theft, murder, aspiration, form in close ranks, They debouch as they are wanted to march obediently through the mouth of that man or that woman.

2 O what is it in me that makes me tremble so at voices?

Surely whoever speaks to me in the right voice, him or her I shall follow, As the water follows the moon, silently, with fluid steps, anywhere around the globe.

All waits for the right voices; Where is the practis'd and perfect organ? where is the develop'd soul?

For I see every word utter'd thence has deeper, sweeter, new sounds, impossible on less terms.

I see brains and lips closed, tympans and temples unstruck, Until that comes which has the quality to strike and to unclose, Until that comes which has the quality to bring forth what lies slumbering forever ready in all words.

To Him That Was Crucified

My spirit to yours dear brother, Do not mind because many sounding your name do not understand you, I do not sound your name, but I understand you, I specify you with joy O my comrade to salute you, and to salute those who are with you, before and since, and those to come also, That we all labor together transmitting the same charge and succession, We few equals indifferent of lands, indifferent of times, We, enclosers of all continents, all castes, allowers of all theologies, Compa.s.sionaters, perceivers, rapport of men, We walk silent among disputes and a.s.sertions, but reject not the disputers nor any thing that is a.s.serted, We hear the bawling and din, we are reach'd at by divisions, jealousies, recriminations on every side, They close peremptorily upon us to surround us, my comrade, Yet we walk unheld, free, the whole earth over, journeying up and down till we make our ineffaceable mark upon time and the diverse eras, Till we saturate time and eras, that the men and women of races, ages to come, may prove brethren and lovers as we are.

You Felons on Trial in Courts

You felons on trial in courts, You convicts in prison-cells, you sentenced a.s.sa.s.sins chain'd and handcuff'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 prost.i.tutes flaunting over the trottoirs or obscene in your rooms, Who am I that I should call you more obscene than myself?

O culpable! I acknowledge-I expose!

(O admirers, praise not me-compliment not me-you make me wince, I see what you do not-I know what you do not.)

Inside these breast-bones I lie s.m.u.tch'd and choked, Beneath this face that appears so impa.s.sive h.e.l.l's tides continually run, l.u.s.ts and wickedness are acceptable to me, I walk with delinquents with pa.s.sionate love, I feel I am of them-I belong to those convicts and prost.i.tutes myself, And henceforth I will not deny them-for how can I deny myself?

Laws for Creations

Laws for creations, For strong artists and leaders, for fresh broods of teachers and perfect literats for America, For n.o.ble savans and coming musicians.

All must have reference to the ensemble of the world, and the compact truth of the world, There shall be no subject too p.r.o.nounced-all works shall ill.u.s.trate the divine law of indirections.

What do you suppose creation is?

What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and own no superior?

What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hundred ways, but that man or woman is as good as G.o.d?

And that there is no G.o.d any more divine than Yourself?

And that that is what the oldest and newest myths finally mean?

And that you or any one must approach creations through such laws?