Leaves of Grass: First and Death-Bed Editions

by Walt Whitman

  never to separate from me,

  And this, O this shall henceforth be the token of comrades, this

  calamus-root shall,

  Interchange it youths with each other! let none render it back!)

  And twigs of maple and a bunch of wild orange and chestnut,

  And stems of currants and plum-blows, and the aromatic cedar,

  These I compass’d around by a thick cloud of spirits,

  Wandering, point to or touch as I pass, or throw them loosely

  from me,

  Indicating to each one what he shall have, giving something to

  each;

  But what I drew from the water by the pond-side, that I reserve,

  I will give of it, but only to them that love as I myself am capable

  of loving.

  NOT HEAVING FROM MY RIBB’D BREAST ONLY

  Not heaving from my ribb’d breast only,

  Not in sighs at night in rage dissatisfied with myself,

  Not in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs,

  Not in many an oath and promise broken,

  Not in my wilful and savage soul’s volition,

  Not in the subtle nourishment of the air,

  Not in this beating and pounding at my temples and wrists,

  Not in the curious systole and diastole within which will one day

  cease,

  Not in many a hungry wish told to the skies only,

  Not in cries, laughter, defiances, thrown from me when alone far

  in the wilds,

  Not in husky pantings through clinch’d teeth,

  Not in sounded and resounded words, chattering words, echoes,

  dead words,

  Not in the murmurs of my dreams while I sleep,

  Nor the other murmurs of these incredible dreams of every day,

  Nor in the limbs and senses of my body that take you and dismiss

  you continually—not there,

  Not in any or all of them O adhesiveness!26 O pulse of my life!

  Need I that you exist and show yourself any more than in these

  songs.

  OF THE TERRIBLE DOUBT OF APPEARANCES

  Of the terrible doubt of appearances,

  Of the uncertainty after all, that we may be deluded,

  That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all,

  That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful fable only,

  May-be the things I perceive, the animals, plants, men, hills,

  shining and flowing waters,

  The skies of day and night, colors, densities, forms, may-be these

  are (as doubtless they are) only apparitions, and the real

  something has yet to be known,

  (How often they dart out of themselves as if to confound me and

  mock me!

  How often I think neither I know, nor any man knows, aught of

  them,)

  May-be seeming to me what they are (as doubtless they indeed

  but seem) as from my present point of view, and might

  prove (as of course they would) nought of what they

  appear, or nought anyhow, from entirely changed points

  of view;

  To me these and the like of these are curiously answer’d by my

  lovers, my dear friends,

  When he whom I love travels with me or sits a long while holding

  me by the hand,

  When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that words and

  reason hold not, surround us and pervade us,

  Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom, I am

  silent, I require nothing further,

  I cannot answer the question of appearances or that of identity

  beyond the grave,

  But I walk or sit indifferent, I am satisfied,

  He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.

  THE BASE OF ALL METAPHYSICS27

  And now gentlemen,

  A word I give to remain in your memories and minds,

  As base and finale too for all metaphysics.

  (So to the students the old professor,

  At the close of his crowded course.)

  Having studied the new and antique, the Greek and Germanic

  systems,

  Kant having studied and stated, Fichte and Schelling and

  Hegel,

  Stated the lore of Plato, and Socrates greater than Plato,

  And greater than Socrates sought and stated, Christ divine having

  studied long,

  I see reminiscent to-day those Greek and Germanic systems,

  See the philosophies all, Christian churches and tenets see,

  Yet underneath Socrates clearly see, and underneath Christ the

  divine I see,

  The dear love of man for his comrade, the attraction of friend to

  friend,

  Of the well-married husband and wife, of children and parents,

  Of city for city and land for land.

  RECORDERS AGES HENCE

  Recorders ages hence,

  Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior,

  I will tell you what to say of me,

  Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest

  lover,

  The friend the lover’s portrait, of whom his friend his lover was

  fondest,

  Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless ocean of

  love within him, and freely pour’d it forth,

  Who often walk’d lonesome walks thinking of his dear friends, his

  lovers,

  Who pensive away from one he lov’d often lay sleepless and

  dissatisfied at night,

  Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he lov’d

  might secretly be indifferent to him,

  Whose happiest days were far away through fields, in woods, on

  hills, he and another wandering hand in hand, they twain

  apart from other men,

  Who oft as he saunter’d the streets curv’d with his arm the

  shoulder of his friend, while the arm of his friend rested upon

  him also.

  WHEN I HEARD AT THE CLOSE OF THE DAY

  When I heard at the close of the day how my name had been

  receiv’d with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy

  night for me that follow‘d,

  And else when I carous’d, or when my plans were accomplish‘d,

  still I was not happy,

  But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of perfect health,

  refresh’d, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn,

  When I saw the full moon in the west grow pale and disappear in

  the morning light,

  When I wander’d alone over the beach, and undressing bathed,

  laughing with the cool waters, and saw the sun rise,

  And when I thought how my dear friend my lover was on his way

  coming, O then I was happy,

  O then each breath tasted sweeter, and all that day my food

  nourish’d me more, and the beautiful day pass’d well,

  And the next came with equal joy, and with the next at evening

  came my friend,

  And that night while all was still I heard the waters roll slowly

  continually up the shores,

  I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands as directed to me

  whispering to congratulate me,

  For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover

  in the cool night,

  In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined

  toward me,

  And his arm lay lightly around my breast—and that night I was

  happy.

  ARE YOU THE NEW PERSON DRAWN TOWARD ME?

  Are you the new person drawn toward me?

  To begin
with take warning, I am surely far different from what

  you suppose;

  Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?

  Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?

  Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy’d

  satisfaction?

  Do you think I am trusty and faithful?

  Do you see no further than this façade, this smooth and tolerant

  manner of me?

  Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real

  heroic man?

  Have you no thought O dreamer that it may be all maya, illusion?

  ROOTS AND LEAVES THEMSELVES ALONE

  Roots and leaves themselves alone are these,

  Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods and

  pond-side,

  Breast-sorrel and pinks of love, fingers that wind around tighter

  than vines,

  Gushes from the throats of birds hid in the foliage of trees as the

  sun is risen,

  Breezes of land and love set from living shores to you on the

  living sea, to you O sailors!

  Frost-mellow’d berries and Third-month twigs offer’d fresh to

  young persons wandering out in the fields when the winter

  breaks up,

  Love-buds put before you and within you whoever you are,

  Buds to be unfolded on the old terms,

  If you bring the warmth of the sun to them they will open and

  bring form, color, perfume, to you,

  If you become the aliment and the wet they will become flowers,

  fruits, tall branches and trees.

  NOT HEAT FLAMES UP AND CONSUMES

  Not heat flames up and consumes,

  Not sea-waves hurry in and out,

  Not the air delicious and dry, the air of ripe summer, bears lightly

  along white down-balls of myriads of seeds,

  Wafted, sailing gracefully, to drop where they may;

  Not these, O none of these more than the flames of me,

  consuming, burning for his love whom I love,

  O none more than I hurrying in and out;

  Does the tide hurry, seeking something, and never give up?

  O I the same,

  O nor down-balls nor perfumes, nor the high rain-emitting

  clouds, are borne through the open air,

  Any more than my soul is borne through the open air,

  Wafted in all directions O love, for friendship, for you.

  TRICKLE DROPS

  Trickle drops! my blue veins leaving!

  O drops of me! trickle, slow drops,

  Candid from me falling, drip, bleeding drops,

  From wounds made to free you whence you were prison‘d,

  From my face, from my forehead and lips,

  From my breast, from within where I was conceal’d, press forth

  red drops, confession drops,

  Stain every page, stain every song I sing, every word I say, bloody

  drops,

  Let them know your scarlet heat, let them glisten,

  Saturate them with yourself all ashamed and wet,

  Glow upon all I have written or shall write, bleeding drops,

  Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.

  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 tableaus, 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.

  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.

  I SAW IN LOUISIANA A LIVE-OAK GROWING28

  I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,

  All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,

  Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of

  dark green,

  And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of

  myself,

  But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone

  there without its friend near, for I knew I could not,

  And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it,

  and twined around it a little moss,

  And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my room,

  It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,

  (For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)

  Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly

  love;

  For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana

  solitary in a wide flat space,

  Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend a lover

  near,

  I know very well I could not.

  TO A STRANGER

  Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon

  you,

  You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to

  me as of a dream,)

  I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,

  All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste,

  matured,

  You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,

  I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not

  yours only nor left my body mine only,

  You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you

  take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,

  I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or

  wake at night alone,

  I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,

  I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

  THIS MOMENT YEARNING AND THOUGHTFUL

  This moment yearning and thoughtful sitting alone,

  It seems to me there are other men in other lands yearning and

  thoughtful,

  It seems to me I can look over and behold them in Germany,

  Italy, France, Spain,

  Or far, far away, in China, or in Russia or Japan, talking other

  dialects,

  And it seems to me if I could know those men I should become

  attached to them as I do to men in my own lands,

  O I know we should be brethren and lovers,

  I know I should be happy with them.

  I HEAR IT WAS CHARGED AGAINST ME

  I hear it was charged against me that I sought to destroy

  institutions,

  But really I am neither for nor against institutions,

  (What indeed have I in common with them? or what with the

  destruction of them?)

  Only I will establish in the Mannahatta and in every city of these

  States inland and seaboard,

  And in the fields and woo
ds, and above every keel little or large

  that dents the water,

  Without edifices or rules or trustees or any argument,

  The institution of the dear love of comrades.

  THE PRAIRIE-GRASS DIVIDING

  The prairie-grass dividing, its special odor breathing,

  I demand of it the spiritual corresponding,

  Demand the most copious and close companionship of men,

  Demand the blades to rise of words, acts, beings,

  Those of the open atmosphere, coarse, sunlit, fresh, nutritious,

  Those that go their own gait, erect, stepping with freedom and

  command, leading not following,

  Those with a never-quell’d audacity, those with sweet and lusty

  flesh clear of taint,

  Those that look carelessly in the faces of Presidents and

  governors, as to say Who are you?

  Those of earth-born passion, simple, never constrain‘d, never

  obedient,

  Those of inland America.

  WHEN I PERUSE THE CONQUER’D FAME

  When I peruse the conquer’d fame of heroes and the victories of

  mighty generals, I do not envy the generals,

  Nor the President in his Presidency, nor the rich in his great

  house,

  But when I hear of the brotherhood of lovers, how it was with

  them,

  How together through life, through dangers, odium, unchanging,

  long and long,

  Through youth and through middle and old age, how unfaltering,

  how affectionate and faithful they were,

  Then I am pensive—I hastily walk away fill’d with the bitterest

  envy.

  WE TWO BOYS TOGETHER CLINGING

  We two boys together clinging,

  One the other never leaving,

  Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making,

  Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching,

  Arm’d and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,

  No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering, thieving,

  threatening,

  Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water drinking,

  on the turf or the sea beach dancing,

  Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness