Leaves of Grass: First and Death-Bed Editions

by Walt Whitman

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,

  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.

  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.

  -4-

  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,

  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,

  Doctrines, politics and civilization exurge from you,

  Sculpture and monuments and any thing inscribed anywhere are

  tallied in you,

  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?)

  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.

  —5—

  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?

  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,

  Ship-joining, dock-building, fish-curing, flagging of sidewalks 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 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,

  Stone-cutting, shapely trimmings for façades or window or door

  lintels, the mallet, the tooth-chisel, the jib to protect the thumb,

  The calking-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 work and tools of the rigger, grappler, sail-maker, block

  maker,

  Goods of gutta-percha,az papier-mache, colors, brushes, brush-

  making, glazier’s implements,

  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,

  The brewery, brewing, the malt, the vats, every thing that is done

  by brewers, wine-makers, 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, steamwagons,

  The cart of the carman, the omnibus, the ponderous dray,

  Pyrotechny, letting off color’d fireworks at night, fancy figures and

  jets;

  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 winterwork 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 ferries, railroads, coasters,

  fish-boats, canals;

  The hourly routine of your own or any man’s life, the shop, yard,

  store, or factory,

  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 that and 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, hints,

  possibilities.

  I do not affirm that 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 these lead to.

  -6-

  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,

  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, sister, wife,

  The popular tastes and employments taking precedence in poems

  or anywhere,

  You workwomen and workmen of these State
s having your own

  divine and strong life,

  And all else giving place to men and women like you.

  When the psalm sings instead of the singer,

  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,

  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.

  A SONG OF THE ROLLING EARTH

  —1—

  A song of the rolling earth, and of words according,

  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,

  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,

  Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of

  shame.)

  Air, soil, water, fire—those 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,

  The charms that go with the mere looks of some men and

  women, are sayings and meanings also.

  The workmanship of souls is by those inaudible words of the earth,

  The masters know the earth’s words and use them more than

  audible words.

  Amelioration is one of the earth’s words,

  The earth neither lags nor hastens,

  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,

  They are imbued through all things conveying themselves willingly,

  Conveying a sentiment and invitation, 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?

  (Accouche! accouchez! baWill 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,

  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.

  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,

  Persuasions of lovers, curses, gasps of the dying, laughter of young

  people, accents of bargainers,

  Underneath these possessing 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.

  Of the interminable sisters,42

  Of the ceaseless cotillons 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,

  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.

  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,

  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.

  Embracing man, embracing all, proceed the three hundred and

  sixty-five resistlessly round the sun;

  Embracing all, soothing, supporting, follow close three hundred

  and sixty-five offsets of the first, sure and necessary as they.

  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,

  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.

  -2-

  Whoever you are! motion and reflection are especially for you,

  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.

  Each man to himself and each woman to herself, is the word of

  the past and present, and the true 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,

  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,
r />   And no man understands any greatness or goodness but his own,

  or the indication of his own.

  -3-

  I swear the earth shall surely be complete to him or her who shall

  be complete,

  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,

  There can be no theory of any account unless it corroborate the

  theory of the earth,

  No politics, song, 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.

  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,

  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.

  I swear I see what is better than to tell the best,

  It is always to leave the best untold.

  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,

  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,

  No reasoning, no proof has establish’d it,

  Undeniable growth has establish’d it.

  -4-

  These to echo the tones of souls and the phrases of souls,

  (If they did not echo the phrases of souls what were they then?