Walt Whitman - The Complete Works of Walt Whitman

On journeys through the States we start,

(Ay through the world, urged by these songs,

Sailing henceforth to every land, to every sea,)

We willing learners of all, teachers of all, and lovers of all.

We have watch’d the seasons dispensing themselves and passing on,

And have said, Why should not a man or woman do as much as the

seasons, and effuse as much?

We dwell a while in every city and town,

We pass through Kanada, the North-east, the vast valley of the

Mississippi, and the Southern States,

We confer on equal terms with each of the States,

We make trial of ourselves and invite men and women to hear,

We say to ourselves, Remember, fear not, be candid, promulge the

body and the soul,

Dwell a while and pass on, be copious, temperate, chaste, magnetic,

And what you effuse may then return as the seasons return,

And may be just as much as the seasons.

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Here, take this gift,

I was reserving it for some hero, speaker, or general,

One who should serve the good old cause, the great idea, the

progress and freedom of the race,

Some brave confronter of despots, some daring rebel;

But I see that what I was reserving belongs to you just as much as to any.

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Me imperturbe, standing at ease in Nature,

Master of all or mistress of all, aplomb in the midst of irrational things,

Imbued as they, passive, receptive, silent as they,

Finding my occupation, poverty, notoriety, foibles, crimes, less

important than I thought,

Me toward the Mexican sea, or in the Mannahatta or the Tennessee,

or far north or inland,

A river man, or a man of the woods or of any farm-life of these

States or of the coast, or the lakes or Kanada,

Me wherever my life is lived, O to be self-balanced for contingencies,

To confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as

the trees and animals do.

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Thither as I look I see each result and glory retracing itself and

nestling close, always obligated,

Thither hours, months, years — thither trades, compacts,

establishments, even the most minute,

Thither every-day life, speech, utensils, politics, persons, estates;

Thither we also, I with my leaves and songs, trustful, admirant,

As a father to his father going takes his children along with him.

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Lo, the unbounded sea,

On its breast a ship starting, spreading all sails, carrying even

her moonsails.

The pennant is flying aloft as she speeds she speeds so stately —

below emulous waves press forward,

They surround the ship with shining curving motions and foam.

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I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,

Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,

The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand

singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as

he stands,

The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning,

or at noon intermission or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work,

or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

The day what belongs to the day — at night the party of young

fellows, robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

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What place is besieged, and vainly tries to raise the siege?

Lo, I send to that place a commander, swift, brave, immortal,

And with him horse and foot, and parks of artillery,

And artillery-men, the deadliest that ever fired gun.

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Still though the one I sing,

(One, yet of contradictions made,) I dedicate to Nationality,

I leave in him revolt, (O latent right of insurrection! O

quenchless, indispensable fire!)

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Shut not your doors to me proud libraries,

For that which was lacking on all your well-fill’d shelves, yet

needed most, I bring,

Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made,

The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing,

A book separate, not link’d with the rest nor felt by the intellect,

But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page.

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Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!

Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for,

But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than

before known,

Arouse! for you must justify me.

I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,

I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.

I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a

casual look upon you and then averts his face,

Leaving it to you to prove and define it,

Expecting the main things from you.

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Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why

should you not speak to me?

And why should I not speak to you?

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Thou reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as I,

Therefore for thee the following chants.

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1

Starting from fish-shape Paumanok where I was born,

Well-begotten, and rais’d by a perfect mother,

After roaming many lands, lover of populous pavements,

Dweller in Mannahatta my city, or on southern savannas,

Or a soldier camp’d or carrying my knapsack and gun, or a miner

in California,

Or rude in my home in Dakota’s woods, my diet meat, my drink from

the spring,

Or withdrawn to muse and meditate in some deep recess,

Far from the clank of crowds intervals passing rapt and happy,

Aware of the fresh free giver the flowing Missouri, aware of

mighty Niagara,

Aware of the buffalo herds grazing the plains, the hirsute and

strong-breasted bull,

Of earth, rocks, Fifth-month flowers experienced, stars, rain, snow,

my amaze,

Having studied the mocking-bird’s tones and the flight of the

mountain-hawk,

And heard at dawn the unrivall’d one, the hermit thrush from the

swamp-cedars,

Solitary, singing in the West, I strike up for a New World.

2

Victory, union, faith, identity, time,

The indissoluble compacts, riches, mystery,

Eternal progress, the kosmos, and the modern reports.

This then is life,

Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and convulsions.

How curious! how real!

Underfoot the divine soil, overhead the sun.

See revolving the globe,

The ancestor-continents away group’d together,

The present and future continents north and south, with the isthmus

between.

See, vast trackless spaces,