Walt Whitman - The Complete Works of Walt Whitman

equally transient and strange!

As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone, what is this chant,

What am I myself but one of your meteors?

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1

With antecedents,

With my fathers and mothers and the accumulations of past ages,

With all which, had it not been, I would not now be here, as I am,

With Egypt, India, Phenicia, Greece and Rome,

With the Kelt, the Scandinavian, the Alb and the Saxon,

With antique maritime ventures, laws, artisanship, wars and journeys,

With the poet, the skald, the saga, the myth, and the oracle,

With the sale of slaves, with enthusiasts, with the troubadour, the

crusader, and the monk,

With those old continents whence we have come to this new continent,

With the fading kingdoms and kings over there,

With the fading religions and priests,

With the small shores we look back to from our own large and present shores,

With countless years drawing themselves onward and arrived at these years,

You and me arrived — America arrived and making this year,

This year! sending itself ahead countless years to come.

2

O but it is not the years — it is I, it is You,

We touch all laws and tally all antecedents,

We are the skald, the oracle, the monk and the knight, we easily

include them and more,

We stand amid time beginningless and endless, we stand amid evil and good,

All swings around us, there is as much darkness as light,

The very sun swings itself and its system of planets around us,

Its sun, and its again, all swing around us.

As for me, (torn, stormy, amid these vehement days,)

I have the idea of all, and am all and believe in all,

I believe materialism is true and spiritualism is true, I reject no part.

(Have I forgotten any part? any thing in the past?

Come to me whoever and whatever, till I give you recognition.)

I respect Assyria, China, Teutonia, and the Hebrews,

I adopt each theory, myth, god, and demigod,

I see that the old accounts, bibles, genealogies, are true, without

exception,

I assert that all past days were what they must have been,

And that they could no-how have been better than they were,

And that to-day is what it must be, and that America is,

And that to-day and America could no-how be better than they are.

3

In the name of these States and in your and my name, the Past,

And in the name of these States and in your and my name, the Present time.

I know that the past was great and the future will be great,

And I know that both curiously conjoint in the present time,

(For the sake of him I typify, for the common average man’s sake,

your sake if you are he,)

And that where I am or you are this present day, there is the centre

of all days, all races,

And there is the meaning to us of all that has ever come of races

and days, or ever will come.

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

1

Over the Western sea hither from Niphon come,

Courteous, the swart-cheek’d two-sworded envoys,

Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive,

Ride to-day through Manhattan.

Libertad! I do not know whether others behold what I behold,

In the procession along with the nobles of Niphon, the errand-bearers,

Bringing up the rear, hovering above, around, or in the ranks marching,

But I will sing you a song of what I behold Libertad.

When million-footed Manhattan unpent descends to her pavements,

When the thunder-cracking guns arouse me with the proud roar love,

When the round-mouth’d guns out of the smoke and smell I love

spit their salutes,

When the fire-flashing guns have fully alerted me, and

heaven-clouds canopy my city with a delicate thin haze,

When gorgeous the countless straight stems, the forests at the

wharves, thicken with colors,

When every ship richly drest carries her flag at the peak,

When pennants trail and street-festoons hang from the windows,

When Broadway is entirely given up to foot-passengers and

foot-standers, when the mass is densest,

When the facades of the houses are alive with people, when eyes

gaze riveted tens of thousands at a time,

When the guests from the islands advance, when the pageant moves

forward visible,

When the summons is made, when the answer that waited thousands

of years answers,

I too arising, answering, descend to the pavements, merge with the

crowd, and gaze with them.

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Superb-faced Manhattan!

Comrade Americanos! to us, then at last the Orient comes.

To us, my city,

Where our tall-topt marble and iron beauties range on opposite

sides, to walk in the space between,

To-day our Antipodes comes.

The Originatress comes,

The nest of languages, the bequeather of poems, the race of eld,

Florid with blood, pensive, rapt with musings, hot with passion,

Sultry with perfume, with ample and flowing garments,

With sunburnt visage, with intense soul and glittering eyes,

The race of Brahma comes.

See my cantabile! these and more are flashing to us from the procession,

As it moves changing, a kaleidoscope divine it moves changing before us.

For not the envoys nor the tann’d Japanee from his island only,

Lithe and silent the Hindoo appears, the Asiatic continent itself

appears, the past, the dead,

The murky night-morning of wonder and fable inscrutable,

The envelop’d mysteries, the old and unknown hive-bees,

The north, the sweltering south, eastern Assyria, the Hebrews, the

ancient of ancients,

Vast desolated cities, the gliding present, all of these and more

are in the pageant-procession.

Geography, the world, is in it,

The Great Sea, the brood of islands, Polynesia, the coast beyond,

The coast you henceforth are facing — you Libertad! from your Western

golden shores,

The countries there with their populations, the millions en-masse

are curiously here,

The swarming market-places, the temples with idols ranged along the

sides or at the end, bonze, brahmin, and llama,

Mandarin, farmer, merchant, mechanic, and fisherman,

The singing-girl and the dancing-girl, the ecstatic persons, the

secluded emperors,

Confucius himself, the great poets and heroes, the warriors, the castes,

all,

Trooping up, crowding from all directions, from the Altay mountains,

From Thibet, from the four winding and far-flowing rivers of China,

From the southern peninsulas and the demi-continental islands, from

Malaysia,

These and whatever belongs to them palpable show forth to me, and

are seiz’d by me,

And I am seiz’d by them, and friendlily held by them,

Till as here them all I chant, Libertad! for themselves and for you.

For I too raising my voice join the ranks of this pageant,

I am the chanter, I chant aloud over the pageant,

I chant the world on my Western sea,

I chant copious the islands beyond, thick as stars in the sky,

I chant the new empire grander than any before, as in a vision it

comes to me,

I chant America the mistress, I chant a greater supremacy,

I chant projected a thousand blooming cities yet in time on those

groups of sea-islands,

My sail-ships and steam-ships threading the archipelagoes,

My stars and stripes fluttering in the wind,

Commerce opening, the sleep of ages having done its work, races

reborn, refresh’d,