Leaves of Grass: First and Death-Bed Editions

by Walt Whitman

  unite—they unite now.

  —8—

  The sleepers are very beautiful as they lie unclothed,

  They flow hand in hand over the whole earth from east to west as

  they lie unclothed,

  The Asiatic and African are hand in hand, the European and

  American are hand in hand,

  Learn’d and unlearn’d are hand in hand, and male and female

  are hand in hand,

  The bare arm of the girl crosses the bare breast of her lover, they

  press close without lust, his lips press her neck,

  The father holds his grown or ungrown son in his arms with

  measureless love, and the son holds the father in his arms

  with measureless love,

  The white hair of the mother shines on the white wrist of the

  daughter,

  The breath of the boy goes with the breath of the man, friend is

  inarm’d by friend,

  The scholar kisses the teacher and the teacher kisses the scholar,

  the wrong’d is made right,

  The call of the slave is one with the master’s call, and the master

  salutes the slave,

  The felon steps forth from the prison, the insane becomes sane,

  the suffering of sick persons is reliev‘d,

  The sweatings and fevers stop, the throat that was unsound is

  sound, the lungs of the consumptive are resumed, the poor

  distress’d head is free,

  The joints of the rheumatic move as smoothly as ever, and

  smoother than ever,

  Stiflings and passages open, the paralyzed become supple,

  The swell’d and convuls’d and congested awake to themselves in

  condition,

  They pass the invigoration of the night and the chemistry of the

  night, and awake.

  I too pass from the night,

  I stay a while away O night, but I return to you again and

  love you.

  Why should I be afraid to trust myself to you?

  I am not afraid, I have been well brought forward by you,

  I love the rich running day, but I do not desert her in whom I lay

  so long,

  I know not how I came of you and I know not where I go with

  you, but I know I came well and shall go well.

  I will stop only a time with the night, and rise betimes,

  I will duly pass the day O my mother, and duly return

  to you.

  TRANSPOSITIONS

  Let the reformers descend from the stands where they are forever

  bawling—let an idiot or insane person appear on each of the

  stands;

  Let judges and criminals be transposed—let the prison-keepers be

  put in prison—let those that were prisoners take the keys;

  Let them that distrust birth and death lead the rest.

  TO THINK OF TIME88

  —1—

  To think of time—of all that retrospection,

  To think of to-day, and the ages continued henceforward.

  Have you guess’d you yourself would not continue?

  Have you dreaded these earth-beetles?

  Have you fear’d the future would be nothing to you?

  Is to-day nothing? is the beginningless past nothing?

  If the future is nothing they are just as surely nothing.

  To think that the sun rose in the east—that men and women were

  flexible, real, alive—that every thing was alive,

  To think that you and I did not see, feel, think, nor bear

  our part,

  To think that we are now here and bear our part.

  —2—

  Not a day passes, not a minute or second without an

  accouchement,

  Not a day passes, not a minute or second without a corpse.

  The dull nights go over and the dull days also,

  The soreness of lying so much in bed goes over,

  The physician after long putting off gives the silent and terrible

  look for an answer,

  The children come hurried and weeping, and the brothers and

  sisters are sent for,

  Medicines stand unused on the shelf, (the camphor-smell has

  long pervaded the rooms,)

  The faithful hand of the living does not desert the hand of the

  dying,

  The twitching lips press lightly on the forehead of the dying,

  The breath ceases and the pulse of the heart ceases,

  The corpse stretches on the bed and the living look upon it,

  It is palpable as the living are palpable.

  The living look upon the corpse with their eyesight,

  But without eyesight lingers a different living and looks curiously

  on the corpse.

  -3-

  To think the thought of death merged in the thought of

  materials,

  To think of all these wonders of city and country, and others

  taking great interest in them, and we taking no interest in

  them.

  To think how eager we are in building our houses,

  To think others shall be just as eager, and we quite indifferent.

  (I see one building the house that serves him a few years, or

  seventy or eighty years at most,

  I see one building the house that serves him longer than

  that.)

  Slow-moving and black lines creep over the whole earth—they

  never cease—they are the burial lines,

  He that was President was buried, and he that is now President

  shall surely be buried.

  -4-

  A reminiscence of the vulgar fate,

  A frequent sample of the life and death of workmen,

  Each after his kind.

  Cold dash of waves at the ferry-wharf, posh and ice in the river,

  half-frozen mud in the streets,

  A gray discouraged sky overhead, the short last daylight of

  December,

  A hearse and stages, the funeral of an old Broadway stage-driver,

  the cortege mostly drivers.

  Steady the trot to the cemetery, duly rattles the death-bell,

  The gate is pass‘d, the new-dug grave is halted at, the living alight,

  the hearse uncloses,

  The coffin is pass’d out, lower’d and settled, the whip is laid on

  the coffin, the earth is swiftly shovel’d in,

  The mound above is flatted with the spades—silence,

  A minute—no one moves or speaks—it is done,

  He is decently put away—is there any thing more?

  He was a good fellow, free-mouth‘d, quick-temper’d, not bad

  looking,

  Ready with life or death for a friend, fond of women, gambled,

  ate hearty, drank hearty,

  Had known what it was to be flush, grew low-spirited toward the

  last, sicken‘d, was help’d by a contribution,

  Died, aged forty-one years—and that was his funeral.

  Thumb extended, finger uplifted, apron, cape, gloves, strap, wet

  weather clothes, whip carefully chosen,

  Boss, spotter, starter, hostler, somebody loafing on you, you

  loafing on somebody, headway, man before and man

  behind,

  Good day’s work, bad day’s work, pet stock, mean stock, first out,

  last out, turning-in at night,

  To think that these are so much and so nigh to other drivers, and

  he there takes no interest in them.

  —5—

  The markets, the government, the working-man’s wages, to think

  what account they are through our nights and days,

  To think that other working-men will make just as great account

  of the
m, yet we make little or no account.

  The vulgar and the refined, what you call sin and what you call

  goodness, to think how wide a difference,

  To think the difference will still continue to others, yet we lie

  beyond the difference.

  To think how much pleasure there is,

  Do you enjoy yourself in the city? or engaged in business? or

  planning a nomination and election? or with your wife and

  family?

  Or with your mother and sisters? or in womanly housework? or

  the beautiful maternal cares?

  These also flow onward to others, you and I flow onward,

  But in due time you and I shall take less interest in them.

  Your farm, profits, crops—to think how engross’d you are,

  To think there will still be farms, profits, crops, yet for you of what

  avail?

  -6-

  What will be will be well, for what is is well,

  To take interest is well, and not to take interest shall be well.

  The domestic joys, the daily housework or business, the building

  of houses are not phantasms, they have weight, form, location,

  Farms, profits, crops, markets, wages, government, are none of

  them phantasms,

  The difference between sin and goodness is no delusion,

  The earth is not an echo, man and his life and all the things of

  his life are well-consider’d.

  You are not thrown to the winds, you gather certainly and safely

  around yourself,

  Yourself! yourself! yourself, for ever and ever!

  —7—

  It is not to diffuse you that you were born of your mother and

  father, it is to identify you,

  It is not that you should be undecided, but that you should be

  decided,

  Something long preparing and formless is arrived and form’d in

  you,

  You are henceforth secure, whatever comes or goes.

  The threads that were spun are gather‘d, the weft crosses the warp, the pattern is systematic.

  The preparations have every one been justified,

  The orchestra have sufficiently tuned their instruments, the baton

  has given the signal.

  The guest that was coming, he waited long, he is now

  housed,

  He is one of those who are beautiful and happy, he is one of those

  that to look upon and be with is enough.

  The law of the past cannot be eluded,

  The law of the present and future cannot be eluded,

  The law of the living cannot be eluded, it is eternal,

  The law of promotion and transformation cannot be eluded,

  The law of heroes and good-doers cannot be eluded,

  The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons, not one iota

  thereof can be eluded.

  —8—

  Slow moving and black lines go ceaselessly over the earth,

  Northerner goes carried and Southerner goes carried, and they on

  the Atlantic side and they on the Pacific,

  And they between, and all through the Mississippi country, and

  all over the earth.

  The great masters and kosmos are well as they go, the heroes and

  good-doers are well,

  The known leaders and inventors and the rich owners and pious

  and distinguish’d may be well,

  But there is more account than that, there is strict account

  of all.

  The interminable hordes of the ignorant and wicked are not

  nothing,

  The barbarians of Africa and Asia are not nothing,

  The perpetual successions of shallow people are not nothing as

  they go.

  Of and in all these things,

  I have dream’d that we are not to be changed so much, nor the

  law of us changed,

  I have dream’d that heroes and good-doers shall be under the

  present and past law,

  And that murderers, drunkards, liars, shall be under the present

  and past law,

  For I have dream’d that the law they are under now is enough.

  And I have dream’d that the purpose and essence of the known

  life, the transient,

  Is to form and decide identity for the unknown life, the permanent.

  If all came but to ashes of dung,

  If maggots and rats ended us, then Alarum! for we are betray‘d,

  Then indeed suspicion of death.

  Do you suspect death? if I were to suspect death I should die now,

  Do you think I could walk pleasantly and well-suited toward

  annihilation?

  Pleasantly and well-suited I walk,

  Whither I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good,

  The whole universe indicates that it is good,

  The past and the present indicate that it is good.

  How beautiful and perfect are the animals!

  How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon it!

  What is called good is perfect, and what is called bad is just as

  perfect,

  The vegetables and minerals are all perfect, and the

  imponderable fluids perfect;

  Slowly and surely they have pass’d on to this, and slowly and

  surely they yet pass on.

  -9-

  I swear I think now that every thing without exception has an

  eternal soul!

  The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the sea have!

  the animals!

  I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!

  That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is for it,

  and the cohering is for it!

  And all preparation is for it—and identity is for it—and life and

  materials are altogether for it!

  WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH89

  DAREST THOU NOW O SOUL

  Darest thou now O soul,

  Walk out with me toward the unknown region,

  Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow?

  No map there, nor guide,

  Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,

  Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.

  I know it not O soul,

  Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us,

  All waits undream’d of in that region, that inaccessible land.

  Till when the ties loosen,

  All but the ties eternal, Time and Space,

  Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bounding us.

  Then we burst forth, we float,

  In Time and Space O soul, prepared for them,

  Equal, equipt at last, (O joy! O fruit of all!) them to fulfil O soul.

  WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH90

  Whispers of heavenly death murmur’d I hear,

  Labial gossip of night, sibilant chorals,

  Footsteps gently ascending, mystical breezes wafted soft and low,

  Ripples of unseen rivers, tides of a current flowing, forever

  flowing,

  (Or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human

  tears?)

  I see, just see skyward, great cloud masses,

  Mournfully slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing,

  With at times a half-dimm’d sadden’d far-off star,

  Appearing and disappearing.

  (Some parturition rather, some solemn immortal birth;

  On the frontiers to eyes impenetrable,

  Some soul is passing over.)

  CHANTING THE SQUARE DEIFIC91

  —1—

  Chanting the square deific, out of the One advancing, out of the

  sides,

  O
ut of the old and new, out of the square entirely divine,

  Solid, four-sided, (all the sides needed,) from this side Jehovah

  am I,

  Old Brahm I, and I Saturnius am;

  Not Time affects me—I am Time, old, modern as any,

  Unpersuadable, relentless, executing righteous

  judgments,

  As the Earth, the Father, the brown old Kronos, with laws,

  Aged beyond computation, yet ever new, ever with those mighty

  laws rolling,

  Relentless I forgive no man—whoever sins dies—I will have that

  man’s life;

  Therefore let none expect mercy—have the seasons, gravitation,

  the appointed days, mercy? no more have I,

  But as the seasons and gravitation, and as all the appointed days

  that forgive not,

  I dispense from this side judgments inexorable without the least

  remorse.

  —2—

  Consolator most mild, the promis’d one advancing,

  With gentle hand extended, the mightier God am I,

  Foretold by prophets and poets in their most rapt prophecies and

  poems,

  From this side, lo! the Lord Christ gazes—lo! Hermes I—lo!

  mine is Hercules’ face,

  All sorrow, labor, suffering, I, tallying it, absorb in myself,

  Many times have I been rejected, taunted, put in prison, and

  crucified, and many times shall be again,

  All the world have I given up for my dear brothers’ and sisters’

  sake, for the soul’s sake,

  Wending my way through the homes of men, rich or poor, with

  the kiss of affection,

  For I am affection, I am the cheer-bringing God, with hope and

  all-enclosing charity,

  With indulgent words as to children, with fresh and sane words,

  mine only,

  Young and strong I pass knowing well I am destin’d myself to an