Leaves of Grass - Walt Whitman (love story novels in english txt) š
- Author: Walt Whitman
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And who has been happiest? O I think it is IāI think no one was
ever happier than I,
And who has lavishād all? for I lavish constantly the best I have,
And who proudest? for I think I have reason to be the proudest son
aliveāfor I am the son of the brawny and tall-topt city,
And who has been bold and true? for I would be the boldest and
truest being of the universe,
And who benevolent? for I would show more benevolence than all the rest,
And who has receivād the love of the most friends? for I know what
it is to receive the passionate love of many friends,
And who possesses a perfect and enamourād body? for I do not believe
any one possesses a more perfect or enamourād body than mine,
And who thinks the amplest thoughts? for I would surround those thoughts,
And who has made hymns fit for the earth? for I am mad with
devouring ecstasy to make joyous hymns for the whole earth.
} Ah Poverties, Wincings, and Sulky Retreats
Ah poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats,
Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me,
(For what is my life or any manās life but a conflict with foes, the
old, the incessant war?)
You degradations, you tussle with passions and appetites,
You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds the sharpest of all!)
You toil of painful and choked articulations, you meannesses,
You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my tongue the shallowest of any;)
You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smotherād ennuis!
Ah think not you finally triumph, my real self has yet to come forth,
It shall yet march forth oāermastering, till all lies beneath me,
It shall yet stand up the soldier of ultimate victory.
} Thoughts
Of public opinion,
Of a calm and cool fiat sooner or later, (how impassive! how certain
and final!)
Of the President with pale face asking secretly to himself, What
will the people say at last?
Of the frivolous Judgeāof the corrupt Congressman, Governor,
Mayorāof such as these standing helpless and exposed,
Of the mumbling and screaming priest, (soon, soon deserted,)
Of the lessening year by year of venerableness, and of the dicta of
officers, statutes, pulpits, schools,
Of the rising forever taller and stronger and broader of the
intuitions of men and women, and of Self-esteem and Personality;
Of the true New Worldāof the Democracies resplendent en-masse,
Of the conformity of politics, armies, navies, to them,
Of the shining sun by themāof the inherent light, greater than the rest,
Of the envelopment of all by them, and the effusion of all from them.
} Mediums
They shall arise in the States,
They shall report Nature, laws, physiology, and happiness,
They shall illustrate Democracy and the kosmos,
They shall be alimentive, amative, perceptive,
They shall be complete women and men, their pose brawny and supple,
their drink water, their blood clean and clear,
They shall fully enjoy materialism and the sight of products, they
shall enjoy the sight of the beef, lumber, bread-stuffs, of
Chicago the great city.
They shall train themselves to go in public to become orators and
oratresses,
Strong and sweet shall their tongues be, poems and materials of
poems shall come from their lives, they shall be makers and finders,
Of them and of their works shall emerge divine conveyers, to convey gospels,
Characters, events, retrospections, shall be conveyād in gospels,
trees, animals, waters, shall be conveyād,
Death, the future, the invisible faith, shall all be conveyād.
} Weave in, My Hardy Life
Weave in, weave in, my hardy life,
Weave yet a soldier strong and full for great campaigns to come,
Weave in red blood, weave sinews in like ropes, the senses, sight weave in,
Weave lasting sure, weave day and night the wet, the warp, incessant
weave, tire not,
(We know not what the use O life, nor know the aim, the end, nor
really aught we know,
But know the work, the need goes on and shall go on, the
death-envelopād march of peace as well as war goes on,)
For great campaigns of peace the same the wiry threads to weave,
We know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave.
} Spain, 1873-74
Out of the murk of heaviest clouds,
Out of the feudal wrecks and heapād-up skeletons of kings,
Out of that old entire European debris, the shatterād mummeries,
Ruinād cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests,
Lo, Freedomās features fresh undimmād look forthāthe same immortal
face looks forth;
(A glimpse as of thy Motherās face Columbia,
A flash significant as of a sword,
Beaming towards thee.)
Nor think we forget thee maternal;
Lagādāst thou so long? shall the clouds close again upon thee?
Ah, but thou hast thyself now appearād to usāwe know thee,
Thou hast given us a sure proof, the glimpse of thyself,
Thou waitest there as everywhere thy time.
} By Broad Potomacās Shore
By broad Potomacās shore, again old tongue,
(Still uttering, still ejaculating, canst never cease this babble?)
Again old heart so gay, again to you, your sense, the full flush
spring returning,
Again the freshness and the odors, again Virginiaās summer sky,
pellucid blue and silver,
Again the forenoon purple of the hills,
Again the deathless grass, so noiseless soft and green,
Again the blood-red roses blooming.
Perfume this book of mine O blood-red roses!
Lave subtly with your waters every line Potomac!
Give me of you O spring, before I close, to put between its pages!
O forenoon purple of the hills, before I close, of you!
O deathless grass, of you!
} From Far Dakotaās Canyons [June 25, 1876]
From far Dakotaās canyons,
Lands of the wild ravine, the dusky Sioux, the lonesome stretch, the
silence,
Haply to-day a mournful wall, haply a trumpet-note for heroes.
The battle-bulletin,
The Indian ambuscade, the craft, the fatal environment,
The cavalry companies fighting to the last in sternest heroism,
In the midst of their little circle, with their slaughterād horses
for breastworks,
The fall of Custer and all his officers and men.
Continues yet the old, old legend of our race,
The loftiest of life upheld by death,
The ancient banner perfectly maintainād,
O lesson opportune, O how I welcome thee!
As sitting in dark days,
Lone, sulky, through the timeās thick murk looking in vain for
light, for hope,
From unsuspected parts a fierce and momentary proof,
(The sun there at the centre though concealād,
Electric life forever at the centre,)
Breaks forth a lightning flash.
Thou of the tawny flowing hair in battle,
I erewhile saw, with erect head, pressing ever in front, bearing a
bright sword in thy hand,
Now ending well in death the splendid fever of thy deeds,
(I bring no dirge for it or thee, I bring a glad triumphal sonnet,)
Desperate and glorious, aye in defeat most desperate, most glorious,
After thy many battles in which never yielding up a gun or a color,
Leaving behind thee a memory sweet to soldiers,
Thou yieldest up thyself.
} Old War-Dreams
In midnight sleep of many a face of anguish,
Of the look at first of the mortally wounded, (of that indescribable look,)
Of the dead on their backs with arms extended wide,
I dream, I dream, I dream.
Of scenes of Nature, fields and mountains,
Of skies so beauteous after a storm, and at night the moon so
unearthly bright,
Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and
gather the heaps,
I dream, I dream, I dream.
Long have they passād, faces and trenches and fields,
Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure, or away
from the fallen,
Onward I sped at the timeābut now of their forms at night,
I dream, I dream, I dream.
} Thick-Sprinkled Bunting
Thick-sprinkled bunting! flag of stars!
Long yet your road, fateful flagālong yet your road, and lined with
bloody death,
For the prize I see at issue at last is the world,
All its ships and shores I see interwoven with your threads greedy banner;
Dreamād again the flags of kings, highest borne to flaunt unrivalād?
O hasten flag of manāO with sure and steady step, passing highest
flags of kings,
Walk supreme to the heavens mighty symbolārun up above them all,
Flag of stars! thick-sprinkled bunting!
} What Best I See in Thee
[To U. S. G. returnād from his Worldās Tour]
What best I see in thee,
Is not that where thou movāst down historyās great highways,
Ever undimmād by time shoots warlike victoryās dazzle,
Or that thou satāst where Washington sat, ruling the land in peace,
Or thou the man whom feudal Europe feted, venerable Asia swarmād upon,
Who walkād with kings with even pace the round worldās promenade;
But that in foreign lands, in all thy walks with kings,
Those prairie sovereigns of the West, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois,
Ohioās, Indianaās millions, comrades, farmers, soldiers, all to the front,
Invisibly with thee walking with kings with even pace the round
worldās promenade,
Were all so justified.
} Spirit That Formād This Scene
[Written in Platte Canyon, Colorado]
Spirit that formād this scene,
These tumbled rock-piles grim and red,
These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks,
These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness,
These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own,
I know thee, savage spiritāwe have communed together,
Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own;
Wast charged against my chants they had forgotten art?
To fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatesse?
The lyristās measurād beat, the wrought-out templeās graceācolumn
and polishād arch forgot?
But thou that revelest hereāspirit that formād this scene,
They have rememberād thee.
} As I Walk These Broad Majestic Days
As I walk these broad majestic days of peace,
(For the war, the struggle of blood finishād, wherein, O terrific Ideal,
Against vast odds erewhile having gloriously won,
Now thou stridest on, yet perhaps in time toward denser wars,
Perhaps to engage in time in still more dreadful contests, dangers,
Longer campaigns and crises, labors beyond all others,)
Around me I hear that eclat of the world, politics, produce,
The announcements of recognized things, science,
The approved growth of cities and the spread of inventions.
I see the ships, (they will last a few years,)
The vast factories with their foremen and workmen,
And hear the indorsement of all, and do not object to it.
But I too announce solid things,
Science, ships, politics, cities, factories, are not nothing,
Like a grand procession to music of distant bugles pouring,
triumphantly moving, and grander heaving in sight,
They stand for realitiesāall is as it should be.
Then my realities;
What else is so real as mine?
Libertad and the divine average, freedom to every slave on the face
of the earth,
The rapt promises and lumine of seers, the spiritual world, these
centuries-lasting songs,
And our visions, the visions of poets, the most solid announcements
of any.
} A Clear Midnight
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou
lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
[BOOK XXXIII. SONGS OF PARTING]
} As the Time Draws Nigh
As the time draws nigh glooming a cloud,
A dread beyond of I know not what darkens me.
I shall go forth,
I shall traverse the States awhile, but I cannot tell whither or how long,
Perhaps soon some day or night while I am singing my voice will
suddenly cease.
O book, O chants! must all then amount to but this?
Must
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