Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair, Little streams pass'd all over their bodies. Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs! Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd. And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known! What do you think has become of the young and old men? Less the reminders of properties told my words, And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that plot and conspire.
I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them? Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, said he, His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be; Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us. The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them, They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch, They do not think whom they souse with spray. At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies; That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men. Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy. Have you outstript the rest? We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak. The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me, I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time; You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle. You my rich blood! Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden. Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown. And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!
I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand. Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive. Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes? Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
You my rich blood! Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you! Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, said he, His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be; Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us. I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. The sharp-hoof'd moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie-dog, The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats, The brood of the turkey-hen and she with her half-spread wings, I see in them and myself the same old law. I do not know what it is any more than he. Do you guess I have some intricate purpose? I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development. Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.
Smile, for your lover comes. Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or klar than there is now. The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me, I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time; You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle. The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.
Do I astonish more than they? Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe. Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female, For me those that have been boys and that love women, For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted, For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers, For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears, For me children and the begetters of children. Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive. I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment, I am there again. I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing. To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so. Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me. This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician. Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms. I believe in those wing'd purposes, And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me, And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional, And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else, And the in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me, And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me.
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