Leaves of Grass | Page 9

and sublime,?And for the past I pronounce what the air holds of the red aborigines.
The red aborigines,?Leaving natural breaths, sounds of rain and winds, calls as of birds
and animals in the woods, syllabled to us for names,?Okonee, Koosa, Ottawa, Monongahela, Sauk, Natchez, Chattahoochee,
Kaqueta, Oronoco,?Wabash, Miami, Saginaw, Chippewa, Oshkosh, Walla-Walla,?Leaving such to the States they melt, they depart, charging the
water and the land with names.
17?Expanding and swift, henceforth,?Elements, breeds, adjustments, turbulent, quick and audacious, A world primal again, vistas of glory incessant and branching, A new race dominating previous ones and grander far, with new contests, New politics, new literatures and religions, new inventions and arts.
These, my voice announcing--I will sleep no more but arise, You oceans that have been calm within me! how I feel you,
fathomless, stirring, preparing unprecedented waves and storms.
18?See, steamers steaming through my poems,?See, in my poems immigrants continually coming and landing, See, in arriere, the wigwam, the trail, the hunter's hut, the flat-boat,
the maize-leaf, the claim, the rude fence, and the backwoods village, See, on the one side the Western Sea and on the other the Eastern Sea,
how they advance and retreat upon my poems as upon their own shores, See, pastures and forests in my poems--see, animals wild and tame--see,
beyond the Kaw, countless herds of buffalo feeding on short curly grass, See, in my poems, cities, solid, vast, inland, with paved streets,
with iron and stone edifices, ceaseless vehicles, and commerce, See, the many-cylinder'd steam printing-press--see, the electric
telegraph stretching across the continent,?See, through Atlantica's depths pulses American Europe reaching,
pulses of Europe duly return'd,?See, the strong and quick locomotive as it departs, panting, blowing
the steam-whistle,?See, ploughmen ploughing farms--see, miners digging mines--see,
the numberless factories,?See, mechanics busy at their benches with tools--see from among them
superior judges, philosophs, Presidents, emerge, drest in working dresses,?See, lounging through the shops and fields of the States, me
well-belov'd, close-held by day and night,?Hear the loud echoes of my songs there--read the hints come at last.
19?O camerado close! O you and me at last, and us two only.?O a word to clear one's path ahead endlessly!?O something ecstatic and undemonstrable! O music wild!?O now I triumph--and you shall also;?O hand in hand--O wholesome pleasure--O one more desirer and lover! O to haste firm holding--to haste, haste on with me.
[BOOK III]
} Song of Myself
1?I celebrate myself, and sing myself,?And what I assume you shall assume,?For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,?I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,?I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,?Hoping to cease not till death.
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.
2?Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with
perfumes,?I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,?The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the
distillation, it is odorless,?It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,?I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked, I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
The smoke of my own breath,?Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing
of blood and air through my lungs,?The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and
dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of
the wind,?A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields
and hill-sides,?The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising
from bed and meeting the sun.
Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much? Have you practis'd so long to learn to read??Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of
all poems,?You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions
of suns left,)?You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through
the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.
3?I have heard