Walt Whitman – Song of the Answerer (Book IX)

Song of the Answerer 

1

NOW list to my morning's romanza, I tell the signs of the Answerer,
To the cities and farms I sing as they spread in the sunshine 
 before me.

A young man comes to me bearing a message from his brother,
How shall the young man know the whether and when of his 
 brother?
Tell him to send me the signs.

And I stand before the young man face to face, and take his right 
 hand in my left hand and his left hand in my right hand,
And I answer for his brother and for men, and I answer for him 
 that answers for all, and send these signs.

Him all wait for, him all yield up to, his word is decisive and final,
Him they accept, in him lave, in him perceive themselves as amid 
 light,
Him they immerse and he immerses them.

Beautiful women, the haughtiest nations, laws, the landscape,
 people, animals,
The profound earth and its attributes and the unquiet ocean, (so 
 tell I my morning's romanza,)
All enjoyments and properties and money, and whatever money 
 will buy,
The best farms, others toiling and planting and he unavoidably 
 reaps,
The noblest and costliest cities, others grading and building and 
 he domiciles there,
Nothing for any one but what is for him, near and far are for him,
 the ships in the offing,
The perpetual shows and marches on land are for him if they are 
 for anybody.

He puts things in their attitudes,
He puts to-day out of himself with plasticity and love,
He places his own times, reminiscences, parents, brothers and 
 sisters, associations, employment, politics, so that the rest 
 never shame them afterward, nor assume to command 
 them.

He is the Answerer,
What can be answer'd he answers, and what cannot be answer'd 
 he shows how it cannot be answer'd.

A man is a summons and challenge,
(It is vain to skulk—do you hear that mocking and laughter? do 
 you hear the ironical echoes?)

Books, friendships, philosophers, priests, action, pleasure, pride,
 beat up and down seeking to give satisfaction,
He indicates the satisfaction, and indicates them that beat up and 
 down also.

Whichever the sex, whatever the season or place, he may go freshly 
 and gently and safely by day or by night,
He has the pass-key of hearts, to him the response of the prying 
 of hands on the knobs.

His welcome is universal, the flow of beauty is not more welcome 
 or universal than he is,
The person he favors by day or sleeps with at night is blessed.

Every existence has its idiom, every thing has an idiom and tongue,
He resolves all tongues into his own and bestows it upon men, and 
 any man translates, and any man translates himself also,
One part does not counteract another part, he is the joiner, he 
 sees how they join.

He says indifferently and alike How are you friend? to the 
 President at his levee,
And he says Good-day my brother, to Cudge that hoes in the 
 sugar-field,
And both understand him and know that his speech is right.

He walks with perfect ease in the capitol,
He walks among the Congress, and one Representative says to 
 another, Here is our equal appearing and new.

Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic,
And the soldiers suppose him to be a soldier, and the sailors that 
 he has follow'd the sea,
And the authors take him for an author, and the artists for an 
 artist,
And the laborers perceive he could labor with them and love them,
No matter what the work is, that he is the one to follow it or has 
 follow'd it,
No matter what the nation, that he might find his brothers and 
 sisters there.

The English believe he comes of their English stock,
A Jew to the Jew he seems, a Russ to the Russ, usual and near,
 removed from none.

Whoever he looks at in the traveler's coffee-house claims him,
The Italian or Frenchman is sure, the German is sure, the Spaniard 
 is sure, and the island Cuban is sure,
The engineer, the deck-hand on the great lakes, or on the Missis-
 sippi or St. Lawrence or Sacramento, or Hudson or Pau-
 manok sound, claims him.

The gentleman of perfect blood acknowledges his perfect blood,
The insulter, the prostitute, the angry person, the beggar, see 
 themselves in the ways of him, he strangely transmutes them,
They are not vile any more, they hardly know themselves they are 
 so grown.

2

The indications and tally of time,
Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs,
Time, always without break, indicates itself in parts,
What always indicates the poet is the crowd of the pleasant com-
 pany of singers, and their words,
The words of the singers are the hours or minutes of the light or 
 dark, but the words of the maker of poems are the general 
 light and dark,
The maker of poems settles justice, reality, immortality,
His insight and power encircle things and the human race,
He is the glory and extract thus far of things and of the human 
 race.

The singers do not beget, only the Poet begets,
The singers are welcom'd, understood, appear often enough, but 
 rare has the day been, likewise the spot, of the birth of the 
 maker of poems, the Answerer,
(Not every century nor every five centuries has contain'd such a 
 day, for all its names.)

The singers of successive hours of centuries may have ostensible 
 names, but the name of each of them is one of the singers,
The name of each is, eye-singer, ear-singer, head-singer, sweet-
 singer, night-singer, parlor-singer, love-singer, weird-singer,
 or something else.

All this time and at all times wait the words of true poems,
The words of true poems do not merely please,
The true poets are not followers of beauty but the august masters 
 of beauty;
The greatness of sons is the exuding of the greatness of mothers 
 and fathers,
The words of true poems are the tuft and final applause of science.

Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of reason, health, rudeness 
 of body, withdrawnness,
Gayety, sun-tan, air-sweetness, such are some of the words of poems.

The sailor and traveler underlie the makers of poems, the Answerer,
The builder, geometer, chemist, anatomist, phrenologist, artist, all 
 these underlie the maker of poems, the Answerer.

The words of the true poems give you more than poems,
They give you to form for yourself poems, religions, politics, war,
 peace, behavior, histories, essays, daily life, and every thing 
 else,
They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes,
They do not seek beauty, they are sought,
Forever touching them or close upon them follows beauty, longing,
 fain, love-sick.

They prepare for death, yet are they not the finish, but rather the 
 outset,
They bring none to his or her terminus or to be content and full,
Whom they take they take into space to behold the birth of stars,
 to learn one of the meanings,
To launch off with absolute faith, to sweep through the ceaseless 
 rings and never be quiet again.

Walt Whitman – Crossing Brooklyn Ferry (Book VIII)

Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

1

FLOOD-TIDE below me! I see you face to face!
Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you 
 also face to face.

Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how 
 curious you are to me!
On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, 
 returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose,
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are 
 more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might 
 suppose.

2

The impalpable sustenance of me from all things at all hours of 
 the day,
The simple, compact, well-join'd scheme, myself disintegrated,
 every one disintegrated yet part of the scheme,
The similitudes of the past and those of the future,
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings,
 on the walk in the street and the passage over the river,
The current rushing so swiftly and swimming with me far away,
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them,
The certainty of others, the life, love, sight, hearing of others.

Others will enter the gates of the ferry and cross from shore to 
 shore,
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide,
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and 
 the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east,
Others will see the islands large and small;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half 
 an hour high,
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence,
 others will see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring-in of the flood-tide, the falling-
 back to the sea of the ebb-tide.

3

It avails not, time nor place—distance avails not,
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so 
 many generations hence,
Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt,
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd,
Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the 
 bright flow, I was refresh'd,
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift 
 current, I stood yet was hurried,
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships and the thick-
 stemm'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd.

I too many and many a time cross'd the river of old,
Watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls, saw them high in the air 
 floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
Saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies and left 
 the rest in strong shadow,
Saw the slow-wheeling circles and the gradual edging toward the 
 south,
Saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams,
Look'd at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the shape of 
 my head in the sunlit water,
Look'd on the haze on the hills southward and south-westward,
Look'd on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet,
Look'd toward the lower bay to notice the vessels arriving,
Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me,
Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, saw the ships at anchor,
The sailors at work in the rigging or out astride the spars,
The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender 
 serpentine pennants,
The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-
 houses,
The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of 
 the wheels,
The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset,
The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the 
 frolicsome crests and glistening,
The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of 
 the granite storehouses by the docks,
On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank'd 
 on each side by the barges, the hay-boat, the belated 
 lighter,
On the neighboring shore the fires from the foundry chimneys 
 burning high and glaringly into the night,
Casting their flicker of black contrasted with wild red and yellow 
 light over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of 
 streets.

4

These and all else were to me the same as they are to you,
I loved well those cities, loved well the stately and rapid river,
The men and women I saw were all near to me,
Others the same—others who look back on me because I look'd 
 forward to them,
(The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.)

5

What is it then between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?

Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails 
 not,
I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine,
I too walk'd the streets of Manhattan island, and bathed in the 
 waters around it,
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,
In the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me,
In my walks home late at night or as I lay in my bed they came 
 upon me,
I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution,
I too had receiv'd identity by my body,
That I was I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew 
 I should be of my body.

6

It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall,
The dark threw its patches down upon me also,
The best I had done seem'd to me blank and suspicious,
My great thoughts as I supposed them, were they not in reality 
 meagre?
Nor is it you alone who know what it is to be evil,
I am he who knew what it was to be evil,
I too knitted the old knot of contrariety,
Blabb'd, blush'd, resented, lied, stole, grudg'd,
Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak,
Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant,
The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me,
The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not 
 wanting,
Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these 
 wanting,
Was one with the rest, the days and haps of the rest,
Was call'd by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men 
 as they saw me approaching or passing,
Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of 
 their flesh against me as I sat,
Saw many I loved in the street or ferry-boat or public assembly,
 yet never told them a word,
Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing,
 sleeping,
Play'd the part that still looks back on the actor or actress,
The same old role, the role that is what we make it, as great as we 
 like,
Or as small as we like, or both great and small.

7

Closer yet I approach you,
What thought you have of me now, I had as much of you—I laid 
 in my stores in advance,
I consider'd long and seriously of you before you were born.

Who was to know what should come home to me?
Who knows but I am enjoying this?
Who knows, for all the distance, but I am as good as looking at 
 you now, for all you cannot see me?

8

Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than mast-
 hemm'd Manhattan?
River and sunset and scallop-edg'd waves of flood-tide?
The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight,
 and the belated lighter?
What gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with 
 voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest 
 name as I approach?
What is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man 
 that looks in my face?
Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you?

We understand then do we not?
What I promis'd without mentioning it, have you not accepted?
What the study could not teach—what the preaching could not 
 accomplish is accomplish'd, is it not?

9

Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-
 tide!
Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg'd waves!
Gorgeous clouds of the sunset! drench with your splendor me, or 
 the men and women generations after me!
Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers!
Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta! stand up, beautiful hills of 
 Brooklyn!
Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers!
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution!
Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house or street or public 
 assembly!
Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically call me by 
 my nighest name!
Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress!
Play the old role, the role that is great or small according as one 
 makes it!
Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown 
 ways be looking upon you;
Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet 
 haste with the hasting current;
Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in 
 the air;
Receive the summer sky, you water, and faithfully hold it till all 
 downcast eyes have time to take it from you!
Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any 
 one's head, in the sunlit water!
Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down, white-sail'd 
 schooners, sloops, lighters!
Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower'd at sunset!
Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at 
 nightfall! cast red and yellow light over the tops of the 
 houses!
Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are,
You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul,
About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung out 
 divinest aromas,
Thrive, cities—bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and 
 sufficient rivers,
Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual,
Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting.

You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers,
We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate hence-
 forward,
Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves 
 from us,
We use you, and do not cast you aside—we plant you permanently
 within us,

We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also,
You furnish your parts toward eternity,
Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul.

Walt Whitman – Song of the Open Road (Book VII)

Song of the Open Road

1

AFOOT and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.)

2

You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all 
 that is here,
I believe that much unseen is also here.

Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial,
The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the illiterate 
 person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the 
 drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping 
 couple,
The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the 
 town, the return back from the town,
They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,
None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.

3

You air that serves me with breath to speak!
You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them 
 shape!
You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!
You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides!
I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear 
 to me.

You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges!
You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined 
 sides! you distant ships!
You rows of houses! you window-pierc'd façades! you roofs!
You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards!
You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much!
You doors and ascending steps! you arches!
You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings!
From all that has touch'd you I believe you have imparted to 
 yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me,
From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive 
 surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and 
 amicable with me.

4

The earth expanding right hand and left hand,
The picture alive, every part in its best light,
The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is 
 not wanted,
The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of 
 the road.

O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me?
Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost?
Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and un-
 denied, adhere to me?

O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love 
 you,
You express me better than I can express myself,
You shall be more to me than my poem.

I think heroic deeds were all conceiv'd in the open air, and all 
 free poems also,
I think I could stop here myself and do miracles,
I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and who-
 ever beholds me shall like me,
I think whoever I see must be happy.

5

From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary 
 lines,
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
Listening to others, considering well what they say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds 
 that would hold me.

I inhale great draughts of space,
The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are 
 mine.

I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness.

All seems beautiful to me,
I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good 
 to me I would do the same to you,
I will recruit for myself and you as I go,
I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,
I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,
Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,
Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.

6

Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze 
 me,
Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear'd it would 
 not astonish me.

Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons,
It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.

Here a great personal deed has room,
(Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men,
Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all 
 authority and all argument against it.)

Here is the test of wisdom,
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it to another not 
 having it,
Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the 
 excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes 
 it out of the soul.

Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under 
 the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing 
 currents.

Here is realization,
Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him,
The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you,
 you are vacant of them.

Only the kernel of every object nourishes;
Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me?
Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me?

Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion'd, it is apropos;
Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers?
Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls?

7

Here is the efflux of the soul,
The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower'd 
 gates, ever provoking questions,
These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness 
 why are they?
Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the 
 sunlight expands my blood?
Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?
Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious 
 thoughts descend upon me?
(I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and 
 always drop fruit as I pass;)
What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers?
What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side?
What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I 
 walk by and pause?
What gives me to be free to a woman's and man's good-will?
 what gives them to be free to mine?

8

The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness,
I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times,
Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged.

Here rises the fluid and attaching character,
The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness 
 of man and woman,
(The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every 
 day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh 
 and sweet continually out of itself.)

Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the 
 love of young and old,
From it falls distill'd the charm that mocks beauty and attainments,
Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact.

9

Allons! whoever you are come travel with me!
Traveling with me you find what never tires.

The earth never tires,
The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude 
 and incomprehensible at first,
Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd,
I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words 
 can tell.

Allons! we must not stop here,
However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwell-
 ing we cannot remain here,

However shelter'd this port and however calm these waters we 
 must not anchor here,

However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted 
 to receive it but a little while.

10

Allons! the inducements shall be greater,
We will sail pathless and wild seas,
We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper 
 speeds by under full sail.

Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements,
Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity;
Allons! from all formules!
From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests.

The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no 
 longer.

Allons! yet take warning!
He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance,
None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health,
Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself,
Only those may come who come in sweet and determin'd bodies,
No diseas'd person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted 
 here.

(I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes,
We convince by our presence.)

11

Listen! I will be honest with you,
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes,
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is call'd riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,
You but arrive at the city to which you were destin'd, you hardly 
 settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call'd by an 
 irresistible call to depart,
You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those 
 who remain behind you,
What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with 
 passionate kisses of parting,
You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach'd 
 hands toward you.

12

Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them!
They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—
 they are the greatest women,
Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of 
 children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of 
 coffins,
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious 
 years each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their 
 bearded and well-grain'd manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass'd, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the 
 universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.

13

Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless,
To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights,
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights 
 they tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys,
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it 
 and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you,
 however long but it stretches and waits for you,
To see no being, not God's or any, but you also go thither,
To see no possession, but you may possess it, enjoying all without 
 labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting 
 one particle of it,
To take the best of the farmer's farm and the rich man's elegant 
 villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple,
 and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter 
 them, to gather the love out of their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave 
 them behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for 
 traveling souls.

All parts away for the progress of souls,
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is 
 apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and 
 corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads 
 of the universe.

Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand 
 roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed 
 emblem and sustenance.

Forever alive, forever forward,
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble,
 dissatisfied,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where 
 they go,
But I know that they go toward the best—toward something 
 great.

Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth!
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house,
 though you built it, or though it has been built for you.

Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen!
It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it.

Behold through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash'd and 
 trimm'd faces,
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.

No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession,
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and 
 bland in the parlors,
In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bed-
 room, everywhere,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under 
 the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial 
 flowers,
Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,
Speaking of any thing else but never of itself.

14

Allons! through struggles and wars!
The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.

Have the past struggles succeeded?
What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature?
Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things 
 that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall 
 come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.

My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion,
He going with me must go well arm'd,
He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry 
 enemies, desertions.

15

Allons! the road is before us!
It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be 
 not detain'd!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the 
 shelf unopen'd!
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain 
 unearn'd!
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the 
 court, and the judge expound the law.

Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

Walt Whitman – Salut au Monde! (Book VI)

Salut au Monde! 

1

O TAKE my hand Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!
Such join'd unended links, each hook'd to the next,
Each answering all, each sharing the earth with all.

What widens within you Walt Whitman?
What waves and soils exuding?
What climes? what persons and cities are here?
Who are the infants, some playing, some slumbering?
Who are the girls? who are the married women?
Who are the groups of old men going slowly with their arms about 
 each other's necks?
What rivers are these? what forests and fruits are these?
What are the mountains call'd that rise so high in the mists?
What myriads of dwellings are they fill'd with dwellers?

2

Within me latitude widens, longitude lengthens,
Asia, Africa, Europe, are to the east—America is provided for in 
 the west,
Banding the bulge of the earth winds the hot equator,
Curiously north and south turn the axis-ends,
Within me is the longest day, the sun wheels in slanting rings, it 
 does not set for months,
Stretch'd in due time within me the midnight sun just rises above 
 the horizon and sinks again,
Within me zones, seas, cataracts, forests, volcanoes, groups,
Malaysia, Polynesia, and the great West Indian islands.

3

What do you hear Walt Whitman?

I hear the workman singing and the farmer's wife singing,
I hear in the distance the sounds of children and of animals early 
 in the day,
I hear emulous shouts of Australians pursuing the wild horse,
I hear the Spanish dance with castanets in the chestnut shade, to 
 the rebeck and guitar,
I hear continual echoes from the Thames,
I hear fierce French liberty songs,
I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recitative of old 
 poems,
I hear the locusts in Syria as they strike the grain and grass with 
 the showers of their terrible clouds,
I hear the Coptic refrain toward sundown, pensively falling on the 
 breast of the black venerable vast mother the Nile,
I hear the chirp of the Mexican muleteer, and the bells of the 
 mule,
I hear the Arab muezzin calling from the top of the mosque,
I hear the Christian priests at the altars of their churches, I hear 
 the responsive base and soprano,
I hear the cry of the Cossack, and the sailor's voice putting to sea 
 at Okotsk,
I hear the wheeze of the slave-coffle as the slaves march on, as 
 the husky gangs pass on by twos and threes, fasten'd together 
 with wrist-chains and ankle-chains,
I hear the Hebrew reading his records and psalms,
I hear the rhythmic myths of the Greeks, and the strong legends 
 of the Romans,
I hear the tale of the divine life and bloody death of the beautiful 
 God the Christ,
I hear the Hindoo teaching his favorite pupil the loves, wars,
 adages, transmitted safely to this day from poets who wrote 
 three thousand years ago.

4

What do you see Walt Whitman?
Who are they you salute, and that one after another salute you?

I see a great round wonder rolling through space,
I see diminute farms, hamlets, ruins, graveyards, jails, factories,
 palaces, hovels, huts of barbarians, tents of nomads upon 
 the surface,
I see the shaded part on one side where the sleepers are sleeping,
 and the sunlit part on the other side,
I see the curious rapid change of the light and shade,
I see distant lands, as real and near to the inhabitants of them as 
 my land is to me.

I see plenteous waters,
I see mountain peaks, I see the sierras of Andes where they range,
I see plainly the Himalayas, Chian Shahs, Altays, Ghauts,
I see the giant pinnacles of Elbruz, Kazbek, Bazardjusi,
I see the Styrian Alps, and the Karnac Alps,
I see the Pyrenees, Balks, Carpathians, and to the north the 
 Dofrafields, and off at sea mount Hecla,
I see Vesuvius and Etna, the mountains of the Moon, and the 
 Red mountains of Madagascar,
I see the Lybian, Arabian, and Asiatic deserts,
I see huge dreadful Arctic and Antarctic icebergs,
I see the superior oceans and the inferior ones, the Atlantic and 
 Pacific, the sea of Mexico, the Brazilian sea, and the sea 
 of Peru,
The waters of Hindustan, the China sea, and the gulf of Guinea,
The Japan waters, the beautiful bay of Nagasaki land-lock'd in its 
 mountains,
The spread of the Baltic, Caspian, Bothnia, the British shores, and 
 the bay of Biscay,
The clear-sunn'd Mediterranean, and from one to another of its 
 islands,
The White sea, and the sea around Greenland.

I behold the mariners of the world,
Some are in storms, some in the night with the watch on the lookout,
Some drifting helplessly, some with contagious diseases.

I behold the sail and steamships of the world, some in clusters in 
 port, some on their voyages,
Some double the cape of Storms, some cape Verde, others capes 
 Guardafui, Bon, or Bajadore,
Others Dondra head, others pass the straits of Sunda, others cape 
 Lopatka, others Behring's straits,
Others cape Horn, others sail the gulf of Mexico or along Cuba 
 or Hayti, others Hudson's bay or Baffin's bay,
Others pass the straits of Dover, others enter the Wash, others the 
 firth of Solway, others round cape Clear, others the Land's 
 End,
Others traverse the Zuyder Zee or the Scheld,
Others as comers and goers at Gibraltar or the Dardanelles,
Others sternly push their way through the northern winter-packs,
Others descend or ascend the Obi or the Lena,
Others the Niger or the Congo, others the Indus, the Burampooter 
 and Cambodia,
Others wait steam'd up ready to start in the ports of Australia,
Wait at Liverpool, Glasgow, Dublin, Marseilles, Lisbon, Naples,
 Hamburg, Bremen, Bordeaux, the Hague, Copenhagen,
Wait at Valparaiso, Rio Janeiro, Panama.

5

I see the tracks of the railroads of the earth,
I see them in Great Britain, I see them in Europe,
I see them in Asia and in Africa.

I see the electric telegraphs of the earth,
I see the filaments of the news of the wars, deaths, losses, gains,
 passions, of my race.

I see the long river-stripes of the earth,
I see the Amazon and the Paraguay,
I see the four great rivers of China, the Amour, the Yellow River,
 the Yiang-tse, and the Pearl,
I see where the Seine flows, and where the Danube, the Loire, the 
 Rhone, and the Guadalquiver flow,
I see the windings of the Volga, the Dnieper, the Oder,
I see the Tuscan going down the Arno, and the Venetian along 
 the Po,
I see the Greek seaman sailing out of Egina bay.

6

I see the site of the old empire of Assyria, and that of Persia, and 
 that of India,
I see the falling of the Ganges over the high rim of Saukara.

I see the place of the idea of the Deity incarnated by avatars in 
 human forms,
I see the spots of the successions of priests on the earth, oracles,
 sacrificers, brahmins, sabians, llamas, monks, muftis, exhorters,
I see where druids walk'd the groves of Mona, I see the mistletoe 
 and vervain,
I see the temples of the deaths of the bodies of Gods, I see the 
 old signifiers.

I see Christ eating the bread of his last supper in the midst of 
 youths and old persons,
I see where the strong divine young man the Hercules toil'd faith-
 fully and long and then died,
I see the place of the innocent rich life and hapless fate of the 
 beautiful nocturnal son, the full-limb'd Bacchus,
I see Kneph, blooming, drest in blue, with the crown of feathers 
 on his head,
I see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-belov'd, saying to the 
 people Do not weep for me,
This is not my true country, I have lived banish'd from my true 
 country, I now go back there,
I return to the celestial sphere where every one goes in his turn.

7

I see the battle-fields of the earth, grass grows upon them and 
 blossoms and corn,
I see the tracks of ancient and modern expeditions.

I see the nameless masonries, venerable messages of the unknown 
 events, heroes, records of the earth.

I see the places of the sagas,
I see pine-trees and fir-trees torn by northern blasts,
I see granite bowlders and cliffs, I see green meadows and lakes,
I see the burial-cairns of Scandinavian warriors,
I see them raised high with stones by the marge of restless oceans,
 that the dead men's spirits when they wearied of their quiet 
 graves might rise up through the mounds and gaze on the 
 tossing billows, and be refresh'd by storms, immensity,
 liberty, action.

I see the steppes of Asia,
I see the tumuli of Mongolia, I see the tents of Kalmucks and 
 Baskirs,
I see the nomadic tribes with herds of oxen and cows,
I see the table-lands notch'd with ravines, I see the jungles and 
 deserts,
I see the camel, the wild steed, the bustard, the fat-tail'd sheep,
 the antelope, and the burrowing wolf.

I see the highlands of Abyssinia,
I see flocks of goats feeding, and see the fig-tree, tamarind, date,
And see fields of teff-wheat and places of verdure and gold.

I see the Brazilian vaquero,
I see the Bolivian ascending mount Sorata,
I see the Wacho crossing the plains, I see the incomparable rider 
 of horses with his lasso on his arm,
I see over the pampas the pursuit of wild cattle for their hides.

8

I see the regions of snow and ice,
I see the sharp- eyed Samoiede and the Finn,
I see the seal-seeker in his boat poising his lance,
I see the Siberian on his slight-built sledge drawn by dogs,
I see the porpoise-hunters, I see the whale-crews of the south Pacific and the north Atlantic,
I see the cliffs, glaciers, torrents, valleys, of Switzerland—I mark 
 the long winters and the isolation.

I see the cities of the earth and make myself at random a part of 
 them,
I am a real Parisian,
I am a habitan of Vienna, St. Petersburg, Berlin, Constantinople,
I am of Adelaide, Sidney, Melbourne,
I am of London, Manchester, Bristol, Edinburgh, Limerick,
I am of Madrid, Cadiz, Barcelona, Oporto, Lyons, Brussels, Berne,
 Frankfort, Stuttgart, Turin, Florence,
I belong in Moscow, Cracow, Warsaw, or northward in Christiania 
 or Stockholm, or in Siberian Irkutsk, or in some street in 
 Iceland,
I descend upon all those cities, and rise from them again.

10

I see vapors exhaling from unexplored countries,
I see the savage types, the bow and arrow, the poison'd splint, the 
 fetich, and the obi.

I see African and Asiatic towns,
I see Algiers, Tripoli, Derne, Mogadore, Timbuctoo, Monrovia,
I see the swarms of Pekin, Canton, Benares, Delhi, Calcutta, Tokio,
I see the Kruman in his hut, and the Dahoman and Ashantee-man 
 in their huts,
I see the Turk smoking opium in Aleppo,
I see the picturesque crowds at the fairs of Khiva and those of 
 Herat,
I see Teheran, I see Muscat and Medina and the intervening sands,
 I see the caravans toiling onward,
I see Egypt and the Egyptians, I see the pyramids and obelisks,
I look on chisell'd histories, records of conquering kings, dynasties,
 cut in slabs of sand-stone, or on granite-blocks,
I see at Memphis mummy-pits containing mummies embalm'd,
 swathed in linen cloth, lying there many centuries,
I look on the fall'n Theban, the large-ball'd eyes, the side-drooping 
 neck, the hands folded across the breast.

I see all the menials of the earth, laboring,
I see all the prisoners in the prisons,
I see the defective human bodies of the earth,
The blind, the deaf and dumb, idiots, hunchbacks, lunatics,
The pirates, thieves, betrayers, murderers, slave-makers of the earth,
The helpless infants, and the helpless old men and women.

I see male and female everywhere,
I see the serene brotherhood of philosophs,
I see the constructiveness of my race,
I see the results of the perseverance and industry of my race,
I see ranks, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, I go among them, I 
 mix indiscriminately,
And I salute all the inhabitants of the earth.

11

You whoever you are!
You daughter or son of England!
You of the mighty Slavic tribes and empires! you Russ in Russia!
You dim-descended, black, divine-soul'd African, large, fine-
 headed, nobly-form'd, superbly destin'd, on equal terms 
 with me!
You Norwegian! Swede! Dane! Icelander! you Prussian!
You Spaniard of Spain! you Portuguese!
You Frenchwoman and Frenchman of France!
You Belge! you liberty-lover of the Netherlands! (you stock 
 whence I myself have descended;)
You sturdy Austrian! you Lombard! Hun! Bohemian! farmer of 
 Styria!
You neighbor of the Danube!
You working-man of the Rhine, the Elbe, or the Weser! you 
 working-woman too!
You Sardinian! you Bavarian! Swabian! Saxon! Wallachian!
 Bulgarian!
You Roman! Neapolitan! you Greek!
You lithe matador in the arena at Seville!
You mountaineer living lawlessly on the Taurus or Caucasus!
You Bokh horse-herd watching your mares and stallions feeding!
You beautiful-bodied Persian at full speed in the saddle shooting 
 arrows to the mark!
You Chinaman and Chinawoman of China! You Tartar of Tartary!
You women of the earth subordinated at your tasks!
You Jew journeying in your old age through every risk to stand 
 once on Syrian ground!
You other Jews waiting in all lands for your Messiah!
You thoughtful Armenian pondering by some stream of the Eu-
 phrates! you peering amid the ruins of Nineveh! you 
 ascending mount Ararat!
You foot-worn pilgrim welcoming the far-away sparkle of the 
 minarets of Mecca!
You sheiks along the stretch from Suez to Bab-el-mandeb ruling 
 your families and tribes!
You olive-grower tending your fruit on fields of Nazareth, Damascus, or lake Tiberias!
You Thibet trader on the wide inland or bargaining in the shops 
 of Lassa!
You Japanese man or woman! you liver in Madagascar, Ceylon,
 Sumatra, Borneo!
All you continentals of Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, indifferent 
 of place!
All you on the numberless islands of the archipelagoes of the sea!
And you of centuries hence when you listen to me!
And you each and everywhere whom I specify not, but include 
 just the same!
Health to you! good will to you all, from me and America sent!

Each of us inevitable,
Each of us limitless—each of us with his or her right upon the 
 earth,
Each of us allow'd the eternal purports of the earth,
Each of us here as divinely as any is here.

12

You Hottentot with clicking palate! you woolly-hair'd hordes!
You own'd persons dropping sweat-drops or blood-drops!
You human forms with the fathomless ever-impressive 
 countenances of brutes!
You poor koboo whom the meanest of the rest look down upon 
 for all your glimmering language and spirituality!
You dwarf'd Kamtschatkan, Greenlander, Lapp!
You Austral negro, naked, red, sooty, with protrusive lip, groveling,
 seeking your food!
You Caffre, Berber, Soudanese!
You haggard, uncouth, untutor'd Bedowee!
You plague-swarms in Madras, Nankin, Kaubul, Cairo!
You benighted roamer of Amazonia! you Patagonian! you Feejeeman!
I do not prefer others so very much before you either,
I do not say one word against you, away back there where you 
 stand,
(You will come forward in due time to my side.)

13

My spirit has pass'd in compassion and determination around the 
 whole earth,
I have look'd for equals and lovers and found them ready for me 
 in all lands,
I think some divine rapport has equalized me with them.

You vapors, I think I have risen with you, moved away to distant 
 continents, and fallen down there, for reasons,
I think I have blown with you you winds;
You waters I have finger'd every shore with you,
I have run through what any river or strait of the globe has run 
 through,
I have taken my stand on the bases of peninsulas and on the high 
 embedded rocks, to cry thence:

Salut au monde!
What cities the light or warmth penetrates I penetrate those cities 
 myself,
All islands to which birds wing their way I wing my way myself.

Toward you all, in America's name,
I raise high the perpendicular hand, I make the signal,
To remain after me in sight forever,
For all the haunts and homes of men.

Walt Whitman – Full of Life Now

Full of Life Now

FULL of life now, compact, visible,
I, forty years old the eighty-third year of the States,
To one a century hence or any number of centuries hence,
To you yet unborn these, seeking you.

When you read these I that was visible am become invisible,
Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me,
Fancying how happy you were if I could be with you and become 
 your comrade;
Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now 
 with you.)

Walt Whitman – That Shadow My Likeness

That Shadow My Likeness

THAT shadow my likeness that goes to and fro seeking a livelihood,
 chattering, chaffering,
How often I find myself standing and looking at it where it 
 flits,
How often I question and doubt whether that is really me;
But among my lovers and caroling these songs,
O I never doubt whether that is really me.

Walt Whitman – O You Whom I Often and Silently Come

O You Whom I Often and Silently Come

O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are that I may 
 be with you,
As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room 
 with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing
 within me.

Walt Whitman – Among the Multitude –

Among the Multitude 

AMONG the men and women the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother,
 child, any nearer than I am,
Some are baffled, but that one is not—that one knows me.

Ah lover and perfect equal,
I meant that you should discover me so by faint indirections,
And I when I meet you mean to discover you by the like in you.

Walt Whitman – Fast Anchor’d Eternal O Love!

Fast Anchor’d Eternal O Love!

FAST-ANCHOR'D eternal O love! O woman I love!
O bride! O wife! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of 
 you!
Then separate, as disembodied or another born,
Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation,
I ascend, I float in the regions of your love O man,
O sharer of my roving life.

Walt Whitman – To a Western Boy

To a Western Boy

MANY things to absorb I teach to help you become eleve of mine;
Yet if blood like mine circle not in your veins,
If you be not silently selected by lovers and do not silently select 
 lovers,
Of what use is it that you seek to become eleve of mine?