 Book 32 of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman This Liberfox recording is in the public domain Recording by phone Book 32 from noon to starry night Thou orb aloft full dazzling Thou orb aloft full dazzling Thou hot October noon Flooding with sheen-y light the grey beach sand Disibilant near sea with vistas far and foam And tawny streaks and shades and spreading blue O son of noon refulgent, my special word to thee Hear me illustrious, thy lover me, for always I have loved thee Even as basking babe, then happy boy, alone by some wood edge Thy touching distant beams enough, or man matured, or young or old As now to thee I launch my invocation Thou canst not, with thy dumbness, me deceive I know before the fitting man all nature yields Thou answering not in words, the skies, trees, hear his voice And thou, O son, as for thy throes, thy perturbations Sudden breaks and shafts of flame gigantic I understand them, I know those flames, those perturbations well Thou that with fructifying heat and light, or myriad farms, or lands and waters, north and south Or Mississippi's endless cores, or Texas grassy plains, Canada's woods Or all the globe that turns its face to thee, shining in space Thou that impartially enfoldest all, not only continents, seas Thou that to grapes and weeds and little wild flowers, give us so liberally Shed, shed thyself on mine and me, with but a fleeting ray out of thy million millions Strike through these chants Nor only launch thy subtle dazzle and thy strength for these Prepare the later afternoon of me myself Prepare my lengthening shadows Prepare my starry nights Faces One Sauntering the pavement, or riding the country by-road, faces Faces of friendship, precision, caution, suavity, ideality The spiritual prescient face, the always-welcome, common, benevolent face The face of the singing of music, the grand faces of natural lawyers and judges Broad at the back-top The faces of hunters and fishers bulged at the brows The shaved, blanched faces of orthodox citizens The pure, extravagant, yearning, questioning artist's face The ugly face of some beautiful soul The handsome, detested, or despised face The sacred faces of infants The illuminated face of the mother of many children The face of an amour, the face of veneration The face as of a dream, the face of an immobile rock The face withdrawn of its good and bad, a castrated face A wild hawk, his wings clipped by the clipper A stallion that yielded at last to the thongs and knife of the gilder Sauntering the pavement thus, or crossing the ceaseless ferry Faces and faces and faces I see them, and complain not, and am content with all Too Do you suppose I could be content with all if I thought them their own finale? This now is too lamentable a face for a man Some abject louse asking leave to be, cringing for it Some milk-nosed maggot, blessing what lets it rig to its hole This face is a dog's snout, sniffing for garbage Snake's nest in that mouth, I hear the sibilant threat This face is a haze, more chill than the Arctic sea It's sleepy and wobbling icebergs crunch as they go This is a face of bitter herbs, this an emetic They need no label, and more of the drug shelf, laudanum, cochuk, or hogslord This face is an epilepsy, its wordless tongue gives out the unearthly cry Its veins down the neck distend, its eyes roll till they show nothing but their whites Its teeth grit, the palms of the hands are cut by the turned-in nails The man falls struggling and foaming to the ground while he speculates well This face is bitten by vermin and worms, and this is some murderous knife With a half-pulled scabbard This face owes to dissection, his dismalest fee, an unceasing death-bell tolls there 3. Features of my equals, would you trick me with your creased and cadaverous march? Well, you cannot trick me I see your rounded, never erased flow I see neath the rims of your haggard and mean disguises Splay and twist as you like, poke with the tangling foes of fishes or rats You'll be unmuzzled, you certainly will I saw the face of the most smeared and slobbering idiot they had at the asylum And I knew for my consolation what they knew not I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my brother The same weight declared a rubbish from the fallen tenement And I shall look again in a score or two of ages And I shall meet the real landlord perfect and unharmed every inch as good as myself 4. The Lord advances and yet advances Always the shadow in front, always the reached hand bringing up the laggards Out of this face emerge banners and horses Oh superb, I see what is coming I see the high pioneer caps, see staves of runners clearing the way I hear victorious drums This face is a lifeboat, this is the face commanding and bearded It asks no aunts of the rest This face is a flavored fruit ready for eating This face of a healthy honest boy is the programme of all good These faces bear testimony slumbering or awake They show their descent from the master himself Off the word I have spoken, I accept not one Red, white, black, are all deific In each house is the oven, it comes forth after a thousand years Spots or cracks at the windows do not disturb me Tall and sufficient stand behind and make signs to me I read to promise and patiently wait This is a full-grown lily's face She speaks to the limber-hipped man near the garden pickets Come here, she blushingly cries Come nigh to me, limber-hipped man Stand at my side till I lean as high as I can upon you Fill me with albacent honey, bent down to me Rub to me with your chafing beard, rub to my breast and shoulders Five The old face of the mother of many children Wist, I am fully content Lulled and late is the smoke of the first day morning It hangs low over the rows of trees by defences It hangs thin by the sassafras and wild cherry and catbrier under them I saw the rich ladies in full dress at the soiree I heard what the singers were singing so long Heard who sprang in crimson youth from the white froth and the water blue Behold a woman, she looks out from her quaker cap Her face is clearer and more beautiful than the sky She sits in an armchair under the shaded porch of the farmhouse The sun just shines on her old white head Her ample gown is of a cream-yewed linen Her grandsons raise the flax and her granddaughter spun it with a distiff and a wheel The melodious character of the earth The finish beyond which philosophy cannot go and does not wish to go The justified mother of men The mystic trumpeter One Hark, some wild trumpeter, some strange musician Hovering unseen in air vibrates capricious tunes tonight I hear thee, trumpeter, listening alert I catch thy notes Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me Now low, subdued, now in the distance lost Two Come nearer, bodiless one, happily in thee resounds some dead composer Happily thy pensive life was filled with aspirations high, Unformed ideals, waves, oceans musical, chaotically surging That now ecstatic ghost, close to me bending, thy cornet echoing, peeling Gives out to no one's ears but mine, but freely gives to mine That I may thee translate 3 Blow, trumpeter, free and clear, I follow thee While at thy liquid prelude, glad, serene, the fretting world, the streets, the noisy hours of day withdrawal A holy calm descends like dew upon me I walk in cool refreshing night, the walks of paradise I scent the grass, the moist air and the roses Thy song expands my numbed, imbonded spirit, thou freest, launchest me Floating and basking upon heaven's lake 4 Blow again, trumpeter, and for my sensuous eyes Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world What charm thy music works, thou makest pause before me Ladies and cavaliers long dead, barons are in their castle halls, the troubadours are singing Armed knights go forth to redress wrongs, some in quest of the holy grail I see the tournament, I see the contestants encased in heavy armor Seated on stately-champing horses I hear the shouts, the sounds of blows and smiting steel I see the crusaders, tumultuous armies, heart, how the cymbals clang Low, where the monks walk in advance, bearing the cross on high 5 Blow again, trumpeter, and for thy theme Take now the enclosing theme of all, the solvent and the setting Love that is pulse of all, the sustenance and the pang The heart of man and woman, all for love No other theme but love, knitting and closing, all diffusing love Oh, how the immortal phantoms crowd around me I see the vast alembic ever working, I see and know the flames that heat the world The glow, the blush, the beating hearts of lovers So blissful happy some, and some so silent, dark and nigh to death Love that is all the earth to lovers Love that mocks time and space Love that is day and night Love that is sun and moon and stars Love that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with perfume No other words but words of love No other thought but love 6 Blow again, trumpeter, conjure war's allerums Swift to thy spell, a shuddering hum, like distant thunder rolls Blow, where the armed men hasten Blow, mid the clouds of dust, the glint of bayonets I see the grind-faced canoneers, I mark the rosy flush amid the smoke I hear the cracking of the guns Nor war alone, thy fearful music song, wild player, brings every sight of fear The deeds of ruthless brigands, rapine, murder I hear the cries for help I see ships, foundering at sea I behold on deck and below deck the terrible tableaux 7 Oh trumpeter, me thinks I am myself, the instrument thou playest Thou meltest my heart, my brain Thou movest, drawest, changes them at will And now, thy sullen notes, sent darkness through me Thou takest away, all-charing light, all hope I see the enslaved, the overthrown, the hurt, the oppressed of the whole earth I feel the measureless shame and humiliation of my race It becomes all mine Mine too, the revenges of humanity, the wrongs of ages, baffled feuds and hatreds But her defeat upon me weighs, all lost, defo-victorious Yet, mid the ruins, pride colossal, stands unshaken to the last Endurance resolution to the last 8 Now trumpeter, for thy clothes, vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet Sing to my soul, renew its languishing faith and hope Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future Give me for once its prophecy and joy Oh glad, exulting, culminating song A vigor more than earth's is in thy notes Marches of victory, man disenthroned, the conqueror at last Hymns to the universal God from universal man, all joy A reborn race appears, a perfect world, all joy Women and men in wisdom, innocence, and health, all joy Riotous laughing bacchanals, filled with joy War, sorrow, suffering gone The rank earth purged, nothing but joy left The ocean filled with joy, the atmosphere, all joy Joy, joy, in freedom, worship, love, joy in the ecstasy of life Enough to merely be, enough to breathe Joy, joy, all over, joy, to a locomotive in winter Thee, for my recitative, thee, in the driving storm, even as now, the snow, the winter day, declining Thee, in thy panoply, thy measured dual throbbing, and thy beat convulsive Thy black cylindric body, golden brass and silvery steel Thy ponderous sidebars, parallel and connecting rods Gyrating, shuffling at thy sides Thy metrical, now swelling pant and drawer, now tapering in the distance Thy great protruding head, light-fixed in front Thy long, pale, floating vapor penance, tinged with delicate purple The dense and murky clouds out belching from thy smokestack Thy knitted frame, thy springs and valves, the tremulous twinkle of thy wheels Thy train of cars behind, obedient, merrily following Through gale or calm, now swift, now slack, yet steadily careering Type of the modern, emblem of motion and power, pulse of the continent For once come served amuse and merge in verse, even as here I see thee With storm and buffeting gusts of wind and falling snow By day, thy warning ringing bell to sound its notes By night, thy silent signal lamps to swing Fierce throated beauty, roll through my chant with all thy lawless music Thy swinging lamps at night, thy madly whistled laughter Echoing, rumbling like an earthquake, rousing all Law of thy self-complete, by an own track firmly holding No sweetness debonair of tearful harp or glib piano thine Thy trills of shrieks by rocks and hills returned Launched o'er the prairies wide, across the lakes To the free skies unpent and glad and strong O magnet south O magnet south, o glistening, perfumed south, my south O quick metal, rich blood, impulse and love, good and evil, oh all dear to me Oh dear to me, my birth things, all moving things and the trees where I was born The grains, plants, rivers Dear to me, my own slow sluggish rivers where they flow Distant, over flats of slivery sands or through swamps Dear to me, the Roanoke, the Savannah, the Otamaha, the Padí, the Tombeji, the Santee, the Cusa and the Saline O pensive, far away wandering, I return with my soul to haunt their banks again Again in Florida I float on transparent lakes I float on the Okeechobee, I cross the hummock land Or through pleasant openings or dense forests I see the parrots in the woods I see the papal tree and the blossoming titi Again sailing in my coaster on deck I coast off Georgia, I coast up to Carolinas I see where the live oak is growing I see where the yellow pine, the scented bay tree, the lemon and orange, the cypress, the graceful palmetto I pause rude sea headlands and enter pemlico sound through an inlet And dart my vision inland Oh, the cotton plant, the growing fields of rice, sugar, hemp The cactus guarded with thorns, the laurel tree with large white flowers The range afar, the richness and barrenness The old woods charged with mistletoe and trailing moss The piney odour and the gloom, the awful natural stillness Here in these dense swamps the freebooter carries his gun And the fugitive has his concealed hut Oh, the strange fascination of these half-known, half-impossible swamps Infested by reptiles resounding with the bellow of the alligator The sad noises of the night owl and the wildcat and the whir of the rattlesnake The muckingbird, the American mimic, singing all the forenoon, singing through the moonlit night The hummingbird, the wild turkey, the raccoon, the opossum A Kentucky cornfield, the tall, graceful, long-leaved corn Slender, flapping, bright green with tassels but beautiful ears each well sheathed in his husk Oh, my heart, oh, tender and fierce pangs, I can stand them not, I will depart Oh, to be a Virginian where I grew up, oh, to be a Carolinian Oh, longing's irrepressible, oh, I will go back to old Tennessee and never wander more Manahata I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city Whereupon low up sprang the aboriginal name Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient I see that the word of my city is that word from of old Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, rich, hemmed, thick, all around with sailships and steamships, an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies, tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, towards sundown, the flowing sea currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas, the countless masts, the white shore steamers, the lighters, the ferry boats, the black sea steamers, well-modeled, the downtown streets, the jobbers' houses of business, the houses of business of the ship merchants and money brokers, the river streets, immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week, the carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the brown-faced sailors, the summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft, the winter snows, the sleigh bells, the broken ice in the river, passing along up or down with the flood tide or ebb tide, the mechanics of the city, the masters well-formed, beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes, trotters thronged, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and shows, a million people, manners free and superb, open voices, hospitality, the most courageous and friendly young men, city of hurried and sparkling waters, city of spires and masts, city nested in bays, my city, all is truth. Oh me, man of slack faith, so long, standing aloof, denying portions, so long, only aware today of compact, all-diffused truth, discovering today there is no lie or form of lie, and can be none, but grows as inevitably upon itself as the truth does upon itself, or as any law of the earth, or any natural production of the earth does. This is curious and may not be realized immediately, but it must be realized. I feel in myself that I represent falsehoods equally with the rest, and that the universe does. Where has failed a perfect return indifferent of lies or the truth? Is it upon the ground, or in water or fire, or in the spirit of man, or in the meat and blood? Meditating among liars and retreating sternly into myself, I see that there are really no liars or lies after all, and that nothing fails its perfect return, and that what are called lies are perfect returns, and that each thing exactly represents itself and what has preceded it, and that the truth includes all, and is compact just as much as space is compact, and that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth, but that all is truth without exception, and henceforth I will go celebrate anything I see or am, and sing and laugh and deny nothing. A riddle song. That which eludes this verse and any verse, unheard by sharpest ear, unformed in clearest eye or cunningest mind, nor lore nor fame, nor happiness nor wealth, and yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world incessantly, which you and I and all pursuing ever miss, open but still a secret, the real of the real, an illusion, costless, vouchsafe to each, yet never man the owner, which poets vainly seek to put in rhyme, historians in progs, which sculptor never chiseled yet, nor painter painted, which vocalist never sung, nor orator, nor actor ever uttered, invoking here and now a challenge for my song. Indifferently, mid-public, private haunts, in solitude, behind the mountain and the wood, companion of the city's busiest streets, through the assemblage, it and its radiations constantly glide, in looks of fair and conscious babes, or strangely in the coffined den, or show of breaking dawn or stars by night, as some dissolving delicate film of dreams, hiding yet lingering, two little breaths of words comprising it, two words yet all from first to last comprised in it, how ardently for it, how many ships have sailed and sunk for it, how many travellers started from their homes and never returned, how much of genius boldly staked and lost for it, what countless stores of beauty, love ventured for it, how all superbous deeds since time began are traceable to it, and shall be to the end, how all heroic martyrdoms to it, how justified by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth, how the bright, fascinating, lambant flames of it, in every age and land, have drawn men's eyes, rich as a sunset on the Norway coast, the sky, the islands and the cliffs, or midnight's silent glowing northern lights unreachable. Hattly gods riddle it, so vague and yet so certain, the soul for it, and all the visible universe for it, and heaven at last for it. Excelsior, who has gone farthest, for I would go farther, and who has been just, for I would be the most just person of the earth, and who most cautious, for I would be more cautious, and who has been happiest? Oh, I think it is I, I think no one was ever happier than I, and who has lavished all, for I lavish constantly the best I have, and who proudest, for I think I have reason to be the proudest son alive, for I am the son of the brawny and tall-topped 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 received 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 enamoured body, for I do not believe anyone possesses a more perfect or enamoured 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, poverty's wincings and sulky retreats, ah, poverty's wincings and sulky retreats, ah, you foes that in conflict have overcome me, for what is my life or any man's 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 smothered ennuis, ah, think not you finally triumph, my real self has yet to come forth, it shall yet march forth or mastering till all lies beneath me, it shall yet stand up the soldier of ultimate victory, thoughts of public opinion, of a calm and cool fear 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 judge, of the corrupt congressman, governor, mayor, of 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 world, of the democracies resplendent and mass, of the conformity of politics, armies, navies, to them, of the shining sun by them, of 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 cosmos, 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, breadstuffs, 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 conveyors to convey gospels, characters, events, retrospections shall be conveyed in gospels, trees, animals, waters shall be conveyed, death, the future, the invisible faith shall all be conveyed, weave in my hardy life, weave in, weave in my hardy life, weave yet a soldier strong and full for a 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 to use, o life, nor know the aim, the end, nor really ought we know, but know the work, the need goes on and shall go on, the death enveloped 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 to 74, out of the murk of heaviest clouds, out of the feudal wrecks and heaped up skeletons of kings, out of that old entire European debris, the shattered memories, ruined cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests, low freedoms features, fresh undimmed, look forth, the same immortal face looks forth, glimpse as of thy mother's face, Columbia, a flash significant as of a sword beaming towards thee, nor think we forget thee, maternal, lag'd thou so long, shall the clouds close again upon thee? Ah, but thou hast thyself now appeared to us, we know thee, thou hast given us a sure proof, the glimpse of thyself, thou waitest there as everywhere thy time, by broad Potomac shore, by broad Potomac shore, again old tongue, still uttering, still ejaculating, can't never seize this babble, again old heart so gay, again to you, your sense, the full flush spring returning, again the freshness and the odours, again Virginia's summer sky, pollucid 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 Dakota's canyons, June 25, 1876, from far Dakota's canyons, lands of the wild ravine, the dusky sea, the lonesome stretch, the silence, happily today a mournful wail, happily 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 slaughtered 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 maintained, O lesson opportune, O how I welcome thee, a sitting in dark days, lone, sulky, through the time's thick merc, looking in vain for light, for hope, from unsuspected parts of fears and momentary proof, the sun there at the center, though concealed, electric life, forever at the center, breaks forth a lightning flash, thou of the tawny flowing hair in battle, I air while soul 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, I 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's sleep of many a face of anguish, of the look at first of the mortally wounded, of that indescribable look, of the dent on their backs with arms extended wide, I dream, I dream, I dream, of scenes of nature, fields and mountains, of skies so beautyous 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 passed, faces and trenches and fields, where through the carnage I moved with the callous composure, or away from the fallen, onward I sped at the time, but 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 faithful flag, long 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, dreamed again the flags of kings, highest born to flaunt unrivaled. O hasten flag of man, O with sure and steady step, passing highest flags of kings, walk supreme to the heavens mighty symbol, run up above them all, flag of stars, thick sprinkled bunting, what best I see in thee, to USG return from his world's tour. What best I see in thee, is not that where thou moved down history's great highways, ever undimmed by time shoots war like victory's dazzle, or that thou sat'st where Washington sat, ruling the land in peace, or thou the man whom feudal Europe feated, venerable Asia swarmed upon, who walked with kings with even pace, the round world's promenade, but that in foreign lands, in all thy walks with kings, those prairie sorens of the west, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Ohio's, Indiana's millions, comrades, farmers, soldiers, all to the front, invisibly with thee walking with kings, with even pace, the round world's promenade, were also justified, spirit that formed this scene, written in Platt Canyon, Colorado, spirit that formed this scene, these tumbled rock piles grim and red, these reckless heaven-ambitious peaks, these gorgeous, turbulent clear streams, this naked freshness, these formless wild arrays for reasons of their own, I know thee, savage spirit, we have communed together, mine too, such wild arrays for reasons of their own, was charged against my chance, they had forgotten art, to fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatess, the lyrics measured beat, the wrought-out temple's grace, column and polished arch forgot, but thou that revelest here, spirit that formed this scene, they have remembered thee, as I walk these broad majestic days, as I walk these broad majestic days of peace, for the war, the struggle of blood finished, wherein, oh terrific ideal, against vast odds ere while 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, labours beyond all others, around me I hear that ecla of the world, politics, produce, the announcements of recognised things, of 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 endorsement 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 realities, all is as it should be. Then my realities, what else is so real as mine? Libertad and a divine average, freedom to every slave on the face of the earth, their 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. End of book 32, recording by phone. Book 33, of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. This liberal book's recording is in the public domain, recording by phone. Book 33, 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 a while, but I cannot tell wither or how long. Perhaps soon, some day or night, while I am singing, my voice will suddenly cease. Oh book, oh chance, must all then amount to but this, must we barely arrive at this beginning of us? And yet it is enough, O soul. O soul, we have positively appeared. That is enough. Years of the modern. Years of the modern. Years of the unperformed. Your horizon rises. I see it parting away for more august dramas. I see not America only, not only Liberty's nation, but other nations preparing. I see tremendous entrances and exits, new combinations, the solidarity of races. I see that force advancing with irresistible power on the world stage. Have the old forces, the old wars played their parts? Are the acts suitable to them closed? I see freedom, completely armed and victorious and very haughty, with law on one side and peace on the other. A stupendous trio, all issuing forth against the idea of caste. What historic denouements are these we so rapidly approach? I see men marching and counter- marching by swift millions. I see the frontiers and boundaries of the old aristocracies broken. I see the landmarks of European kings removed. I see this day the people beginning their landmarks, all others give way. Never were such sharp questions asked as this day. Never was average man, his soul, more energetic, more like a god. Low, how he urges and urges, leaving the masses no rest. His daring foot is on land and sea everywhere. He colonizes the Pacific, the archipelagos, with the steamship, the electric telegraph, the newspaper, the wholesale engines of war. With these and the world-spreading factories, he interlinks all geography, all lands. What whispers are these, oh lands, burning ahead of you, passing under the seas? Are all nations communing? Is there going to be but one heart to the glow? Is humanity forming unmasse? For low tyrants tremble, crowns grow dim. The earth, restive, confronts a new era, perhaps a general divine war. No one knows what will happen next. Such portents fill the days and nights, years prophetical. The space ahead as I walk, as I vainly try to pierce it, is full of phantoms, unborn deeds, things soon to be, projector shapes around me, this incredible rush and heat, this strange ecstatic fever of dreams, oh years, your dreams, oh years, how they penetrate through me. I know not whether I sleep or wake. The performed America and Europe grow dim, retiring in shadow behind me. The unperformed, more gigantic than ever, advance, advance upon me, ashes of soldiers. Ashes of soldiers south or north, as I muse for a prospective murmuring, a chant in thought. The war resumes again to my sense your shapes, and again the advance of the armies. Noiseless as mists and vapours, from their graves in the trenches ascending, from cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee, from every point of the compass out of the countless graves, in wafted clouds, in myriad's large, or squants of twos or threes, or single ones they come, and silently gather round me. Now sound no note, oh trumpeters, not at the head of my cavalry parading on spirited horses, with sabers drawn and glistening, and carbines by their thighs. Ah, my brave horsemen, my handsome tan-faced horsemen, what life, what joy and pride with all the perils were yours. Nor you drummers, neither at Revelli at dawn, nor the long row alarming the camp, nor even the muffled beat for burial. Nothing from you this time, oh drummers, bearing my warlike drums. But aside from these and the marts of wealth and the crowded permanent, admitting around me comrades close and seen by the rest and voiceless, the slain, elate and alive again, the dust and debris alive, I chant this chant of my silent soul in the name of all dead soldiers. Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet, draw close, but speak not. Phantoms of countless lost, invisible to the rest henceforth become my companions. Follow me ever, desert me not while I live. Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living, sweet are the musical voices sounding, but sweet, ah sweet, are the dead with their silent eyes. Dearest comrades, all is over and long gone, but love is not over, and what love, oh comrades, perfume from battlefields rising, up from the feet are arising. Perfume, therefore, my chant, oh love, immortal love, give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers, shroud them and bomb them, cover them all over with tender pride. Perfume all, make all wholesome, make these ashes to nourish and blossom. Oh love, solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry. Give me exhaustless, make me effountain, that I exhale love from me wherever I go, like a moist perennial dew, for the ashes of all dead soldiers, south or north, thoughts. One of these years I sing, how they pass and have passed through convulsed pains as through parturitions, how America illustrates birth, muscular youth, the promise, the sure fulfillment, the absolute success, despite of people, illustrates evil as well as good, the vehement struggle so fierce for unity in oneself, how many hold despairingly yet to the model's departant, caste, myths, obedience, compulsion, and to infidelity, how few see the arrived models, the athletes, the western states, or see freedom or spirituality, or hold any faith in results, but I see the athletes and I see the results of the war glorious and inevitable and day again leading to other results, how the great cities appear, how the democratic masses, turbulent, willful as I love them, how the world, the contest, the wrestle of evil with good, the sounding and resounding, keep on and on, how society waits unformed and is for a while between things ended and things begun, how America is the continent of glories and of the triumph of freedom and of the democracies and of the fruits of society and of all that is begun, and how the states are complete in themselves and how all triumphs and glories are complete in themselves to lead onward, and how these of mine and of the states will in their turn be convulsed and serve other perturations and transitions, and how all people, sites, combinations, the democratic masses too serve, and how every fact and war itself with all its horrors serves, and how now or at any time each serves the exquisite transition of death, two of seeds dropping into the ground of births of the steady concentration of America, inland upward to impregnable and swarming places of what Indiana, Kentucky, Arkansas and the rest are to be, of what a few years will show there in Nebraska, Colorado, Nevada and the rest, or afar mounting the northern Pacific to Sitka or Aliaska, of what the village of America is the preparation for and of what all sites north, south, east and west are of this union welded in blood of the solemn price paid of the unnamed lost ever present in my mind of the temporary use of materials for identity's sake of the present passing departing of the growth of completer men than any yet of all sloping down there where the fresh free giver, the mother, the Mississippi flows of mighty inland cities yet unsurveyed and unsuspected of the new and good names of the modern developments of inalienable homesteads of a free and original life there of simple diet and clean and sweet blood of lightness majestic faces clear eyes and perfect physique there of immense spiritual results future years far west each side of the anaheux of these songs well understood there being made for that area of the native scorn of grossness and gain there oh it lurks in me night and day what is gain after all to savageness and freedom song at sunset splendor of ended day floating and filling me our prophetic our resuming the past inflating my throat you divine average you earth and life till the last ray gleams i sing open mouth of my soul uttering gladness eyes of my soul seeing perfection natural life of me faithfully praising things corroborating forever the triumph of things illustrious everyone illustrious what we name space sphere of unnumbered spirits illustrious the mystery of motion in all beings even the tiniest insect illustrious the attribute of speech the senses the body illustrious the passing light illustrious the pale reflection on the new moon in the western sky illustrious whatever i see or hear or touch to the last good in all in the satisfaction and the plume of animals in the annual return of the seasons in the hilarity of youth in the strength and flush of manhood in the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age in the superb vistas of death wonderful to depart wonderful to be here the heart to jet the all alike and innocent blood to breathe the air how delicious to speak to walk to see something by the hand to prepare for sleep for bed to look on my rose colored flesh to be conscious of my body so satisfied so large to be this incredible god i am to have gone forth among other gods these men and women i love wonderful how i celebrate you and myself how my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around how the clouds pass silently overhead how the earth darts on and on and how the sun moon stars dart on and on how the water sports and sings surely it is alive how the trees rise and stand up with strong trunks with branches and leaves surely there is something more in each of the trees some living soul oh amazement of things even the least particle oh spirituality of things oh strained musical flowing through ages and continents now reaching me and america i take your strong cords interspersed them and cheerfully passed them forward i too carol the sun ushered or at noon or as now setting i too throb to the brain and beauty of the earth and of all the growths of the earth i too have felt the resistance call of myself as i steamed down the mississippi as i wondered over the prairies as i have lived as i have looked through my windows my eyes as i went forth in the morning as i beheld the light breaking in the east as i based on the beach of the eastern sea and again on the beach of the western sea as i roamed the streets of inland chicago whatever streets i have roamed or cities or silent woods or even amid the sights of war wherever i have been i have charged myself with contentment and triumph i sing to the last the equalities modern or old i sing the endless finales of things i say nature continues glory continues i praise with electric voice for i do not see one imperfection in the universe and i do not see one cause or result lamentable at last in the universe oh setting sun though the time has come i still warble under you if none else does unmitigated adoration as at thy portals also death as at thy portals also death entering thy sovereign dim illimitable grounds to memories of my mother to the divine blending maternity to her buried and gone yet buried not gone not from me i see again the calm the nignant face fresh and beautiful still i sit by the form in the coffin i kiss and kiss convulsively again the sweet old lips the cheeks the closed eyes in the coffin to her the ideal woman practical spiritual of all the earth life love to me the best i grave a monumental line before i go amid these songs and set a tombstone here my legacy the businessman the acquirer vast after a serious years surveying results preparing for departure devises houses and lands to his children bequeats stocks goods funds for a school or hospital leaves money to certain companions to buy tokens souvenirs of gems and gold but i my life surveying closing with nothing to show to device from its idle years nor houses nor lands nor tokens of gems or gold for my friends yet certain remembrances of the war for you and after you and little souvenirs of camps and soldiers with my love i bind together and bequeath in this bundle of songs pensive on her dead gazing pensive on her dead gazing i heard the mother of all desperate on the torn bodies on the forms covering the battlefields gazing as the last gun ceased but the scent of the power smoke lingered as she called to her earth with mournful voice while she stopped absorb them well oh my earth she cried i charge you lose not my sons lose not an atom and you streams absorb them well taking their dear blood and you local spots and you heirs that swim above lightly impalpable and all you essences of soil and growth and you my river steps and you mountain sides and the woods where my dear children's blood trickling reddened and you trees down in your roots to bequeath to all future trees my dead absorb or south or north my young men's bodies absorb and their precious precious blood which holding in trust for me faithfully back again give me many a year hence in unseen essence and odor of surface and grass centuries hence in blowing airs from the fields back again give me my darlings give my immortal heroes exhale me them centuries hence breathe me their breath let not an atom be lost oh years and graves oh air and soil oh my dent and aroma sweet exhale them perennial sweet death years centuries hence camps of green nor alone those camps of white old comrades of the wars when as ordered forward after a long march foot sore and weary soon as the life lessons we halt for the night some of us so fatigued carrying the gun and dapsack dropping asleep in our tracks others pitching the little tents and the fires lit up begin to sparkle outposts of pickets posted surrounding alert through the dark and a word provided for countersign careful for safety till to the coal of the drummers at daybreak loudly beating the drums we rise up refreshed the night and sleep passed over and resume our journey or proceed to battle low the camps of detents of green which the days of peace keep filling and the days of war keep filling with a mystic army is it too ordered forward is it too only halting a while till night and sleep pass over now in those camps of green in their tents dotting the world in the parents children husband wives in them in the old and young sleeping under the sunlight sleeping under the moonlight content and silent there at last behold the mighty bivouac field and waiting camp of all of the core and generals all and the president over the core and generals all and of each of us oh soldiers and of each and all in the ranks we fought there without hatred we all all meet for presently oh soldiers we too camp in our place in the bivouac camps of green but we need not provide for outposts nor word for the countersign nor drummer to beat the morning drum the sobbing of the bells midnight september 19 to 20 1881 the sobbing of the bells the sudden death news everywhere the slumberers rouse the report of the people full well they know that message in the darkness full well return respond within their breasts their brains the sad reverberations the passionate toll and clang city to city joining sounding passing those heartbeats of a nation in the night as they draw to a close as they draw to a close of what underlies the precedent songs of my aims in them of the seed I have sought to plant in them of joy sweet joy through many a year in them for them for them have I lived in them my work is done of many an aspiration formed of many a dream and plan through space and time fused in a chant and the flowing eternal identity to nature encompassing these encompassing God to the joyous electric all to the sense of death and accepting exulting in death in its turn the same as life the entrance of man to sing to compact you ye parted diverse lives to put report the mountains and rocks and streams and the winds of the north and the forests of oak and pine with you oh soul joy shipmate joy joy shipmate joy please to my soul at death I cry our life is closed our life begins the long long anchorage we leave the ship is clear at last she leaps she swiftly courses from the shore joy shipmate joy the untold want the untold want my life and land near-granted now voyager sail thou forth to seek and find portals what are those of the known but to ascend and enter the unknown and what are and what are those of life but for death these carols these carols sound to cheer my passage through the world I see for completion I dedicate to the invisible world now finale to the shore now finale to the shore now land and life finale and farewell now voyage your depart much much for thee is yet in store often enough has thou adventured or deceives cautiously cruising studying the charts duly again to port and hauser's tie returning but now obey thy cherished secret wish embrace thy friends leave all in order to port and hauser's tie no more returning depart upon thy endless cruise old sailor so long to conclude I announce what comes after me I remember I said before my leaves sprang at all I would raise my voice jockened and strong with reference to consummations when America does what was promised when through these states walk a hundred millions of superb persons when the rest part away for superb persons and contribute to them when breeds of the most perfect mothers denote America then to me and mine our due fruition I have pressed through in my own right I have sung the body and the soul more and peace have I sung and the songs of life and death and the songs of birth and shown that there are many births I have offered my style to everyone I have journeyed with confidence step while my pleasure is yet at the full I whisper so long and take the young woman's hand and the young man's hand for the last time I announce natural persons to arise I announce justice triumphant I announce uncompromising liberty and equality I announce the justification of candor and the justification of pride I announce that the identity of these states is a single identity only I announce the union more and more compact in this soluble I announce splendors and majesties to make all the previous politics of the earth insignificant I announce adhesiveness I say it shall be limitless unloosened I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for I announce a man or woman coming perhaps you are the one so long I announce the great individual fluid as nature chased affectionate compassionate fully armed I announce a life that shall be copious vehement spiritual bold I announce an end that shall likely and joyfully meet its translation I announce myriads of youths beautiful gigantic sweet blooded I announce a race of splendid and savage old men oh thicker and faster so long oh crowding too close upon me I foresee too much it means more than I thought it appears to me I am dying hasten throat and sound you're lost salute me salute today's once more peel the old cry once more screaming electric the atmosphere using at random glancing each as I notice absorbing swiftly on but a little while alighting curious enveloped messages delivering sparkles hot seed ethereal down in the dirt dropping myself unknowing my commission obeying to question it never daring to ages and ages yet the growth of the seed leaving to troops out of the war arising they the tasks I have set promulging to women certain whispers of myself bequeathing their affection me more clearly explaining to young men my problems offering no dallyer I I the muscle of their brains trying so I pass a little time vocal visible contrary afterward a melodious echo passionately bent for death making me really undying the best of me then when no longer visible for toward that I have been incessantly preparing what is there more that I lag and pause and crouch extended with unshut mouth is there a single final farewell my songs cease I abandon them from behind the screen where I hint I advance personally solely to you camarado this is no book who touches this touches a man is it night are we here together alone it is I you hold and who holds you I spring from the pages into your arms the seas calls me forth oh how your fingers drows me your breath falls around me like do your pulse lulls the tempons of my ears I feel emerged from head to foot delicious enough enough oh deed impromptu and secret enough oh gliding present enough oh summed up past their friend whoever you are take this kiss I give it especially to you do not forget me I feel like one who has done work for the day to retire a while I received now again of my many translations from my avatars ascending while others doubtless await me an unknown sphere more real than I dreamed more direct darts awakening rays about me so long remember my words I may again return I love you I depart from materials I am as one disembodied triumphant dead end of book 33 recording by phone