 Book 19 of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Recording by phone Book 19, Seed Drift Out of the cradle, endlessly rocking Out of the cradle, endlessly rocking Out of the mockingbird's throat, the musical shuttle Out of the night's months, midnight Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond Where the child, leaving his bed, wandered alone Bare-headed, barefoot Down from the showered halo Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting As if they were alive Out from the patches of briers and blackberries From the memories of the bird that jumped to me From your memories, sad brother From the fitful risings and fallings I heard From under that yellow half-moon, late risen and swollen As if with tears From those beginning notes of yearning and love There in the mist From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease From the myriad dense aroused words From the words stronger and more delicious than any From such as now, they start to seem revisiting As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing Born hither, ere old eludes me, hurriedly A man, yet by these tears, a little boy again Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them A reminiscence, sing Once, Pomenok, when the lilac scent was in the air And fifth month's grass was growing Up this seashore in some briers Two feathered gusts from Alabama, two together And their nest, and four light green eggs, spotted with brown And every day, the he-bird, two and fro, near at hand And every day, the she-bird, crouched on her nest Silent, with bright eyes And every day I, a curious boy, never too close Never disturbing them, cautiously peering, absorbing, translating Shine, shine, shine, pour down your warmth, great sun While we bask, we two together Two together, winds blow south, or winds blow north Day come white, or night come black Home, or rivers and mountains from home Singing, all time, minding no time, while we two keep together Till, of a sudden, may be killed, unknown to her mate One forenoon, the she-bird, crouched not on the nest Nor returned that afternoon, nor the next, nor ever appeared again And thence forward, all summer, in the sound of the sea And at night, under the full of the moon, in calmer weather Over the horse surging of the sea, or flitting from briar to briar by day I saw, I heard, at intervals, the remaining one, the he-bird, the solitary guest from Alabama Blow, blow, blow, blow up sea winds, along Pomenok shore I wait, and I wait, till you blow my mate to me Yes, when the stars glistened, all night long, on the prong of a moss-scaloped stake Down, almost amid the slapping waves, set alone, singer-wonderful, causing tears He called on his mate, he poured forth the meanings which I of all men know Yes, my brother, I know, the rest might not, but I have treasured every note For more than once dimly down to the beach gliding Silent, avoiding the moon-beams, blending myself with the shadows Recalling now, the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts The white arms out in the breakers, tirelessly tossing I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, listened long and long Listened to keep, to sing, now translating the notes, following you, my brother Sooth, sooth, sooth, close on its way, soothes the wave behind And again, another behind, embracing and lapping, everyone close, but my love Soothes not me, not me Low hangs the moon, it rose late, it is lagging, oh, I think it is heavy with love, with love Oh, madly, the sea pushes upon the land, with love, with love Oh, night, do I not see my love fluttering out among the breakers? What is that little black thing I see there in the white? Loud, loud, loud, loud I call to you, my love, high and clear I shoot my voice over the waves Surely, you must know who is here, is here, you must know who I am, my love Low hanging moon, what is that dusky spot in your brown-yellow? Oh, it is the shape, the shape of my mate Oh, moon, do not keep her from me any longer Land, land, land, whichever way I turn, oh, I think you could give me my mate back again if you only would, for I am almost sure I see her dimly, whichever way I look Oh, rising stars, perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you Oh, throat, oh, trembling throat, sound clearer through the atmosphere Pierce the woods, the earth, somewhere listening to catch you, must be the one I want Shake out carols, solitary here, the night's carols Carols of lonesome love, that's carols Carols under that lagging yellow, waning moon Oh, under that moon, where she droops almost down into the sea Oh, reckless, despairing carols But soft, sink low, soft Let me just murmur, and do you wait a moment, you husky-noised sea For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me So faint, I must be still, be still to listen But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me Hither, my love, here I am, here With this just-sustained note I announce myself to you This gentle call is for you, my love, for you Do not be decoyed elsewhere That is the whistle of the wind, it is not my voice That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray Those are the shadows of leaves Oh, darkness, oh, in vain, oh, I am very sick and sorrowful Oh, brown halo in the sky, near the moon, drooping upon the sea Oh, troubled reflection in the sea Oh, throat, oh, throbbing heart An eye singing uselessly, uselessly all the night Oh, past, oh, happy life, oh, songs of joy In the air, in the woods, over fields Loved, loved, loved, loved, loved But my mate no more, no more with me We too, together, no more The area sinking, all else continuing The stars shining, the winds blowing The notes of the bird, continuous echoing With angry moans, the fierce old mother incessantly moaning On the sands of Pomenok shore grey and rustling The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping The face of the sea almost touching The boy ecstatic, with his bare feet, the waves With his hair, the atmosphere dallying The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last too Multuously bursting The area's meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly depositing The strange tears down the cheeks coursing The colloquy there, the trio, each uttering The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying To the boy's soul's questions, suddenly timing Some drowned secret hissing, to the outsetting bard Demon or bird, said the boy's soul Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? Or is it really to me? For I, that was a child, my tongue's you sleeping Now I have heard you Now in a moment I know what I am for I awake, and already a thousand singers, a thousand songs Clearer, louder, and more sorrowful than yours A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me Never to die Oh you, singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me Oh solitary me, listening, nevermore shall I cease perpetuating you Nevermore shall I escape, nevermore the reverberations Nevermore the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before, what there in the night By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon The messenger there aroused, the fire, the sweet hell within The unknown want, the destiny of me Oh, give me the clue, it lurks in the night here somewhere Oh, if I am to have so much, let me have more A word then, for I will conquer it The word final, superior to all Subtle, sent up, what is it I listen Are you whispering it, and have been all the time you see ways? Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands? Where to answering the sea, the laying knot, hurrying knot Whispered me through the night and very plainly before daybreak Lisp to me the low and delicious word death And again death, death, death, death Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my aroused child's heart But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet Creeping dense, steadily up to my ears, and laving me softly all over Death, death, death, death, death Which I do not forget, but fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother That he sang to me in the moonlight on Palmanoc's gray beach With the thousand responsive songs at random My own songs awaked from that hour And with them the key, the word up from the waves The word of the sweetest song and all songs That strong and delicious word which creeping to my feet Or like some old crone rocking the cradle Swaved in sweet garments bending aside The sea whispered me as I ebbed with the ocean of life One, as I ebbed with the ocean of life as I wend at the shores I know As I walked where the ripples continually wash you, Palmanoc Where they rustle up, hoarse and sibilant Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her costaways I, musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward Held by this electric self out of the pride of which I utter poems Was seized by the spirit that trails in the lines underfoot The rim, the sediment that stands for all the water and all the land of the globe Fascinated, my eyes reverting from the south Dropped to follow those slender windrows Chave, straw, splinters of wood, weeds and the sea gluten Scum, scales from shining rocks, leaves of salt lettuce Left by the tide, miles walking The sound of breaking waves the other side of me Palmanoc there and then as I thought the old thought of likenesses These you presented to me, you fish-shaped island As I wend at the shores I know As I walked with that electric self seeking types Two, as I went to the shores I know not As I list to the dirge the voices of men and women wrecked As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer I too but signify at the utmost a little washed up drift A few sands and dead leaves to gather Gather and merge myself as part of the sands and drift Oh baffled, bogged, bent to the very earth Oppressed with myself that I have dared to open my mouth Aware now that amid all that blab whose echoes recoil upon me I have not once had the least idea who or what I am But that before all my arrogant poems, your real me stands yet untouched, untold All together unreached, withdrawn far, mocking me with mock congratulatory signs and bells With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written Pointing in silence to these songs and then to the sand beneath I perceive I have not really understood anything, not a single object And that no man ever can Nature here inside of the sea taking advantage of me to dart upon me and sting me Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all Three, you oceans both I close with you We murmur alike reproachfully rolling sands and drift knowing not why These little shreds indeed standing for you and me and all You friable shore with trails of debris You fish-shaped island I take what is underfoot What is yours is mine, my father I too, Parmenok, I too have bubbled up Floated the measureless float and been washed on your shores I too am but a trail of drift and debris I too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish-shaped island I throw myself upon your breast, my father I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me I hold you firm till you answer me something Kiss me, my father Touch me with your lips as I touch those I love Breathe to me while I hold you close the secret of the murmuring I envy Four, Ebb ocean of my life, the flow will return Seize not your moaning, you fierce old mother Endlessly cry for your castaways, but fear not, deny not me Russell not up so hoarse and angry against my feet as I touch you or gather from you I mean tenderly by you and all I gather for myself and for this phantom looking down where we lead And following me and mine Me and mine, loose windrows, little corpses Froth, snowy white and bubbles Sea, for my dead lips, the ooze exuding at last Sea, the prismatic colors glistening and rolling Tufts of straw, sands, fragments Blue-white hitter from many moons, one contradicting another From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the swell Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny chair, a dab of liquid or soil Up, just as much out of fathomless workings, fermented and throne A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves floating, drifted at random Just as much for us, that sobbing dirge of nature Just as much whence we come, that blare of the cloud trumpets We, capricious, broad hither, we know not whence, spread out before you You, up there, walking or sitting Whoever you are, we too, lie in drifts at your feet Tears, tears, tears, tears In the night, in solitude, tears On the white shore dripping, dripping, sucked in by the sand Tears, not a star shining, all dark and desolate Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head Oh, who is that ghost, that form in the dark with tears What shapeless lump is that, bent, crouched there on the sand Streaming tears, sobbing tears, throes choked with wild cries Oh, storm, embodied, rising, careering with swift steps along the beach Oh, wild and dismal nightstorm, with wind, oh, belching and desperate Oh, shade, so sedate and decorous by day, with calm countenance and regulated pace But away at night, as you fly, none looking Oh, then the unlucent ocean of tears, tears, tears To the man of war, bird Thou, who has slept all night upon the storm Waking renewed on thy prodigious pinions Burst a wild storm, above it thou ascended And rested on the sky, thy slave that cradled thee Now a blue point, far, far in heaven floating As to the light emerging here on deck I watched thee Myself a speck, a point on the world's floating vast Far, far at sea, after the night's fierce drifts have strewn the shore with wrecks With reappearing day, as now so happy and serene The rosy and elastic dawn, the flashing sun, the limpid spread of air cerulean Thou also reappearest Thou, born to match the gale, thou art all wings To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane Thou, ship of air, that never furls thy sails Thays, even weeks untired and onward, through spaces realms gyrating At dusk that locused on Senegal, at Morn America That sports amid the lightning flash and thunder cloud In them, in thy experiences, had stale my soul What joys, what joys were thine? Abort at the ship's helm Abort at the ship's helm, a young steersman steering with care Through fog on a sea coast, dolefully ringing An ocean bell, oh, a warning bell, rocked by the waves Oh, you give good notice indeed, you bell by the sea reef's ringing Ringing, ringing, to warn the ship from its wreck place For as on the alert, oh, steersman, you mind the loud admonition The bow's turn, the freighted ship, tacking, speeds away under her grey sails The beautiful and noble ship, with all her precious wealth, speeds away Gaily and safe But, oh, the ship, the immortal ship, oh, ship, abort the ship Ship of the body, ship of the soul, voyaging, voyaging, voyaging On the beach at night On the beach at night stands a child with her father Watching the east, the autumn sky Up through the darkness, while ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading Lower sullen and fast a thwart and down the sky Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east Ascends large and calm the Lord-star Jupiter And nigh at hand, only a very little above Swim the delicate sisters, the pliades From the beach, the child holding the hand of her father Those burial clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all Watching, silently weeps Weep not, child, weep not, my darling With these kisses, let me remove your tears The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious They shall not long possess the sky They devour the stars only in apparition Jupiter shall emerge, be patient Watch again another night, the pliades shall emerge They are immortal, all those stars, both silvery and golden, shall shine out again The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again They endure, the vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine Then, dearest child, mourn us thou only for Jupiter Consider us thou alone, the burial of the stars Something there is, with my lips soothing thee, adding I whisper I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection Something there is more immortal, even than the stars Many the burials, many the day and night, passing away Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter Longer than sun or any revolving satellite Or the radiant sisters, the pliades The world below the brine, the world below the brine Forests at the bottom of the sea, the branches and leaves Sea-letters, vast lakens, strange flowers and seeds The thick-tangle openings and pink turf Different colours, pale grey and green, purple, white and gold The play of light through the water Dumb swimmers there among the rocks, coral, gluten, grass, rushes And the element of the swimmers Sluggish existences grazing there suspended Or slowly crawling close to the bottom The sperm will at the surface, blowing air and spray Or the sporting with his flukes The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle The hairy sea leopard and the stingray Passions there, wars, pursuits, tribes Sight in those ocean depths Breathing that thick-breeding air as so many do The change thence to decide here And to the subtle air breathed by beings like us Who walk this sphere The change onward from ours to that of beings Who walk other spheres On the beach at night alone On the beach at night alone, as the old mother Sways her to and fro, singing her husky song As I watch the bright star shining I think a thought of the clay of the universes and of the future A vast similitude interlocks all All spheres, grown, ungrown Small, large, suns, moons, planets All distances of place, however wide All distances of time, all inanimate forms All souls, all living bodies Though they be ever so different or in different worlds All gaseous, watery, vegetable Mineral processes, the fishies, the brutes All nations, colours, barbarisms Civilisations, languages All identities that have existed or may exist From this globe, or any globe All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future This vast similitude spans them And always has spanned, and shall forever span them And compactly hold and enclose them Song for all seas, all ships 1. Today a rude brief recitative Of ships sailing the seas Each with its special flag or ship signal Of unnamed heroes in the ships Of waves spreading and spreading far as the eye can reach Of dashing spray and the winds piping and blowing And out of these a chant for the sailors of all nations Fitful, like a surge Of sea captains, young or old And the mates, and of all intrepid sailors Of the few, very choice, taciturn Whom fate can never surprise, nor death dismay Baked sparingly, without noise, by thee Old ocean, chosen by thee Thou sea, that pickest and colour's the race in time Of these nations, suckled by thee Old husky nurse, embodying thee Indomitable, untamed as thee Ever the heroes on water or on land By ones or twos appearing Ever the stock preserved and never lost Though rare, enough foreseed preserved Flound out, O sea, your separate flags of nations Flound out, visible as ever, the various ship signals But do you reserve, especially for yourself And for the soul of man, one flag above all the rest A spiritual, woven signal for all nations Emblem of man elate above death Token of all brave captains To all intrepid sailors and mates And all that went down, doing their duty Reminiscent of them, twined from all intrepid captains Young or old, a penant universal Subtly waving all time, or all brave sailors All seas, all ships patrolling Barn gut Called the storm, and to see high running Steady, the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering Shouts of demoniac laughter Fitfully piercing and peeling Waves, air, midnight, their savages trinity lashing Out in the shadows there, milk-white combs Careering, on beachy slush and sand Of snow-fear slanting, where through the murk The easterly death-wind resting Through cutting swirl and spray, watchful and firm advancing That in the distance is that a wreck Is the red signal flaring Slush and sand of the beach, tireless till daylight Wending, steadily, slowly Of course roar never remitting Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs Careering, a group of dim, weird forms Struggling, the night confronting That savage trinity warily watching After the seaship After the whistling winds, after the white grey sails Ropes, below a myriad myriad waves Hastening, lifting up their necks Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship Waves of the ocean bubbling and gurgling Blithely prying, waves undulating Waves, liquid, uneven, emulous waves Toward that whirling current laughing Alloyant, with curves, where the great vessel Sailing and tucking, displaced the surface Larger and smaller waves in the spread of the ocean Urnfully flowing, the wake of the seaship After she passes, flashing and frolics'em Under the sun, a motley procession With many a fleck of foam and many fragments Dately and rapid ship in the wake following End of Book 19, Recording by Foam Book 20, of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman This Liberfox recording is in the public domain Recording by Foam By the roadside A Boston ballot, 1854 To get be-times in Boston Town I rose this morning early Here's a good place at the corner I must stand and see the show Clare the way there, Jonathan Way for the President's Marshal Way for the government cannon Way for the federal foot and dragoons And the apparitions copiously tumble I love to look on the stars and stripes I hope the fives will play Yankee Doodle How bright shine the cutlasses Of the foremost troops Every man holds his revolver Marching stiff through Boston Town A fog follows, antiques of the sing Come limping, some appear wooden-legged And some appear bandaged and bloodless Why this is indeed a show It has called the dead out of the earth The old graveyards of the hills have hurried to see Phantoms, phantoms countless by flank and rear Cocked hats of mothy mould crutches Made of mist, arms in slings Old men leaning on young men's shoulders What troubles you, Yankee Phantoms What is all this chattering of bare gums Does the ague convulse your limbs Do you mistake your crutches for firelocks And level them If you blind your eyes with tears You will not see the President's Marshal If you groan such groans You might balk the government cannon For shame, old maniacs Bring down those tossed arms And let your white hair be Here gape your great-grandsons Their wives gaze at them from the windows See how well-dressed See how orderly they conduct themselves Worse and worse Can't you stand it? Are you retreating? Is this hour with the living too dead for you? Retreat then, pal-mel To your graves, back Back to the hills, old limpers I do not think you belong here anyhow But there is one thing that belongs here Shall I tell you what it is, gentlemen of Boston? I will whisper it to the Mayor He shall send a committee to England They shall get a grant from the Parliament Go with a cart to the Royal Fault Dig out King George's coffin Unwrap him quick from the grave-clothes Box up his bones for a journey Find a swift, Yankee clipper Here is freight for you, black-bellied clipper Up with your anchor Shake out your sails Steer straight toward Boston Bay Now call for the President's Marshal again Bring out the government cannon Fetch home the Roars from Congress Make another procession Guard it with foot and dragoons This centrepiece for them Look, all orderly citizens Look from the windows, women The committee opened the box Set up deriggle ribs Glue those that will not stay Clap the skull on top of the ribs And clap a crown on top of the skull You have got your revenge, old buster The crown is come to its own And more than its own Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan You are a made man from this day You are mighty cute And here is one of your bargains Europe, the 72nd and 73rd years of these states Suddenly, out of its stale and drowsy lair The lair of slaves Like lightning it leapt forth Half startled at itself Its feet upon the ashes and the rags Its hands tight to the throats of kings Oh hope and faith Oh aching clothes of exiled patriots' lies Oh many is sick and heart Turn back unto this day And make yourselves afresh And you, paid to defile the people You liars, mark Not for numberless agonies, murders, lusts For court-thieving in its manifold mean forms Worming from his simplicity the poor man's wages For many a promise sworn by royal lips And broken and laughed at in the breaking Then, in their power, not for all these That blow strike revenge Or the heads of the nobles full The people scorned the ferocity of kings But the sweetness of mercy Brought bitter destruction And the frightened monarchs come back Each comes in state with his train, hangman, priest, tax-gatherer Soldier, lawyer, lord, jailer, and sycophant Yet behind all lowering stealing Low, a shape, vague as the night Draped interminably, head, front, and form In scarlet folds Whose face and eyes none may see Out of its robes, only this The red robes lifted by the arm One finger crooked pointed high over the top Like the head of a snake appears Meanwhile, corpses lie in new-made graves Bloody corpses of young men The rope of the gibbet hangs heavily The bullets of princes are flying The creatures of power laugh aloud And all these things bear fruits, and they are good Those corpses of young men, those martyrs That hang from the gibbet's Those hearts pierced by the grey lead Cold and motionless as they seem Live elsewhere with un-slaughtered vitality They live in other young men, oh kings They live in brothers again ready to defy you They were purified by death They were taught and exalted Not a grave of the murdered for freedom But grossed seed for freedom In its turn to bear seed Which the winds carry afar and re-sow And the rains and the snows nourish Not a disembodied spirit Can the weapons of tyrants let loose But it stalks invisibly over the earth Whispering, counseling, cautioning Liberty, let others despair of you I never despair of you Is the house shut? Is the master away? Nevertheless, be ready Be not wary of watching He will soon return His messengers come anon A hand-mirror Hold it up sternly See this it sends back Who is it? Is it you? Outside fair costume Within ashes and filth No more a flashing eye No more a sonorous voice Or springy step Now some slave's eye Voice, hands, step A drunkard's breath Unwholesome eater's face Venerealy's flesh Lungs rotting away piecemeal Stomach sour and conquerous Joint's rheumatic Bowels clogged with abomination Blood circulating dark And poisonous strains Words babble, hearing And touch callous No brain, no heart-lift No magnetism of sex Such from one look In this looking-glass Here you go hence Such a result so soon And from such a beginning Gauze Lover divine and perfect comrade Waiting content, invisible yet But certain Be thou my God Thou, thou the ideal man Fair, able, beautiful, content And loving, complete in body And dilate in spirit Be thou my God O death, for life has served its turn Opener and usher to the heavenly mansion Be thou my God Oat, oat of mightiest Best I see, conceive, or know To break the stagnant tie Thee, thee to free, O soul Be thou my God All great ideas Neuracist aspirations All heroisms Deeds of rapt enthusiasts Be ye my gods Or time and space Or shape of earth divine and wondrous Or some fair shape I viewing, worship Or lustrous orb of sun Or star by night Be ye my gods Germs Forms, qualities, lives, humanity, language, thoughts The ones known and the ones unknown The ones on the stars, the stars themselves Some shaped, others unshaped Wonders as of those countries The soil, trees, cities, inhabitants Whatever they may be Splendid suns, the moon and rings The countless combinations and effects Such like, and as good as such like Visible here or anywhere Stand provided for a handful of space Which I extend my arm and half in clothes with my hand That containing the start of each and all The virtue, the germs of all Thoughts of ownership As if one fit to own things Could not at pleasure enter upon all And incorporate them into himself or herself Of fista Suppose some sight in every year Through the formative chaos Presuming the growth, fullness, life Now attained on the journey But I see the road continued And the journey ever continued Of what was once lacking on earth And in due time has become supplied And of what will yet be supplied Because all I see and know I believe to have its main purport In what I will yet be supplied When I heard the learned astronomer When I heard the learned astronomer When the proofs, the figures Were arranged in columns before me When I was shown the charts and diagrams To add, divide and measure them When I was sitting heard the astronomer Where he lectured with much applause In the lecture room How soon unaccountable I became tired And sick Till rising and gliding out I wandered off by myself In the mystical moist night air And from time to time Looked up in perfect silence at the stars Perfections Only themselves understand themselves And the like of themselves As souls only understand souls Oh me, oh life Oh me, oh life Of the questions of these recurring Of the endless trains of the faithless Of cities filled with the foolish Of myself forever reproaching myself For whom are foolish than I And whom are faithless Of eyes than faintly crave the light Of the objects mean Of the struggle ever renewed Of the poor results of all Of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me Of the empty and useless years of the rest With the rest me intertwined The question, oh me So sad recurring What good amid these Oh me, oh life Answer That you are here That life exists and identity That the powerful play goes on And you may contribute a verse To a president All you are doing and saying Is to America dangled mirages You have not learned of nature Of the politics of nature You have learned the great amplitude Rectitude, impartiality You have not seen that only such As they are for these states And that what is less than day Must sooner or later lift off From these states I sit and look out I sit and look out Upon all the sorrows of the world And upon all oppression and shame I hear secret convulsive sobs From young men at anguish with themselves Remorseful after deeds done I see in low life the mother Misused by her children Dying neglected, gaunt desperate I see the wife misused by her husband I see the treacherous seducer of young women I mark the ranklings of jealousy And unrequited love attempted to be hid I see these sights on the earth I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny I see martyrs and prisoners I observe a famine at sea I observe the sailors casting lots Who shall be killed to preserve the lives of the rest I observe the slights and degradations Cast by arrogant persons upon labourers The poor and upon negroes and the like All these, all the meanness and agony Without end, I sitting look out upon See, hear, and am silent To rich givers What you give me I cheerfully accept A little sustenance, a hut and garden A little money as I rendezvous with my poems A traveller's lodging and breakfast As journey through the states Why should I be ashamed to own such gifts? Why to advertise for them? For I myself am not one Who bestows nothing upon man and woman For I bestow upon any man or woman The entrance to all the gifts of the universe The dalliance of the eagles Skirting the river road My form and walk, my rest Skyward in air, a sudden muffled sound The dalliance of the eagles They're rushing amorous contact High in space together The clinching interlocking claws A living, fierce, gyrating wheel Four beating wings Two beaks A swirling moss tight grappling In tumbling, turning, clustering loops Straight downward falling Till order river poised The twain yet won A moment's low Emotionless still balance in the air Then parting, talons losing A port again on slow firm pinion slanting Their separate diverse flight She hers, he his, pursuing Roaming in thought after reading Hegel Roaming in thought over the universe I saw the little that is good Steadily hastening towards immortality And the vast all that is called evil I saw hastening to merge itself And become lost and dead A firm picture Through the ample open door Of the peaceful country barn A sunlit pasture field With cattle and horses feeding And haze and vista And the far horizon fading away A child's amaze Silent and amazed Even when a little boy I remember I heard the preacher Every Sunday put God in his statements As contending against Some being or influence The runner On a flat road runs The well-trained runner He is lean and sinewy With muscular legs He is thinly clothed He leans forward as he runs With lightly closed fists And arms partially raised Beautiful women Women sit or move to and fro Some old, some young The young are beautiful But the old are more beautiful Than the young Mother and babe I see the sleeping babe Nestling the rest of its mother The sleeping mother and babe Hushed I studied them long and long Thought Of obedience, faith, adhesiveness As I stand aloof and look There is to me something profoundly affecting In large masses of men Following the lead of those Who do not believe in men Pfizer it A mask, a perpetual natural disguiser of herself Concealing her face Concealing her form Changes and transformations Every hour, every moment Falling upon her Even when she sleeps Thought of justice As if I could be anything but the same ample law Expanded by natural judges and saviours As if it might be this thing or that thing According to decisions Gliding or all Gliding or all through all Through nature, time and space As a ship on the waters advancing The voyage of the soul Not life alone Death, many deaths I'll sing Has never come to thee an hour Has never come to thee an hour A sudden gleam divine precipitating Bursting all these bubbles, fashions, wealth These eager business aims Books, politics, art, amours To utter nothingness Thought of equality As if it harmed me Giving others the same chances And rights as myself As if it were not indispensable To my own rights That others possess the same To old age I see in you the estuary That enlarges and spreads itself grandly As it pours in the great sea Locations and times What is it in me that meets them all Whenever and wherever And makes me at home? Forms, colours, densities, odours What is it in me that corresponds with them? Offerings A thousand perfect men and women appear Around each gathers a cluster of friends And gay children and youths with offerings To the States To identify the 16th, 17th or 18th Presidential yard Why reclining, interrogating Why myself and all drowsing What deepening twilight scum floating Atop of the waters Who are they as bats and night-dogs Ascant in the capital? What a filthy presidential yard Oh, south, your torrid suns Oh, north, your arctic freezings Are those really congressmen? Are those the great judges? Is that the president? Then I will sleep a while yet For I see that these states sleep For reasons With gathering murk, with muttering thunder Ambent shoots, we all duly awake South, north, east, west In land and seaboard We will surely awake End of Book 20 Recording by Phone Book 21, Part 1 Of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman This Liberfox recording is in the public domain Recording by Phone Book 21, Drum Taps First, oh songs for a prelude First, oh songs for a prelude Lightly strike on the stretched tympanum Pride and joy in my city How she led the rest to arms How she gave the cue How at once with life limbs Unwaiting a moment she sprang Oh superb, oh Manhattan My own, my peerless Oh strongest you in the hour of danger In crisis, oh truer than steel How you sprang How you threw off the costumes of peace With indifferent hand How your soft opera music changed And the drum and fife were heard in their stead How you led to the war That shall serve for our prelude Songs of soldiers How Manhattan Drum Taps learned Forty years had I in my city Seen soldiers parading Forty years as a pageant Till unawares the lady of this teeming And turbulent city Sleepless amid her ships, her houses Her incalculable wealth With her million children around her Suddenly, at that of night At news from the south Incensed struck with clenched hand the pavement A shock electric, the night sustained it Till with ominous hum Our hive at daybreak poured out its myriads From the houses then and the workshops And through all the doorways To day tumultuous and low Manhattan arming To the drum taps prompt The young men falling in and arming The mechanics arming The trowel, the jack plane, the blacksmith's hammer Tossed the side with precipitation The lawyer leaving his office and arming The judge leaving the court The driver deserting his wagon in the street Jumping down, throwing the reins abruptly Down on the horse's backs The salesman leaving the store The boss, bookkeeper, porter, all leaving Squads gather everywhere by common consent And arm The new recruits, even bullies The old men show them how to wear their accoutrements They buckle the straps carefully Outdoors arming, indoors arming The flesh of the musket barrels The white tents cluster in camps The armed sentries around The sunrise cannon and again at sunset Armed regiments arrive every day Pass through the city and embark from the wharves How good they look as they tramp down to the river Sweaty with their guns on their shoulders How I loved them, how I could hug them With their brown faces and their clothes And knapsacks covered with dust The blood of the city, up, armed, armed The cry everywhere The flags flung out from the steeples of churches And from all the public buildings and stores The tearful parting The mother kisses her son The son kisses his mother Lothed is the mother to part Yet not a word does she speak to detain him The tumultuous escort The ranks of policemen proceeding Clearing the way The un-pent enthusiasm The wild cheers of the crowd for their favourites The artillery, the silent cannons bright as gold Drawn along, rumble lightly over the stones Silent cannons, soon to cease your silence Soon unlimbered to begin the red business All the mutter of preparation All the determined arming The hospital service The lint, bandages and medicines The women volunteering for nurses The work begun for in earnest No mere parade now War, an armed race is advancing The welcome for battle, no turning away War, be it weeks, months or years An armed race is advancing to welcome it Manahatta a march And it's oh to sing it well It's oh for a manly life in the camp And the sturdy artillery The guns bright as gold The work for giants To serve well the guns Unlimber them No more as the past forty years For salutes for courtesies merely Put in something now besides powder and wadding And you, lady of ships You, Manahatta Old matron of this proud, friendly, turbulent city Often in peace and wealth You were pensive or covertly frowned Amid all your children But now you smile with joy exulting Old Manahatta 1861 Armed year, year of the struggle No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses For you, terrible year Not you as some pale poetling Seated at a desk, lisping cadenza's piano But as a strong man erect Clothed in blue clothes Advancing, carrying rifle in your shoulder With well-grisseled body And sunburned face and hands With a knife in the belt at your side As I heard you shouting loud Your sonorous voice bringing across the continent Your masculine voice, oh year As rising amid the great cities Amid the men of Manhattan I saw you as one of the workmen The dwellers in Manhattan Or at large steps crossing the prairies Out of Illinois and Indiana Rapidly crossing the west With springy gate and descending the Alganes Or down from the Great Lakes Or in Pennsylvania Or on deck along the Ohio River Or southward along the Tennessee Or Cumberland Rivers Or at Chattanooga on the mountaintop Saw I your gate and saw I Your sinewy limbs clothed in blue Bearing weapons for a bust year Heard your determined voice Launched forth again and again Year that suddenly sang By the mouths of the round-lipped cannon I repeat you, hurrying, crashing Sad, distracted year Beat, beat, drums Beat, beat, drums Blow, bugles, blow Through the windows, through doors Burst like a ruthless force Into the solemn church And scatter the congregation Into the school where the scholar is studying Leave not the bridegroom quiet No happiness must he have now with his bride Nor the peaceful farmer any peace Flowing his field or gathering his grain So fierce you were and pound you drums So shrill you bugles blow Beat, beat, drums Blow, bugles, blow Over the traffic of cities Over the rumble of wheels and the streets Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers must sleep in those beds No bargainers bargains by day No brokers or speculators Would they continue? Would the talkers be talking? Would the singer attempt to sing? Would the lawyer rise in the court To state his case before the judge? Then rattle quicker, heavier drums You bugles wild or blow Beat, beat, drums Blow, bugles, blow Make no parlay Stop for no expostulation Mind not the timid Mind not the weeper or prayer Mind not the old man beseeching the young man Let not the child's voice be heard Nor the mother's entreaties Make even the trestles to shake the dead Where they lie awaiting the hearses So strong you thump o' terrible drums So loud you bugles blow From Pomenok starting I fly like a bird From Pomenok starting I fly like a bird Around and around to soar To sing the idea of all To the north be taking myself To sing their Arctic songs Till Canada, till I absorb Canada in myself To Michigan then To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota To sing their songs They are inimitable Then to Ohio and Indiana to sing theirs To Missouri and Kansas and Arkansas to sing theirs To Tennessee and Kentucky To the Carolinas and Georgia to sing theirs To Texas and so along up toward California To Rome accepted everywhere To sing first to the top of the wardrobe if need be The idea of all of the Western world One and inseparable And then the song of each member of these states Song of the banner at daybreak Poet Oh, a new song, a free song Flapping, flapping, flapping, flapping By sounds, by voices clearer By the wind's voice and out of the drum By the banner's voice and child's voice And sea's voice and father's voice Low on the ground and high in the air On the ground where father and child stand In the upward air where their eyes turn Where the banner at daybreak is flapping Words, book words, what are you? Words no more for harken and see My song is there in the open air And I must sing with the banner and pen and a flapping I'll weave the cord and twine in Man's desire and babe's desire I'll twine them in, I'll put in life I'll put the bayonet's flashing point I'll let bullets and slugs whiz As one carrying a symbol and menace Far into the future Crying with trumpet voice Arouse and beware, beware and arouse I'll pour the verse with streams of blood Full of volition, full of joy Then loosen, launch forth To go and compete With the banner and pen and a flapping Pen and Come up here, bard, bard Come up here, soul, soul Come up here, dear little child To fly in the clouds and winds with me And play with the measureless light Child Father, what is that in the sky Beckoning to me with long finger And what does it say to me all the while Father Nothing, my babe, you see in the sky And nothing at all to you it says But look, you, my babe Look at these dazzling things in the houses And see you the money shop's opening And see you the vehicles Preparing to crawl along the streets with goods These, ah, these How valued and toiled for these How envied by all the earth Poet Fresh and rosy red The sun is mounting high On floats the sea in distant blue Careering through its channels On floats the sea in distant blue Careering through its channels On floats the wind over the breast of the sea Setting in toward land The great steady wind from west Or west by south Floating so buoyant With milk-white foam on the waters But I am not the sea nor the red sun I am not the wind with girlish laughter Not the immense wind which strengthens Not the wind which lashes Not the spirit that ever lashes Its own body to terror and death But I am that which unseen comes And sings, sings, sings Which babbles in brooks And scoots and showers on the land Which the birds know in the woods Mornings and evenings And the shore sands know And the hissing wave And that banner and pennant A loft there flapping and flapping Oh, Father, it is alive It is full of people It has children Oh, now it seems to me It is talking to its children I hear it It talks to me Oh, it is wonderful Oh, it stretches It spreads and runs so fast Oh, my Father It is so broad It covers the whole sky Father Cease, cease, my foolish babe What you are saying is sorrowful to me Much it displeases me Behold, with the rest again, I say Behold, not banners and pennants aloft But the well-prepared pavements behold And mark the solid-walled houses Banner and pennant Speak to the child Who barred out of Manhattan To our children all Or north or south of Manhattan Point this day Leaving all the rest to us overall And yet we know not why For what are we mere strips of cloth Profiting nothing Only flapping in the wind Poet I hear and see Not strips of cloth alone I hear the trump of armies I hear the challenging sentry I hear the jubilant shouts Of millions of men I hear liberty I hear the drums beat And the trumpets blowing I myself move abroad Swift rising, flying them I use the wings of the land bird And use the wings of the sea bird And look down as from a height I do not deny the precious results of peace I see populist cities with wealth incalculable I see numberless farms I see the farmers working in their fields or barns I see mechanics working I see buildings everywhere founded Going up or finished I see trains of cars Swiftly speeding along railroad tracks I see a train run by the locomotives I see the stores, depots Of Boston, Baltimore, Charleston, New Orleans I see far in the west The immense area of grain I dwell a while hovering I pass to the lumber forests of the north And again to the southern plantation And again to California Sweeping the whole Countless profit, the busy gatherings Earned wages I see the identity Formed at a thirty-eight spacious and haughty states And many more to come I see forts on the shores of harbours I see ships sailing in and out Then overall I, I, my little and lengthened pennant Shaped like a sword, run swiftly up Indicating war and defiance And now the hellyards have raised it Side of my banner, broad and blue Side of my starry banner Discarding peace over all the sea and land Banner and pennant Yet louder, higher, stronger barred Yet farther, wider, cleave No longer let our children deem as riches And peace alone We may be terror and carnage And are so now Not now are we any one of these spacious And haughty states Nor any five nor ten Nor market nor depot we Nor money bank in the city But these and all And the brown and spreading land And the mines below are ours And the shores of the sea are ours And the rivers great and small And the fields they moisten And the crops and the fruits are ours Bays and channels and chips Sailing in and out are ours While we, overall, over the area spread below The three or four millions of square miles The capitals The forty millions of people Oh, barred, in life and death supreme We, even we, henceforth flaunt out Masterful, high up above Not for the present alone For a thousand years chanting through you This song to the soul of one poor little child Child Oh, my father, I like not the houses They will never to me be anything Nor do I like money But to mount up there I would like, though father dear That banner I like That pennant I would be and must be Father Child of mine, you fill me with anguish To be that pennant would be too fearful Little you know what it is this day And after this day forever It is to gain nothing but risk and defy everything Forward to stand in front of wars And, oh, such wars What have you to do with them With passions of demons, slaughter, premature death Banner Demons and death then I sing Put in all, I, all while I, sore-shaped pennant for war And a pleasure new and ecstatic And a prattled yearning of children Blent with the sounds of the peaceful land And the liquid wash of the sea And the black ships fighting on the sea enveloped in smoke And the icy cool of the far, far north With rustling cedars and pines And the whir of drums and the sound of soldiers marching And the hot sun shining south And the beach waves combing over the beach On my eastern shore and my western shore the same And all between those shores And my ever-running Mississippi with bends and shoots And my Illinois fields and my Kansas fields And my fields of Missouri The continent devoting the whole identity Without reserving an atom Pour in, well that which asks, which sings With all and the yield of all Fusing and holding, claiming, devouring the whole No more with tender lip nor musical labial sound But out of the night emerging for good Our voice persuasive no more Croaking like crows here in the wind Poet My limbs, my veins dilate My theme is clear at last Banner so broad advancing out of the night I sing you haughty and resolute I burst through where I waited long, too long Deafened and blinded My hearing and tongue are come to me A little child taught me I hear from above, o penant of war Your ironical call and demand Insensate, insensate Yet I at any rate chant you O banner, not houses of peace Indeed are you, nor any, nor all their prosperity If need be, you shall again Have every one of those houses to destroy them I thought not to destroy those valuable houses Standing fast, full of comfort Built with money May they stand fast then? Not an hour except you above them And all stand fast O banner, not money so precious are you Not farm produce you Nor the material good nutriment Nor excellent stores Nor landed on wharves from the ships Not the superb ships with sail power Or steam power, fetching and carrying cargoes Nor machinery, vehicles, trade, nor revenues But you as henceforth I see you Running up out of the night Bringing your cluster of stars Ever enlarging stars If they break you, cutting the air Touched by the sun, measuring the sky Passionately seen and yearned for By one poor little child While others remain busy or smartly talking Forever teaching thrift, thrift Oh, you up there, o penant Where you undulate like a snake Hissing so curious Out of reach, an idea only Yet furiously fought for, risking bloody death Loved by me, so loved Oh, you banner leading the day With stars brought from the night Valueless, object of eyes Over all and demanding all Absolute owner of all Oh, banner and penant I too leave the rest Great as it is, it is nothing Houses, machines, are nothing I see them not I see but you, o warlike penant Oh, banner so broad, with stripes Sing you only Flapping up there in the wind Rise, o days, from your fathomless deeps Till you loftier, fiercer sweep Long for my soul, hungering gymnastic I devoured what the earth gave me Long I roamed amid the woods of the north Long I watched Niagara pouring I travelled the prairies over And slept on their breast I crossed the Nevada's I crossed the Nevada's I crossed the Nevada's I crossed the Nevada's I crossed the Nevada's I crossed the Plateaus I ascended the towering rocks Along the Pacific I sailed out to sea I sailed through the storm I was refreshed by the storm I watched with joy The threatening maws of the waves I marked the white combs Where they careered so high Curling over I heard the wind piping I saw the black clouds Saw from below What arose and mounted Oh, superb! A wild as my heart and powerful Heard the continuous thunder As it bellowed after the lightning Noted the slender and jagged threads Of lightning as sudden and fast Amid the din they chased each other Across the sky These and such as these I elate soul Soul would wonder Yet pensive and masterful All the menacing might of the globe A-brisen around me Yet there with my soul I fed, I fed content Supercilious Two T'was well, oh soul T'was a good preparation you gave me Now we advance our latent And ampler hunger to fill Now we go forth to receive What the earth and the sea never gave us Not through the mighty woods we go But through the mightier cities Something for us is pouring Now more than Niagara pouring Torrents of men Sources and drills of the north-west Are you indeed inexhaustible? What to pavements and homesteads here What were those storms of the mountains and sea? What to passions I witness around me today? Was the sea risen? Was the wind piping the pipe of death Under the black clouds? Low, from deeps more unfathomable Something more deadly and savage Manhattan rising, advancing with menacing front Cincinnati, Chicago unchained What was that swell I saw on the ocean? Behold what comes here How it climbs with daring feet and hands How it dashes How the true thunder bellows after the lightning How bright the flashes of lightning How democracy with desperate vengeful port Strides on, shown through the dark By those flashes of lightning Yet a mournful will and low sob I fancied I heard through the dark In a lull of the deafening confusion Thunder on, stride on democracy Strike with vengeful stroke And do you rise higher than ever yet O days, O cities Crash heavier, heavier yet, O storms You have done me good My soul, prepared in the mountains Absorbs your immortal strong nutriment Long had I walked my cities My country roads through farms Only half satisfied One doubt, nauseous, undulating Like a snake crawled on the ground before me Continually preceding my steps Turning upon me oft, ironically hissing low The cities I loved so well I abandoned and left I sped to the certainties suitable to me Hungering, hungering, hungering For primal energies and nature's dauntlessness I refreshed myself with it only I could relish it only I waited the bursting forth of the pentfire Under water and air waited long But now I no longer wait I am fully satisfied I am blutted I have witnessed the true lightning I have witnessed my city's electric I have lived to behold man burst forth And war-like America rise Hence I will seek no more The food of the northern solitary wilds No more the mountains roam Or sail the stormy sea Virginia, the West The noble sire fallen on evil days I saw with hand uplifted, menacing, brandishing Memories of old in abeyance Love and faith in abeyance The insane knife toward the mother of all The noble sun on sinewy feet advancing I saw out of the land of prairies Land of Ohio's waters and of Indiana To the rescue the stalwart giant hurry His plenty is offspring Dressed in blue Bearing their trusty rifles on their shoulders Then the mother of all with calm voice speaking As to you, rebellious, I seem to hear her say Why strive against me And why seek my life When you yourself forever provide to defend me For you provided me, Washington And now these also City of ships City of ships Oh, the black ships Oh, the fierce ships Oh, the beautiful sharp-boat steamships And sail ships City of the world, for all races are here All the lands of the earth make contributions here City of the sea, city of hurried and glittering tides City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede Whirling in and out with eddies and foam City of wharves and stores City of tall facades of marble and iron Proud and passionate city Metalsome, mad, extravagant city Spring up, O city Not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself warlike Fear not, submit to no models but your own, O city Behold me, incarnate me as I have incarnated you I have rejected nothing you offered me Whom you adopted, I have adopted Good or bad, I never question you I love all, I do not condemn anything I chant and celebrate all that is yours Yet peace no more In peace I chanted peace But now the drum of war is mine War, red war, is my song through your streets, O city The Centenarian's Story Volunteer of 1861 to 1862 at Washington Park, Brooklyn Assisting the Centenarian Give me your hand, old revolutionary The hilltop is nigh, but a few steps Make room, gentlemen Up the path you have followed me well Despite of your hundred and extra years You can walk, old man, though your eyes are almost done Your faculties serve you, and presently I must have them serve me Rest, while I tell what the crowd around us means On the plane below, recruits are drilling and exercising There is the camp, one regiment departs tomorrow Do you hear the officers giving their orders? Do you hear the clank of the muskets? Why, what comes over you now, old man? Why do you tremble and clutch my hand so convulsively? The troops are but drilling They are yet surrounded with smiles Around them, at hand, the well-dressed friends and the women While splendid and warm the afternoon sun shines down The green, the midsummer verger and fresh blows The dalyan breeze, or proud and peaceful cities And arm of the sea between But drill and parade are over They march back to quarters Only hear that approval of hands Hear what a clapping As wending, the crowds now part and disperse But we, old man, not for nothing have I brought you hither We must remain, you to speak in your turn And I to listen and tell The centenarian When I clutched your hand it was not with terror But suddenly pouring about me here on every side And below, there, where the boys were drilling And up the slopes they ran And where tents are pitched And wherever you see south and south east and south west Over hills, across lowlands and in the scourge of woods And along the shores, in mire, now filled over Came again and suddenly raged As eighty-five years ago, no mere parade Received with applause of friends But a battle which I took part in myself I, long ago, as it is, I took part in it Walking then, this hilltop, this same ground I, this is the ground, my blind eyes Even as I speak, behold it, re-peopled from graves The years recede, pavements and stately houses disappear Root forts appear again The old, hooped guns are mounted I see the lines of raised earth stretching from river to bay I mark the vista of waters I mark the uplands and slopes Here we lay encamped It was this time in summer also As I talk, I remember all I remember the declaration It was red here The whole army paraded It was red to us here By his staff surrounded The general stood in the middle He held up his unsheathe sword It glittered in the sun In full sight of the army Twas a bold act then The English warships had just arrived We could watch down the lower bay Where they lay at anchor And the transports swarming with soldiers A few days more and they landed And then the battle Twenty thousand were brought against us A veteran force furnished with good artillery I tell not now the whole of the battle But one brigade early in the forenoon Ordered forward to engage the redcoats Of that brigade I tell And how steadily it marched And how long and well it stood Confronting death Who do you think that was Marching steadily, sternly Confronting death It was the brigade of the youngest men Two thousand strong Raised in Virginia and Maryland And most of them known personally To the general Jauntily forward they went With quick step toward Gowanus' waters Till all of a sudden Unlooked for by Defiles Through the woods Gained at night The British advancing Rounding in from the east Fiercely playing their guns That brigade of the youngest Was cut off and at the enemy's mercy The general watched them from this hill They made repeated desperate attempts To burst their environment Then drew close together Very compact, their flag flying in the middle But oh, from the hills How the cannon were thinning And thinning them It sickened me yet that slaughter I saw the moisture gather in drops On the face of the general I saw how he wrung his hands in anguish Meanwhile The British manoeuvred to draw us out For a pitched battle We dared not trust the chances of a pitched battle We fought the fight in detachments Sallying forth we fought at several points But in each the luck was against us Our foe advancing Steadily getting the best of it Pushed us back to the works on this hill Till we turned menacing here And then he left us That was the going out of the brigade Of the youngest men Two thousand strong Few returned Nearly all remained in Brooklyn That and here my general's first battle No women looking on Nor sunshine to bask in It did not conclude with applause Nobody clapped hands here then But in darkness in mist on the ground Under a chill rain Wearyed that night We lay foiled and sullen While scornfully laughed Many an arrogant lord Off against us encamped Quite within hearing Feasting clinking wine glasses Together over their victory So dull and damp and another day But the night of that Missed lifting, rain ceasing Silent as a ghost While they thought they were sure of him My general retreated I saw him at the riverside Down by the ferry Lived by torches Hastening the embarkation My general waited till the soldiers And wounded were all passed over And then it was just air sunrise These eyes rested on him For the last time Everyone else seemed filled with gloom Many, no doubt, thought of capitulation But when my general passed me As he stood in his boat And looked toward the coming sun I saw something different From capitulation, terminus Enough, the centenarian's story ends The two, the past and present Have interchanged I myself as connector As chansonier of a great future I'm now speaking And is this the ground Washington trod? And these waters I listlessly daily cross Are these the waters he crossed As resolute in defeat As other generals in their proudest triumphs I must copy the story And send it eastward and westward I must preserve that look As it beamed on you, rivers of Brooklyn See, as the annual round returns The phantoms return It is the 27th of August And the British have landed The battle begins and goes against us Behold through the smoke Washington's face The brigade of Virginia and Maryland Have marched forth to intercept the enemy They are cut off, murderous artillery From the hills plays upon them Rank after rank falls While over them silently droops the flag Baptized that they In many a young man's bloody wounds In death, defeat, and sisters, mothers, tears Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn I perceive you are more valuable Than your own are supposed In the midst of you Stands an encampment very old Stands forever the camp of that dead brigade End of book 21, part 1