Section 19

The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first—Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first ;
Be not discouraged—keep on—there are divine things, well en-
velop’d ; I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell. 120
Allons! we must not stop here!
However sweet these laid-up stores—however convenient this dwelling, we cannot remain here ;
However shelter’d this port, and however calm these waters, we must not anchor here ;
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us, we are per- mitted to receive it but a little while.
Io
Allons! the inducements shall be greater ;
We will sail pathless and wild seas ;
We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail.
Allons ! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements ! Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity ;
SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD 175
Allons ! from all formules ! 130 From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests !
The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer.
Allons! yet take warning !
He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance ;
None may come to the trial, till he or she bring courage and health.
Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself ;
Only those may come, who come in sweet and determin’d bodies ;
No diseas’d person—no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here.
I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes ; We convince by our presence. 140
GE
Listen ! I will be honest with you ; I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes ; These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is call’d riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,
You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d—you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction, before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart,
You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you ;
What beckonings of love you receive, you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting,
You shali not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you.
12
Allons! after the Grear Companions! and to belong to
them ! 150
They too are on the road! they are the swift and majestic men! they are the greatest women.
176 LEAVES OF GRASS
Over that which hinder’d them—over that which retarded— passing impediments large or small,
Committers of crimes, committers of many beautiful virtues,
Enjoyers of calms of seas, and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habitués of many distant countries, habitués of far-distant dwell- ings,
Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore,
Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers down of coffins, 160
Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years—the curious years, each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely, their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent*unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth—Journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or woman-
hood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.
r3 Allons! to that which is endless, as it was beginningless, To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights, 170
To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to,
Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys ;
To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it,
To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you— however long, but it stretches and waits for you ;
To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither,
To see no possession but you may possess it—enjoying all with- out labor or purchase—abstracting the feast, yet not ab- stracting one particle of it ;
l
“SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD WAGE
To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens,
To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go, 180
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them—to gather the love out of their hearts,
To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you,
To know the universe itself as a road—as many roads—as roads for traveling souls.
14
The Soul travels ;
The body does not travel as much as the soul ;
The body has just as great a work as the soul, and parts away at
ez last for the journeys of the soul.
All parts away for the progress of souls ;
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments,—all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of Souls along the grand roads of the universe.
Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.
Forever alive, forever forward, 190 Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied,
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men,
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go ;
But I know that they go toward the best—toward something great.
15
Allons! whoever you are! come forth !
You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house,’ though you built it, or though it has been built for you.
1 1856 reads ‘* You must not stay in your house, though you built it,” etc. 12
178 LEAVES OF GRASS
Allons! out of the dark confinement ! It is useless to protest—I know all, and expose it.
Behold, through you as bad as the rest,
Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people, 200
Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces,
Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.
No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession ;* Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it oes,”
eae and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors,
In the cars of rail-roads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women,’ at the table, in the bed-room, everywhere,
Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,
Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial
flowers, Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of it- self, 210
Speaking of anything else, but never of itself.
16
Allons! through struggles and wars ! The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.
Have the past struggles succeeded ?
What has succeeded ? yourself? your nation? nature?
Now understand me well—lIt is provided in the essence of things, that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary.
My call is the call of battle—I nourish active rebellion ; He going with me must go well arm’d;
1 1856 ’60 read “ No husband, no wife, no friend, no lover, so trusted as to hear the confession.’
2 1856’60 add ‘Open and above-board it goes.’’
8 1856 ’60 add ‘‘among their families.’’
SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD 179
He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions.!
17 Allons! the road is before us ! 220 It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well.
Allons! be not detain’d!
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the books on the shelf unopen’d !
Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d !
Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!
Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.
Mon enfant! I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself, before preaching or law ;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? 230 Shall we stick by each other as long as we live ?
&
I SIT AND LOOK OUT.
First published in 1860.
I srr 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 ;
1 1856. For ‘‘desertions’’ reads ‘‘ contentions,’’
180 LEAVES OF GRASS
I observe a famine at sea—I observe the sailors casting lots who shall be kill’d, to preserve the lives of the rest ;
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon laborers, 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. Io
&* ME IMPERTURBE.
First published in 1860.
Me imperturbe, standing at ease in Nature,
Master of all, or mistress of all—aplomb in the midst of irra- tional things,
Imbued as they—passive, receptive, silent as they,
Finding my occupation, poverty, notoriety, foibles, crimes, less important than I thought ;
Me private, or public, or menial, or solitary—all these subordi- nate, (I am eternally equal with the best—I am not subordinate ; )
Me toward the Mexican Sea, or in the Mannahatta, or the Ten- nessee, or far north, or inland,
A river man, or a man of the woods, or of any farm-life in These States, or of the coast, or the lakes, or Kanada,
Me, wherever my life is' lived, O to be self-balanced for contin- gencies !
O to confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.
&
AS I LAY WITH MY HEAD IN YOUR LAP, CAMERADO.
As I lay with my head in your lap, Camerado,
The confession I made I resume—what I said to you in the open air I resume :
I know I am restless, and make others so ;
I know my words are weapons, full of danger, full of death ;
(Indeed I am myself the real soldier ;
It is not he, there, with his bayonet, and not the red-striped artilleryman ; )
1 1860 reads ‘‘to be lived,’? etc.
CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY 181
For I confront peace, security, and all the settled laws, to unsettle them ;
Iam more resolute because all have denied me, than I could ever have been had all accepted me ;
I heed not, and have never heeded, either experience, cautions, majorities, nor ridicule ;
And the threat of what is call’d hell is little or nothing to
me ; 10
And the lure of what is call’d heaven is little or nothing to me;
. . . Dearcamerado! I confess I have urged you onward with me, and still urge you, without the Teast idea what is our destination,
Or whether we shall be victorious, or utterly quell’d and de- feated.
CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY.
First published in 1856 under title of “‘Sun-Down Poem.”
I
FLOOD-TIDE below me !! I watch you face to face ; Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face to face.
Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious you are to me!
On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, re- turning home,’ are more curious to me than you suppose ;
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.
2
The impalpable sustenance of me from all things, at all hours of the day ;
The simple, compact, well-join’d scheme—myself disintegrated, every one disintegrated, yet part of the scheme ;
The similitudes of the past, and those of the future ;
1 1856 reads ‘‘ Flood-tide of the river, flow on!”’ etc. 2 1856 ‘* returning home”’ added in 1860.
182 LEAVES OF GRASS
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings —on the walk in the street, and the passage over the
river ; The current rushing so swiftly, and swimming with me far away ; ie)
I The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them ; The certainty of others—the life, love, sight, hearing of others.
Others will enter the gates of the ferry, and cross from shore to shore ;
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide ;
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east ;
Others will see the islands large and small ;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half an hour high ;
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others will see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring in of the flood-tide, the fall- ing back to the sea of the ebb-tide.
3
It avails not, neither time or place—distance avails not ; 20
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations hence ;
I project myself—also I return—I am with you, and know how it is.
Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt ;
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd ;
Just as you are refresh’d by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refresh’d ;
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood, yet was hurried ;
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the thick- stem’d pipes of steamboats, I look’d.
I too many and many a time cross’d the river, the sun half an hour high ;
I watched the Twelfth-month’ sea-gulls—I saw them high in the air, floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
1 7856 reads ‘¢ December sea-gulls.’?
CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY 183
I saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies, and
left the rest in strong shadow, 30 I saw the slow-wheeling circles, and the gradual edging toward the south.
I too saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams,
Look’d at the fine centrifugal spokes of light around the shape of my head in the sun-lit water,
Look’d on the haze on the hills southward and southwestward,
Look’d on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet,
Look’d toward the lower bay to notice the arriving ships,
Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me,
Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops—saw the ships at anchor,
The sailors at work i in the rigging, or out astride the spars, 40
The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender serpentine pennants,
The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot- houses,
The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels,
The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sun-set,
The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the frolicsome crests and glistening,
The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the granite store-houses by the docks,
On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank’d on each side by the barges—the hay- boat, the belated lighter,
On the neighboring shore, the fires from the foundry chimneys burning high and glaringly into the night,
Casting their flicker of black, contrasted with wild red and yellow light, over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of streets.
4 These, and all else, were to me the same as they are to you; 50 I project myself a moment to tell you—also I return.
I loved well those cities ; I loved well the stately and rapid river ; The men and women I saw were all near to me;
184 LEAVES OF GRASS
Others the same—others who look back on me, because I look’d forward to them ; (The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night. )
5 What is it, then, between us? What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us ?
Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not. 6
I too lived'—Brooklyn, of ample hills, was mine ; 60
I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan Island, and bathed in the waters around it ;
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,
In the day, among crowds of people, sometimes they came upon me,