Section 28

(For who except myself has yet conceiv’d what your children en-masse really are ?)
& GIVE ME THE SPLENDID SILENT SUN.
First published in ‘‘ Drum-Taps,”’ 1865. I
Give me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full-dazzling ;
Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard ;
Give me a field where the unmow’d grass grows ;
Give me an arbor, give me the trellis’d grape ;
Give me fresh corn and wheat—give me serene-moving animals, teaching content ;
Give me nights perfectly quiet, as on high plateaus west of the Mississippi, and I looking up at the stars ;
Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers, where I can walk undisturb’d ;
Give me for marriage a sweet-breath’d woman, of whom I should never tire ;
Give me a perfect child—give me, away, aside from the noise of the world, a rural, domestic life ;
Give me to warble spontaneous songs, reliev’d, recluse by myself, for my own ears only ; 10
Give me solitude—give me Nature—give me again, O Nature, your primal sanities !
—These, demanding to have them, (tired with ceaseless excite- ment, and rack’d by the war-strife ;)
These to procure, incessantly asking, rising in cries from my heart,
While yet incessantly asking, still I adhere to my city ;
Day upon day, and year upon year, O city, walking your streets,
264 LEAVES OF GRASS
Where you hold me enchain’d a certain time, refusing to give me up ;
Yet giving to make me glutted, enrich’d of soul—you give me forever faces ;
(O I see what I sought to escape, confronting, reversing my Cries ;
I see my own soul trampling down what it ask’d for.)
2
Keep your splendid, silent sun ; 20
Keep your woods, O Nature, and the quiet places by the woods ;
Keep your fields of clover and timothy, and your corn-fields and orchards ;
Keep the blossoming buckwheat fields, where the Ninth-month bees hum ;
Give me faces and streets! give me these phantoms incessant and endless along the trottoirs !
Give me interminable eyes ! give me women! give me comrades and lovers by the thousand !
Let me see new ones every day! let me hold new ones by the hand every day !
Give me such shows! give me the streets of Manhattan !
Give me Broadway, with the soldiers marching—give me the sound of the trumpets and drums !
(The soldiers in companies or regiments—some, starting away, flush’d and reckless ;
Some, their time up, returning, with thinn’d ranks—young, yet very old, worn, marching, noticing nothing ; ) 30
—Give me the shores and the wharves heavy-fringed with the black ships !
O such for me! O an intense life! O full to repletion, and varied !
The life of the theatre, bar-room, huge hotel, for me!
The saloon of the steamer! the crowded excursion for me! the torch-light procession !
The dense brigade, bound for the war, with high piled military wagons following ;
People, endless, streaming, with strong voices, passions, pag- eants ;
Manhattan streets, with their powerful throbs, with the beating drums, as now ;
The endless and noisy chorus, the rustle and clank of muskets, (even the sight of the wounded ; )
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Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus—with varied chorus, and light of the sparkling eyes ; Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me. 40
&
DIRGE FOR TWO VETERANS. First published in ‘‘ When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d,”’ 1865-6. I THE last sunbeam Lightly falls from the finish’d Sabbath, On the pavement here—and there beyond, it is looking, Down a new-made double grave.
2 Lo! the moon ascending ! Up from the east, the silvery round moon ; Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly phantom moon ; Immense and silent moon.
3 I see a sad procession, And I hear the sound of coming full-key’d bugles ; 10 All the channels of the city streets they’re flooding, As with voices and with tears.
4 I hear the great drums pounding, And the small drums steady whirring ; And every blow of the great convulsive drums, Strikes me through and through.
5 For the son is brought with the father ; In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell ; Two veterans, son and father, dropt together, And the double grave awaits them. 20
6
Now nearer blow the bugles,
And the drums strike more convulsive ;
And the day-light o’er the pavement quite has faded, And the strong dead-march enwraps me.
266 LEAVES OF GRASS
7
In the eastern sky up-buoying, The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin’d ; (’Tis some mother’s large, transparent face, In heaven brighter growing. )
8
O strong dead-march, you please me! O moon immense, with your silvery face you soothe me! 30 O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial ! What I have I also give you.
2) The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music ; And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.
*
OVER THE CARNAGE ROSE PROPHETIC A VOICE. First published in ‘‘ Drum-Taps,’’ 1865.
OVER the carnage rose prophetic a voice,
Be not dishearten’d—Affection shall solve the problems of Freedom yet ;
Those who love each other shall become invincible—they shall yet make Columbia victorious.
Sons of the Mother of All! you shall yet be victorious ! You shall yet laugh to scorn the attacks of all the remainder of the earth.
No danger shall balk Columbia’s lovers ; If need be, a thousand shall sternly immolate themselves for one.
One from Massachusetts shall be a Missourian’s comrade ;
From Maine and from hot Carolina, and another, an Oregonese, shall be friends triune,
More precious to each other than all the riches of the earth. 1o
DRUM-TAPS | 267
To Michigan, Florida perfumes shail tenderly come ; Not the perfumes of flowers, but sweeter, and wafted beyond death.
It shall be customary in the houses and streets to see manly affection ;
The most dauntless and rude shall touch face to face lightly. ;
The dependence of Liberty shall be lovers,
The continuance of Equality shall be comrades.
These shall tie you end band you stronger than hoops of iron ; I, extatic, O partners! O lands! with the love of lovers tie you.
(Were you looking to be held together by the lawyers ? Or by an agreement on a paper? or by arms?! 120 —Nay—nor the world, nor any living thing, will so cohere. )
& THE ARTILLERYMAN’S VISION.
First published in “Drum-Taps,’’ 1865, under title of ‘* The Veteran’s Vision.”
WHILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars are over long,
And my head on the pillow rests at home, and the vacant mid- night passes,’
And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just hear, the breath of my infant,
There in the room, as I wake from sleep, this vision presses upon me:
The engagement opens there and then, in fantasy* unreal ;
The skirmishers begin—they crawl cautiously ahead—I hear the irregular snap! snap !
I hear the sounds of the different missiles—the short +A-¢ / t-h-t/ of the rifle balls ; :
I see:the shells exploding, leaving small white clouds—I hear the great shells shrieking as they pass ;
The grape, like the hum and whirr of wind through the trees, (quick, tumultuous, now the contest rages !)
1 Lines 19 and 20 originally were part of No. 5 Calamus in edition of 1860, See page —. i
2 Drum-Taps, 1865. For ‘‘vacant’’ reads ‘*mystic.’’
3 Drum-Taps, 1865. For ‘‘in fantasy ”’ reads ‘‘in my busy brain,’’ etc,
268 LEAVES OF GRASS
All the scenes at the batteries themselves rise in detail before me
; again ; ike)
The crashing and smoking—the pride of the men in their pieces ;
The chief gunner ranges and sights his piece, and selects a fuse of the right time ;
After firing, I see him lean aside, and look eagerly off to note the effect ;
—Elsewhere I hear the cry of a regiment charging—(the young colonel leads himself this time, with brandish’d sword ;)
I see the gaps cut by the enemy’s volleys, (quickly fill’d up, no- delay ;
I breathe she eee smoke—then the flat clouds hover low, concealing all ;
Now a strange lull comes for a few seconds, not a shot fired on either side ;
Then resumed, the chaos louder than ever, with eager calls, and orders of officers ;
While from some distant part of the field the wind wafts to my ears a shout of applause, (some special success ;)
And ever the sound of the cannon, far or near, (rousing, even in dreams, a devilish exultation, and all the old mad joy, in the depths of my soul ;) 20
And ever the hastening of infantry shifting positions—batteries, cavalry, moving hither and thither ;
(The falling, dying, I heed not—the wounded, dripping and red, I heed not—some to the rear are hobbling ;) Grime, heat, rush—aid-de-camps galloping by, or on a full run ; With the patter of small arms, the warning s-s-¢ of the rifles,
(these in my vision I hear or see, ) And bombs busting in air, and at night the vari-color’d rockets.
*
I SAW OLD GENERAL AT BAY. First published in ‘‘ Drum-Taps,”’ 1865.
I saw old General at bay ;
(Old as he was, his grey eyes yet shone out in battle like stars ;)
His small force was now completely hemm’d in, in his works ;
He call’d for volunteers to run the enemy’s lines—a desperate emergency ;
I saw a hundred and more step forth from the ranks—but two or three were selected ;
DRUM-TAPS 269
I saw them receive their orders aside—they listen’d with care— the adjutant was very grave ; I saw them depart with cheerfulness, freely risking their lives.
&
O TAN-FACED PRAIRIE-BOY.
First published in ‘* Drum-Taps,”’ 1865.
O TAN-FACED prairie-boy !
Before you came to camp, came many a welcome gift ;
Praises and presents came, and nourishing food—till at last, among the recruits,
You came, taciturn, with nothing to give—we but look’d on each other,
When lo! more than all the gifts of the world, you gave me.
&
LOOK DOWN FAIR MOON.
First published in ‘‘ Drum-Taps,’’ 1865.
Loox down, fair moon, and bathe this scene ;
Pour softly down night’s nimbus floods, on faces ghastly, swollen, purple ;
On the dead, on their backs, with their arms toss’d wide,
Pour down your unstinted nimbus, sacred moon.
&*
RECONCILIATION. First published in ‘‘ When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d,”’ 1865-6.
Worp over all, beautiful as the sky !
Beautiful that war, and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost ;
That the hands of the sisters Death and Night, incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil’d world:
For my enemy is dead—a man divine as myself is dead ;
I look where he lies, white-faced and still, in the coffin—I draw near ;
I bend down, and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.
270 LEAVES OF GRASS
SPIRIT WHOSE WORK IS DONE.
(WasHinGtTon City, 1865.)
First published in ‘‘ When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d,”’ 1865-6.
Spirit whose work is done! spirit of dreadful hours!
Ere, departing, fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets ;
Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet onward ever unfalter- ing pressing ; )
Spirit of many a solemn day, and many a savage scene! Elec- tric spirit !
That with muttering voice, through the war’ now closed, like a tireless phantom flitted,
Rousing the land with breath of flame, while you beat and beat the drum ;
—Now, as the sound of the drum, hollow and harsh to the last, reverberates round me ;
As your ranks, your immortal ranks, return, return from the
battles ; While the muskets of the young men yet lean over their shoul- ders ; 10
While I look on the bayonets bristling over their shoulders ;
While those slanted bayonets, whole forests of them, appearing in the distance, approach and pass on, returning home- ward,
Moving with steady motion, swaying to and fro, to the right and left,
Evenly, lightly rising and falling, as the steps keep time ;
—Spirit of hours I knew, all hectic red one day, but pale as death next day ;
Touch my mouth, ere you depart—press my lips close!
Leave me your pulses of rage! bequeath them to me! fill me with currents convulsive !
Let them scorch and blister out of my chants, when you are gone ;
Let them identify you to the future, in these songs.
1 Added in 1870. 2 When Lilacs, etc. For ‘‘ war’? reads ‘‘ years,”
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HOW SOLEMN, AS ONE BY ONE.
(WasuHINGTON Cry, 1865.1)
First published in ‘‘ When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d,” 1865-6.
How solemn, as one by one,
As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty—as the men file by where I stand ;
As the faces, the masks appear—as I glance at the faces, study- ing the masks ;
(As I glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend, whoever you are ;)
How solemn the thought of my whispering soul, to each in the ranks, and to you;
I see behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul ;
O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend,
Nor the bayonet stab what you really are:
... The soul! yourself I see, great as any, good as the best,
Waiting, secure and content, which the bullet could never kill,
Nor the bayonet stab, O friend ! 10
&*
NOT YOUTH PERTAINS TO ME. First published in ‘‘ Drum-Taps,”’ 1865.
Not youth pertains to me,
Nor delicatesse—I cannot beguile the time with talk ;
Awkward in the parlor, neither a dancer nor elegant ;
In the learn’d coterie sitting constrain’d and still—for learning inures not to me;
Beauty, knowledge,’ inure not to me—yet there are two or three things inure to me ;
I have nourish’d the wounded, and sooth’d many a dying soldier,
And at intervals, waiting, or in the midst of camp,
Composed these songs.
1 Added in 1870. 2 Drum-Taps reads ‘‘ Beauty, knowledge, fortune,’’ etc. 3 Drum-Taps. For lines 7 and 8 read ‘‘And at intervals I have strung together a few songs, Fit for war, and the life of the camp.”’
272 LEAVES OF GRASS
TO THE LEAVEN’D SOIL THEY TROD. First published in ‘‘ When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d,” 1865-6.
To the leaven’d soil they trod, calling, I sing, for the last ; (Not cities, nor man alone, nor war, nor the dead,
But forth from my tent emerging for good—loosing, untying the .
tent-ropes ; )
Jn the freshness, the forenoon air, in the far-stretching circuits and vistas, again to peace restored,
To the fiery fields emanative, and the endless vistas beyond—to the south and the north ;
To the leaven’d soil of the general western world, to attest my songs,
(To the average earth, the wordless earth, witness of war and peace, )
To the Alleghanian hills, and the tireless Mississippi,
To the rocks I, calling, sing, and all the trees in the woods,
To the plain of the poems of heroes, to the prairie spreading
wide, Io To the far-off sea, and the unseen winds, and the same impalpa- ble air ;
... And responding, they answer all, (but not in words, ) The average earth, the witness of war and peace, acknowledges
mutely ;
The prairie draws me close, as the father, to bosom broad, the son ;
The Northern ice and rain, that began me, nourish me to the end ;
But the hot sun of the South is to ripen my songs.
& DELICATE CLUSTER.
First published in 1870. DELICATE cluster! flag of teeming life ! Covering all my lands! all my sea-shores lining! Flag of death! (how I watch’d you through the smoke of battle pressing ! How I heard you flap and rustle, cloth defiant !) Flag cerulean! sunny flag! with the orbs of night dappled! Ah my silvery beauty ! ah my woolly white and crimson! Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty ! My sacred one, my mother.
SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAY-BREAK 273
SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAY-BREAK.
First published in ‘‘ Drum-Taps,’’ 186s.
PorT.
O a new song, a free song,
Flapping, flapping, flapping, flapping, by sounds, by voices clearer,
By the wind’s voice and that 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 day-break is flapping.
Words! book-words! what are you?
Words no more, for hearken and see, 10 My song is there in the open air—and I must sing,
With the banner and pennant a-flapping.
I’ll weave the chord and twine in,
Man’s desire and babe’s desire—I’1l twine them in, I’ll put in lite;
I’ll put the bayonet’s flashing point—I’ll let bullets and slugs whizz ;
(As one carrying a symbol and menace, far into the future,
Crying with trumpet voice, Avouse and beware! Beware and
arouse /)'
T’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 pennant a-flapping. 20 |
PENNANT.”
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.