Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman [books to read for 12 year olds txt] 📗

the Identity formed out of thirty-eight spacious and haughty

States, (and many more to come,)

See forts on the shores of harbors, see ships sailing in and out;

Then over all, (aye! aye!) my little and lengthen’d pennant shaped

like a sword,

Runs swiftly up indicating war and defiance—and now the halyards

have rais’d 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, bard! yet farther, wider cleave!

No longer let our children deem us 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 ships sailing in and out are ours—while we over all,

Over the area spread below, the three or four millions of square

miles, the capitals,

The forty millions of people,—O bard! 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:

O my father I like not the houses,

They will never to me be any thing, nor do I like money,

But to mount up there I would like, O 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 every thing,

Forward to stand in front of wars—and O, 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, aye all will I, sword-shaped pennant for war,

And a pleasure new and ecstatic, and the 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 envelop’d in smoke,

And the icy cool of the far, far north, with rustling cedars and pines,

And the whirr 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 chutes,

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! whelm 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, deafen’d and blinded,

My hearing and tongue are come to me, (a little child taught me,)

I hear from above O pennant 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,

You 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,)

Divider of daybreak you, cutting the air, touch’d by the sun,

measuring the sky,

(Passionately seen and yearn’d for by one poor little child,

While others remain busy or smartly talking, forever teaching

thrift, thrift;)

O you up there! O pennant! 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—O you banner leading the day with stars brought from the night!

Valueless, object of eyes, over all and demanding all—(absolute

owner of all)—O banner and pennant!

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 pennant! O banner so broad, with stripes,

sing you only,

Flapping up there in the wind.

 

} Rise O Days from Your Fathomless Deeps

 

1

Rise O days from your fathomless deeps, till you loftier, fiercer sweep,

Long for my soul hungering gymnastic I devour’d what the earth gave me,

Long I roam’d amid the woods of the north, long I watch’d Niagara pouring,

I travel’d the prairies over and slept on their breast, I cross’d

the Nevadas, I cross’d the plateaus,

I ascended the towering rocks along the Pacific, I sail’d out to sea,

I sail’d through the storm, I was refresh’d by the storm,

I watch’d with joy the threatening maws of the waves,

 

I mark’d the white combs where they career’d so high, curling over,

I heard the wind piping, I saw the black clouds,

Saw from below what arose and mounted, (O superb! O wild as my

heart, and powerful!)

Heard the continuous thunder as it bellow’d 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, saw—saw with wonder, yet pensive

and masterful,

All the menacing might of the globe uprisen around me,

Yet there with my soul I fed, I fed content, supercilious.

 

2

‘Twas well, O soul—‘twas 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 rills of the Northwest 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 to-day? was the sea risen?

Was the wind piping the pipe of death under the black clouds?

Lo! from deeps more unfathomable, something more deadly and savage,

Manhattan rising, advancing with menacing front—Cincinnati, Chicago,

unchain’d;

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 wall and low sob I fancied I heard through the dark,

In a lull of the deafening confusion.)

 

3

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 walk’d my cities, my country roads through farms, only

half satisfied,

One doubt nauseous undulating like a snake, crawl’d on the ground before me,

Continually preceding my steps, turning upon me oft, ironically hissing low;

The cities I loved so well I abandon’d and left, I sped to the

certainties suitable to me,

Hungering, hungering, hungering, for primal energies and Nature’s

dauntlessness,

I refresh’d myself with it only, I could relish it only,

I waited the bursting forth of the pent fire—on the water and air

waited long;

But now I no longer wait, I am fully satisfied, I am glutted,

I have witness’d the true lightning, I have witness’d my cities electric,

I have lived to behold man burst forth and warlike 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 son 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 plenteous offspring,

Drest in blue, bearing their trusty rifles on their shoulders.

 

Then the Mother of All with calm voice speaking,

As to you Rebellious, (I seemed 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!

(O the black ships! O the fierce ships!

O the beautiful sharp-bow’d steamships and sailships!)

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—mettlesome, 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 offer’d me—whom you adopted I have adopted,

Good or bad I never question you—I love all—I do not condemn any thing,

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 1861-2, 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 follow’d me well, spite 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 plain below recruits are drilling and exercising,

There is the camp, one regiment departs to-morrow,

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-drest friends and the women,

While splendid and warm the afternoon sun shines down,

Green the midsummer verdure and fresh blows the dallying breeze,

O’er 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!