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[Skip the Intro] [c. 43,000 words] [End]

Leaves of Grass / Leevz uv Graas
in Éeze Réeder Format

I present here the first part of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, the single best-known book of poetry in the English language, in side-by-side standard and phonetic spelling. The respelling system used here, Augméntad Fanétik, should be easily readable by anyone who already reads English fluently, but the rules by which things are spelled are set out for easy reference in the main "Fanetiks" page at index.html . (The only difficult spellings for present readers of English are those that employ OR for the sound of AR in the word "bar": "bor" (short-O). The key to reading that combination right is to remember it is "OR as in forest, tomorrow, and Florida". If in your own dialect those OR's still sound like the OR in "format", that won't much help.)

Augméntad Fanétik differs from ordinary (unaugmented) Fanetik in supplying accents to mark syllabic stress:  the acute accent appears over the syllable that takes primary stress ("príemere"); the grave accent marks secondary stress ("sékandère"); and on a very few words of many syllables, the circumflex accent indicates tertiary stress ("lèksikógrafêr").

This site is designed to show the utility of a phonetic spelling system in bringing out the sounds of poetry (or, as some people regard much of Leaves of Grass, "lined prose"). The particular work chosen was selected for its extraordinary literary importance, political importance, and importance in gay history.

Literarily, the self-publication of Leaves of Grass in a small edition in 1855 was a groundbreaking (not to say "earth-shattering") event. It broke from many of the conventions of poetry of its day as to both subject matter and its seeming formlessness — for instance, there's very little rhyme. It spoke of everyday objects rather than 'exalted themes', and celebrated the (then-) modern while giving due recognition to the past. It was also shocking in its sexual openness — hetero- as well as homo- — and was indeed condemned by some critics as obscene. Leaves was also a stridently American work that focused on the New World and what it had to offer.

Thus arose its political importance, for in it Whitman champions democracy, egalitarianism, and the melding of the various ethnic and racial strains of the Old World into a 'new race' stronger and abler than any of the old, which would give rise to new forms and ideas, and revitalize and reform the Old World on an American model. Whitman appreciated before almost anyone else that the United States not only would eventually be what we now call a "superpower", but that it had already become so during his lifetime (he died in 1892). On August 7, 1888 he suggested that the "quality and limitlessness of number [of American fighting men] are easily admitted. But we have, too, the eligibility of organizing, handling and officering equal to the other [capacity, that is: numbers]. These two, with modern arms, transportation, and inventive American genius, would make the United States, with earnestness, not only able to stand the whole world, but conquer that world united against us." The implications of such power have not been fully grasped by our "leaders" even today, 111 years after Whitman made that observation.

As for the importance to homosexual men of Leaves of Grass, the entire work is permeated by a homosexual esthetic and eroticism that only gay men will fully appreciate. Passages that others may not see as provocative will be understood by gay men to describe aspects of their lives and their world that no one writing in English in recent centuries had dared speak to before.

Tho Leaves is certainly not a perfect work — Whitman's lists of occupations, places, etc., can become tedious, and he sometimes goes off on spiritualistic excursions into exotic religions that almost no one in the West knows (or cares) anything about — it is an enormously important work, and I hope this presentation makes it more readily accessible to young readers (who can ALWAYS "sound out" unfamiliar words in the right-hand column, there being no trick patterns like "knight" that cannot be sounded out), students of English as a Second Language, and people whose English pronunciation and vocabulary need work.

This is not intended to be a 'definitive', scholarly site for people who treat Whitman as "literature" and want to know about "alternative readings", discarded titles in various revisions, etc., but a place where people interested in the experience of reading Leaves of Grass new might enjoy the experience with a new dimension:  clear spellings in which NO pronunciation is ambiguous. This is a definitive site for the pronunciation of every word in Whitman's text. Forget about running to a dictionary to know how something is to be said. I've done that for you, and every word has a "pronunciation key" right alongside.

"Paumanok"?  I couldn't find that in a dictionary — and I'm using FOUR dictionaries in this project: the electronic versions of the Random House Unabridged Dictionary and American Heritage Dictionary and hardcopy versions of Merriam-Webster's Tenth New Collegiate Dictionary and The Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary). So I asked the bookkeeper in my office, who was born and raised on Long Island (for which "Paumanok" is an American Indian name). She had never heard of it, and thought it might be a name no longer used.  So I found an Internet site for Long Island's largest newspaper, Newsday, that dealt with Whitman's days on and writings about Long Island (he was born and raised there) that mentioned "Paumanok" and even gave its Indian meaning — but not a pronunciation. I then inquired of the staff of "Newsday In Education" how that unusual word is pronounced.

Meanwhile, my co-worker from Bayshore, L.I., found an Internet site for a winery that uses the name "Paumanok" and phoned to ask how they pronounce it.  That winery and Newsday In Education both came up with the same pronunciation. So when I transliterate that name as "Páumanòk", you can be pretty confident that that is an intellectually respectable pronunciation.
As with "Paumanok", so with everything else except the rare words I could not find anywhere, so marked with "[?]". Aside from those few words, you should feel confident that if you understand Fanetik, what you read (aloud, or 'aloud' to yourself) in Augméntad Fanétik is the way educated people would pronounce that word.

Now, Part 1 of 'The Great Book', thru "Song of Myself".

Notes about syllabic stress in phrases: (1) Whitman uses many words in two- or three-word phrases, sometimes linked by hyphen(s). Many of them are today ordinary compound words, but I have left them hyphened. Where is it plain which syllables in the phrase taken as a whole take primary or secondary stress, I have supplied the appropriate accent(s), as tho the phrase were a single word. Where the words linked are each of more than one syllable, I have tended to show syllabic stress for each word independently, as tho the phrase overall has no different stress pattern than would the words without a hyphen to link them. 

(2) Moreover, there are places where words of similar sort appear in close proximity as to show a contrast between them, such as "forenoons and afternoons". In that the reader should express that contrast in reading, I have supplied the appropriate contrasting stress pattern: fáurnuenz aand áafternùenz.

(I had no Fanetik-savvy proofreader to help with this page, so if you spot mistakes, please let me know:

Highlights:  I Hear America Singing, Poets to Come, Starting from Paumanok, Song of Myself
 Traditional Orthography ("T.O.") Augméntad Fanétik

by Walt Whitman 


bi Wault Hwítman
Áeteen Fìftee-Fíev


Come, said my Soul,
Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,)
That should I after death invisibly return,
Or, long, long hence, in other spheres,
There to some group of mates the chants resuming,
(Tallying Earth's soil, trees, winds, tumultous waves,)
Ever with pleas'd smile I may keep on,
Ever and ever yet the verses owning — as, first, I here and now,
Signing for Soul and Body, set to them my name,

Walt Whitman


Kum, sed mi Soel,
Such vérsaz faur mi Bóde let us riet, (faur we or wun,)
Thaat shood I áafter detth invízible reetérn,
Aur, laung, laung hens, in úther sfeerz,
Thair tu sum gruep uv maets tha chaants reezúeming,
(Táaleeying Ertth's sóiyal, treez, windz, toomúlchuewas waevz,)
Éver witth pleezd smíeyal I mae keep on,
Éver aand éver yet tha vérsaz óening — aaz, ferst, I heer aand nou,
Síening faur Soel aand Bóde, set tu them mi naem,

Wault Hwítman


One's-self I sing, a simple separate person,
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse.

Of physiology from top to toe I sing,
Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say the Form complete is worthier far,
The Female equally with the Male I sing.

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful, for freest action form'd under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.


Wun'z-sélf I sing, a símpal séprat pérsan,
Yet úter tha werd Dèmakráatik, the werd onn-mós.

Uv fìzeeyólajèe frum top tu to I sing,
Not fìzeeyógnamèe alóen naur braen alóen iz wérthe faur tha Myuez, I sae
tha Faurm kampléet iz wértheeyer for,
Tha Féemail éekwale witth tha Mail I sing.

Uv Lief iméns in páashan, puls, aand póuwer,

Chéerfool, faur fréeyast áakshan faurmd únder tha lauz divíen,
Tha Módern Maan I sing.


As I ponder'd in silence,
Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long,
A Phantom arose before me with distrustful aspect,
Terrible in beauty, age, and power,
The genius of poets of old lands,
As to me directing like flame its eyes,
With finger pointing to many immortal songs,
And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said,

Know'st thou not there is hut one theme for ever-enduring bards?
And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles,
The making of perfect soldiers.


Aaz I pónderd in síelans
Reetérning apón mi póewamz, kansídering, línggering laung,
A fáantam aróez beefáur me witth distrústfool áaspekt,
Téribool in byúete, aej, aand póuwer,
Tha jéenyas uv póewats uv oeld laandz,
Aaz tu me dirékting liek flaem its iez,
Witth fíngger póinting tu méne imáurtal saungz,

Aand ménasing vois, Hwut síngast thou? it sed,

Noe'st thou not thair iz but wun ttheem faur éver-endúering bordz?
Aand thaat iz tha ttheem uv Waur, tha fáurchan uv báatalz,
The máeking uv pérfakt sóeljerz.

Be it so, then I answer'd,
I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one than any,
Waged in my book with varying fortune, with flight, advance and retreat, victory deferr'd and wavering,
(Yet methinks certain, or as good as certain, at the last,) the field the world,
For life and death, for the Body and for the eternal Soul,
Lo, I too am come, chanting the chant of battles,
I above all promote brave soldiers.
Be it so, then I áanserd,
I tue háute Shaed áulso sing waur, aand a láungger aand gráeter wun thaan éne,
Waejd in mi book witth váareeying fáurchan, witth fliet, aadváans aand reetréet, víktare deférd aand wáevering,
(Yet meetthíngks sértan, aur aaz good aaz sértan, aat tha laast,) tha feeld tha woorld,
Faur lief aand detth, faur tha Bóde aand faur the eetérnal Soel,
Lo, I tue aam kum, cháanting tha chaant uv báatalz,
I abúv aul pramóet braev sóeljerz.

In cabin'd ships at sea,
The boundless blue on every side expanding,
With whistling winds and music of the waves, the large imperious waves,
Or some lone bark buoy'd on the dense marine,
Where joyous full of faith, spreading white sails,
She cleaves the ether mid the sparkle and the foam of day, or under many a star at night,
By sailors young and old haply will I, a reminiscence of the land, be read,
In full rapport at last.


In káabind ships aat see,
Tha bóundlas blu on évre sied ekspáanding,
Witth hwísling windz aand myúezik uv tha waevz, tha lorj impéereeyas waevz,
Aur sum loen bork boid on tha dens maréen,
Hwair jóiyas fool uv faetth, spréding hwiet sailz,
She kleevz the éetther mid tha spórkool aand tha foem uv dae, aur únder méne a stor aat niet,
Bi sáilerz yung aand oeld háaple wil I, a reminísans uv tha laand, be red,
In fool rapáur aat laast.

Here are our thoughts, voyagers' thoughts,
Here not the land, firm land, alone appears, may then by them be said,

The sky o'erarches here, we feel the undulating deck beneath our feet,
We feel the long pulsation, ebb and flow of endless motion,
The tones of unseen mystery, the vague and vast suggestions of the briny world, the liquid-flowing syllables,
The perfume, the faint creaking of the cordage, the melancholy rhythm,
The boundless vista and the horizon far and dim are all here,
And this is ocean's poem.
Heer or óuwer tthauts, vóiyajerz' tthauts,
Heer not tha laand, ferm laand, alóen apéerz, mae then bi them be sed,

Tha ski aurórchaz heer, we feel the úndyoolàeting dek binéetth óuwer feet,
We feel tha laung pulsáeshan, eb aand flo uv éndlas móeshan,
Tha toenz uv únsèen místere, tha vaeg aand vaast sagjéschanz uv tha bríene woorld, tha líkwid-flóewing sílaboolz,
Tha pérfyuem, tha faent kréeking uv tha káurdaj, tha mélankòle rítham,
Tha bóundlas vísta aand tha haríezan for aand dim or aul heer,
Aand this iz óeshan'z póewam.
Then falter not O book, fulfil your destiny,
You not a reminiscence of the land alone,
You too as a lone bark cleaving the ether, purpos'd I know not whither, yet ever full of faith,
Consort to every ship that sails, sail you!
Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it here in every leaf;)
Speed on my book! spread your white sails my little bark athwart the imperious waves,
Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the boundless blue from me to every sea,
This song for mariners and all their ships.
Then fáulter not Oe book, foolfíl yaur déstine,
Yu not a reminísans uv tha laand alóen,
Yu tue aaz a loen bork kléeving the éetther, pérpast I noe not hwíther, yet éver fool uf faetth,
Kónsaurt tu évre ship thaat sailz, sail yu!
Bair faurtth tu them fóeldad mi luv, (deer máarinerz, faur yu I foeld it heer in évre leef;)
Speed on mi book! spred yaur hwiet sailz mi lítal bork atthwáurt the impéereeyas waevz,
Chaant on, sail on, bair aur tha bóundlas blu frum me tu évre see,
This saung faur máarinerz aand aul thair ships.

I heard that you ask'd for something to prove this puzzle the New World,
And to define America, her athletic Democracy,
Therefore I send you my poems that you behold in them what you wanted.


I herd thaat yu aaskt faur súmtthing tu pruev this
púzool tha Nu Woorld,
Aand tu deefíen Amáirika, her aatthlétik Damókrase,
Tháirfaur I send yu mi póewamz thaat yu beehóeld in them hwut yu wóntad.


You who celebrate bygones,
Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races, the life that has exhibited itself,
Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates, rulers and priests,
I, habitan of the Alleghanies, treating of him as he is in himself in his own rights,
Pressing the pulse of the life that has seldom exhibited itself, (the great pride of man in himself,)
Chanter of Personality, outlining what is yet to be,
I project the history of the future.


Yu hu sélabraet bíegaunz,
Hu haav ekspláurd the óutwerd, tha sérfasaz uv tha ráesaz, tha lief thaat haaz egzíbitad itsélf,
Hu haav tréetad uv maan aaz tha kréecher uv pólitiks, áagragats, rúelerz aand preests,
I, háabitan uv the Àalagáeneez, tréeting uv him aaz he iz in himsélf in hiz oen riets,
Présing tha puls uv tha lief thaat haaz séldam egzíbitad itsélf, (tha graet pried uv maan in himsélf,)
Cháanter uv Persanáalite, óutliening hwut iz yet tu be,
I prajékt tha hístare uv tha fyúecher.


To thee old cause!
Thou peerless, passionate, good cause,
Thou stern, remorseless, sweet idea,
Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands,
After a strange sad war, great war for thee,
(I think all war through time was really fought, and ever will be really fought, for thee,)
These chants for thee, the eternal march of thee.


Tu thee oeld kauz!
Thou péerlas, páashanat, good kauz,
Thou stern, reemáurslas, sweet iedéeya,
Détthlas tthruewóut the áejaz, ráesaz, laandz,
Áafter a straenj saad waur, graet waur faur thee,(I tthingk aul waur tthru tiem wuz réele faut, aand éver wil be réele faut, faur thee,)
Theez chaants faur thee, the eetérnal morch uv thee.

(A war O soldiers not for itself alone,
Far, far more stood silently waiting behind, now to advance in this book.)
(A waur Oe sóeljerz not faur itsélf alóen,
For, for maur stood síelantle wáeting beehíend, nou tu aadváans in this book.)
Thou orb of many orbs!
Thou seething principle! thou well-kept, latent germ! thou centre!
Around the idea of thee the war revolving,
With all its angry and vehement play of causes,
(With vast results to come for thrice a thousand years,)
These recitatives for thee, — my book and the war are one,
Merged in its spirit I and mine, as the contest hinged on thee,
As a wheel on its axis turns, this book unwitting to itself,
Around the idea of thee.
Thou aurb uv méne aurbz!
Thou séething prínsipool! thou wél-képt, láetant jerm! thou sénter!
Aróund the iedéeya uv thee tha waur reevólving,
Witth aul its áanggre aand véeyamant plae uv káuzaz,
(Witth vaast reezúlts tu kum faur tthries a tthóuzand yeerz,)
Theez rèsitatéevz faur thee, — mi book aand tha waur or wun,
Merjd in its spéerit I aand mien, aaz tha kóntest hinjd on thee,
Aaz a hweel on its áaksis ternz, this book unwíting tu itsélf,
Aróund the iedéeya uv thee.
[Webster's Tenth New Collegiate Dictionary defines and eidolon as '1 : an unsubstantial image: phantom; 2 : ideal'.]

I met a seer,
Passing the hues and objects of the world,
The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,
To glean eidolons.

[Webster'z Tentth Nu Kaléejat Díkshanèree deefíenz aan iedóelan aaz '1 : aan ùnsabstáanshal ímaj: fáantam; 2 : iedéel'.]

I met a séeyer,
Páasing the hyuez aand óbjekts uv tha woorld,
Tha feeldz uv ort aand lérning, plézher, sens,
Tu gleen iedóelanz.

Put in thy chants said he,
No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in,
Put first before the rest as light for all and entrance-song of all,
That of eidolons.
Poot in thi chaants sed he,
No maur tha púzling óuwer nor dae, naur ségmants, ports, poot in,
Poot ferst beefáur tha rest aaz liet faur aul aand éntrans-saung uv aul,
Thaat uv iedóelanz.
Ever the dim beginning,
Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle,
Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,)
Eidolons! eidolons!
Éver tha dim beegíning,
Éver tha groetth, tha róunding uv tha sérkool,
Éver the súmit aand tha merj aat laast, (tu shúerle stort agén,)
Iedóelanz! iedóelanz!
Ever the mutable,
Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering,
Ever the ateliers, the factories divine,
Issuing eidolons.
Éver tha myúetabool,
Éver matéereeyalz, cháenjing, krúmbling, rèe-koehéering,
Éver the atélyaez, tha fáaktareez divíen,
Íshuewing iedóelanz.
Lo, I or you,
Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown,
We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build,
But really build eidolons.
Lo, I aur yu,
Aur wóoman, maan, aur staet, noen aur únoen,
We séeming sólid weltth, strengktth, byúete bild,
But réele bild iedóelanz.
The ostent evanescent,
The substance of an artist's mood or savan's studies long,
Or warrior's, martyr's, hero's toils,
To fashion his eidolon.
The óstent èvanésant,
Tha súbstans uv aan órtist's mued aur savón'z stúdeez laung,
Aur wáureeyer'z, mórter'z, héeroe'z tóiyalz,
Tu fáashan hiz iedóelan.
Of every human life,
(The units gather'd, posted, not a thought, emotion, deed, left out,)
The whole or large or small summ'd, added up, In its eidolon.
Uv évre hyúeman lief,
(Tha yúenits gáatherd, póestad, not a tthaut, eemóeshan, deed, left out,)
Tha hoel aur lorj aur smaul sumd, áadad up,
In its iedóelan.
The old, old urge,
Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo, newer, higher pinnacles,
From science and the modern still impell'd,
The old, old urge, eidolons.
The oeld, oeld erj,
Baest on the áenchant pínakoolz, loe, núewer, híeyer pínakoolz,
Frum síeyans aand tha módern stil impéld,
The oeld, oeld erj, iedóelanz.
The present now and here,
America's busy, teeming, intricate whirl,
Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing,
To-day's eidolons.
Tha prézant nou aand heer,
Amáirika'z bíze, téeming, íntrikat hwoorl,
Uv áagragat aand ségragat faur óenle thens reeléesing,
Toodáe'z iedóelanz.
These with the past,
Of vanish'd lands, of all the reigns of kings across the sea,
Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors' voyages,
Joining eidolons.
Theez witth tha paast,
Uv váanisht laandz, uv aul tha raenz uv kingz akráus tha see,
Oeld kóngkererz, oeld kaampáenz, oeld sáilerz' vóiyajaz,
Jóining iedóelanz.
Densities, growth, facades,
Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees,
Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave,
Eidolons everlasting.
Dénsiteez, groetth, fasódz,
Stráata uv móuntanz, sóiyalz, roks, jíeyant treez,
For-báurn, for-díeying, líving laung, tu leev,
Iedóelanz èverláasting.
Exalte, rapt, ecstatic,
The visible but their womb of birth,
Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape,
The mighty earth-eidolon.
Ègzaultáe, raapt, ekstáatik,
Tha vízibool but thair wuem uv bertth,
Uv áurbik téndanseez tu shaep aand shaep aand shaep,
Tha míete értth-iedòelan.
All space, all time,
(The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns,
Swelling, collapsing, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,)
Fill'd with eidolons only.
Aul spaes, aul tiem,
(Tha storz, tha téribool pèrterbáeshanz uv tha sunz,
Swéling, kaláapsing, énding, sérving thair láungger, sháurter yues,)
Fild witth iedóelanz óenle.
The noiseless myriads,
The infinite oceans where the rivers empty,
The separate countless free identities, like eyesight,
The true realities, eidolons.
Tha nóizlas méereeyadz,
The ínfinit óeshanz hwair tha ríverz émpte,
Tha séprat kóuntlas fre iedéntiteez, liek íesìet,
Tha tru reeyáaliteez, iedóelanz.
Not this the world,
Nor these the universes, they the universes,
Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life,
Eidolons, eidolons.
Not this tha woorld,
Naur theez tha yúeniversaz, thae tha yúeniversaz,
Perpáurt aand end, éver tha pérmanant lief uv lief,
Iedóelanz, iedóelanz.
Beyond thy lectures learn'd professor,
Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope observer keen, beyond all mathematics,
Beyond the doctor's surgery, anatomy, beyond the chemist with his chemistry,
The entities of entities, eidolons.
Beeyónd thi lékcherz lernd praféser,
Beeyónd thi télaskòep aur spéktraskòep abzérver keen, beeyónd aul màatthamáatiks, Beeyónd tha dókter'z sérjare, anáatame, beeyónd tha kémist witth hiz kémistre, The éntiteez uv éntiteez, iedóelanz.
Unfix'd yet fix'd,
Ever shall be, ever have been and are,
Sweeping the present to the infinite future,
Eidolons, eidolons, eidolons.
Únfìkst yet fikst,
Éver shaal be, éver haav bin aand or,
Swéeping tha prézant tu the ínfinit fyúecher,
Iedóelanz, iedóelanz, iedóelanz.
The prophet and the bard,
Shall yet maintain themselves, in higher stages yet,
Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy, interpret yet to them,
God and eidolons.
Tha prófat aand tha bord,
Shaal yet maentáen themsélvz, in híeyer stáejaz yet,
Shaal méedeeyaet tu tha Módern, tu Damókrase, intérprat yet tu them,
God aand iedóelanz.
And thee my soul,
Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations,
Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet,
Thy mates, eidolons.
Aand thee mi soel,
Joiz, séeslas éksersìezaz, ègzaultáeshanz,
Thi yérning áample fed aat laast, preepáird tu meet,
Thi maets, iedóelanz.
Thy body permanent,
The body lurking there within thy body,
The only purport of the form thou art, the real I myself,
An image, an eidolon.
Thi bóde pérmanant,
Tha bóde lérking thair witthín thi bóde,
The óenle perpáurt uv tha faurm thou ort, tha reel I miesélf,
Aan ímaj, aan iedóelan.
Thy very songs not in thy songs,
No special strains to sing, none for itself,
But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating,
A round full-orb'd eidolon.
Thi vére saungz not in thi saungz,
No spéshal straenz tu sing, nun faur itsélf,
But frum tha hoel reezúlting, ríezing aat laast aand flóeting,
A round fóol-àurbd iedóelan.

For him I sing,
I raise the present on the past,
(As some perennial tree out of its roots, the present on the past,)
With time and space I him dilate and fuse the immortal laws,
To make himself by them the law unto himself.


Faur him I sing,
I raez tha prézant on tha paast,
(Aaz sum paréneeyal tre out uv its ruets, tha prézant on tha paast,)
Witth tiem aand spaes I him dieláet aand fyuez the imáurtal lauz,
Tu maek himsélf bi them tha lau úntu himsélf.


When I read the book, the biography famous,
And is this then (said I) what the author calls a man's life?
And so will some one when I am dead and gone write my life?
(As if any man really knew aught of my life,
Why even I myself I often think know little or nothing of my real life,
Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections
I seek for my own use to trace out here.)


Hwen I red the book, tha bieyógrafe fáemas,
Aand iz this then (sed I) hwut the áutther kaulz a maan'z lief?
Aand so wil súmwun hwen I aam ded aand gaun riet mi lief?
(Aaz if éne maan réele nue aut uv mi lief,
Hwi éevan I miesélf I áufan tthingk noe lítal aur nútthing uv mi lief,
Óenle a fyu hints, a fyu difyúezd faent kluez aand iendirékshanz
I seek faur mi oen yues tu traes out heer.)


Beginning my studies the first step pleas'd me so much,
The mere fact consciousness, these forms, the power of motion,
The least insect or animal, the senses, eyesight, love,
The first step I say awed me and pleas'd me so much,
I have hardly gone and hardly wish'd to go any farther,
But stop and loiter all the time to sing it in ecstatic songs.


Beegíning mi stúdeez tha ferst step pleezd me so
Tha meer faakt kónchasnas, theez faurmz, tha póuwer uv móeshan,
Tha leest ínsekt aur áanimal, tha sénsaz, íesìet, luv,
Tha ferst step I sae aud me aand pleezd me so much,
I haav hórdle gaun aand hórdle wisht tu go éne fórther,
But stop aand lóiter aul tha tiem tu sing it in ekstáatik saungz.


How they are provided for upon the earth, (appearing at intervals,)
How dear and dreadful they are to the earth,
How they inure to themselves as much as to any — what a paradox appears their age,
How people respond to them, yet know them not,
How there is something relentless in their fate all times,
How all times mischoose the objects of their adulation and reward,
And how the same inexorable price must still be paid for the same great purchase.


Hou thae or pravíedad faur apón the ertth, (apéering aat
Hou deer aand drédfool thae or tu the ertth,
Hou thae inyúer tu themsélvz aaz much aaz tu éne — hwut a páaradoks apéerz thair aej,
Hou péepool reespónd tu them, yet noe them not,
Hou thair iz súmtthing reeléntlas in thair faet aul tiemz,
Hou aul tiemz mischúez the óbjekts uv thair àajooláeshan aand reewáurd,
Aand hou tha saem inéksarabool pries must stil be paed faur tha saem graet pérchas.


To the States or any one of them, or any city of the States,
Resist much, obey little,
Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved,
Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city of this earth, ever afterward resumes its liberty.


Tu tha staets aur éne wun uv them, aur éne síte uv
tha Staets,
Reezíst much, oebáe lítal,
Wuns unkwéschaning oebéedeeyans, wuns fóole ensláevd,
Wuns fóole ensláevd, no náeshan, staet, síte uv this ertth, éver áafterwerd reezúemz its líberte.


On journeys through the States we start,
(Ay through the world, urged by these songs,
Sailing henceforth to every land, to every sea,)
We willing learners of all, teachers of all, and lovers of all.

We have watch'd the seasons dispensing themselves and passing on,
And have said, Why should not a man or woman do as much as the
seasons, and effuse as much?


On jérneez tthru tha Stáets we stort,
(Ie tthru tha woorld, erjd bi theez saungz,
Sáiling hénsfàurtth tu évre laand, tu évre see,)
We wíling lérnerz uv aul, téecherz uv aul, aand lúverz uv aul.
We haav wocht tha séezanz dispénsing themsélvz aand páasing on,
Aand we haav sed, Hwi shood not a maan aur wóoman du aaz much aaz tha séezanz, aand efyúez aaz much?

We dwell a while in every city and town,
We pass through Kanada, the North-east, the vast valley of the Mississippi, and the Southern States,
We confer on equal terms with each of the States,
We make trial of ourselves and invite men and women to hear,
We say to ourselves, Remember, fear not, be candid, promulge the body and the soul,
Dwell a while and pass on, be copious, temperate, chaste, magnetic,
And what you effuse may then return as the seasons return,
And may be just as much as the seasons.
We dwel a hwíeyal in évre síte aand toun,
We paas tthru Káanada, tha Naurtth-éest, tha vaast váale uv tha Mìsisípe, aand tha Súthern Staets,
We kanfér on éekwal termz witth eech uv tha Staets,
We maek tríeyal uv ouwersélvz aand invíet men aand wíman tu heer,
We sae tu ouwersélvz, Reemémber, feer not, be káandid, pramúlj tha bóde aand tha soel,
Dwel a hwíeyal aand paas on, be kóepeeyas, témperat, chaest, maagnétik,
Aand hwut yu efyúez mae then reetérn aaz tha séezanz reetérn,
Aand mae be just aaz much aaz tha séezanz.

Here, take this gift,
I was reserving it for some hero, speaker, or general,
One who should serve the good old cause, the great idea, the progress and freedom of the race,
Some brave confronter of despots, some daring rebel;
But I see that what I was reserving belongs to you just as much as to any.


Heer, taek this gift,
I wuz reezérving it faur sum héero, spéeker, aur jénral,
Wun hu shood serv tha good oeld kauz, tha graet iedéeya, tha prógres aand fréedam uv tha raes,
Sum braev kanfrúnter uv déspats, sum dáiring rébal;
But I se thaat hwut I wuz reezérving beeláungz tu yu just aaz much aaz tu éne.


Me imperturbe, standing at ease in Nature,

Master of all or mistress of all, aplomb in the midst of irrational things,
Imbued as they, passive, receptive, silent as they,
Finding my occupation, poverty, notoriety, foibles, crimes, less important than I thought,
Me toward the Mexican sea, or in the Mannahatta or the Tennessee, or far north or inland,
A river man, or a man of the woods or of any farm-life of these States or of the coast, or the lakes or Kanada,
Me wherever my life is lived, O to be self-balanced for contingencies,
To confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.


Mae èempairtúerbae, stáanding aat eez
in Náecher,
Máaster uv aul aur místras uv aul, aplóm in tha midst uv iráashanal tthingz,
Imbyúed aaz thae, páasiv, reeséptiv, síelant aaz thae,
Fíending mi okyoopáeshan, póverte, noetaríeyate, fóiboolz, kriemz, les impáurant thaan I tthaut,
Me taurd tha Méksikan see, aur in tha Maanahaata aur tha Tènasée, aur for naurtth aur ínland,
A ríver maan, aur a maan uv tha woodz aur uv éne form-lief uv theez Staets aur uv tha koest, aur tha laeks aur Káanada,
Me hwairéver mi lief iz livd, Oe tu be self-báalanst faur kantínjansèez,
Tu kanfrúnt niet, staurmz, húngger, rídikyuel, áaksidants, reebúfs, aaz tha treez aand áanimalz du.


Thither as I look I see each result and glory retracing itself and
nestling close, always obligated,
Thither hours, months, years — thither trades, compacts,
establishments, even the most minute,
Thither every-day life, speech, utensils, politics, persons, estates;
Thither we also, I with my leaves and songs, trustful, admirant,
As a father to his father going takes his children along with him.


Tthíther aaz I look I se eech reezúlt aand gláure
reetráesing itsélf aand nésling kloes, áulwaez óbligàetad,
Tthíther óuwerz, muntths, yeerz — tthíther traedz, kómpaakts, estáablishmants, éevan tha moest mienúet,
Tthíther évreedae lief, speech, yueténsoolz, pólitiks, pérsanz, estáets;
Tthíther we áulso, I witth mi leevz aand saungs, trústfool, aadmíerant [?],
Aaz a fóther tu hiz fóther góewing taeks hiz chíldran aláung witth him.


Lo, the unbounded sea,
On its breast a ship starting, spreading all sails, carrying even
her moonsails.
The pennant is flying aloft as she speeds she speeds so stately — below emulous waves press forward,
They surround the ship with shining curving motions and foam.


Loe, the unbóundad see,
On its brest a ship stórting, spréding aul sailz, káareeying éevan her múensailz.
Tha pénant iz flíeying aláuft aaz she speedz she speedz so stáetle — beeló émyoolas waevz pres fáurwerd,
Thae saróund tha ship witth shíening kérving móeshanz aand foem.


I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day — at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.


I heer Amáirika sínging, tha váareed káaralz I heer,
Thoez uv makáaniks, eech wun sínging hiz aaz it shood be blietth aand straung,
Tha kórpanter sínging hiz aaz he mézherz hiz plaangk aur beem,
Tha máesan sínging hiz aaz he maeks réde faur werk, aur leevz auf werk,
Tha bóetman sínging hwut beeláungz tu him in hiz boet, tha dékhaand sínging on tha stéemboet dek,
Tha shúemaeker sínging aaz he sits on hiz bench, tha háater sínging aaz he staandz,
Tha wóodkuter'z saung, tha plóuboi'z on hiz wae in tha máurning, aur aat nuen ìntermíshan aur aat súndoun,
Tha dilíshas sínging uv tha múther, aur uv tha yung wief aat werk, aur uv tha goorl sóewing aur wóshing,
Eech sínging hwut biláungz tu him aur her aand tu nun els,
Tha dae hwut biláungz tu tha dae — aat niet tha pórte uv yung féloez, roebúst, fréndle,
Sínging witth óepan mouthz thair straung malóedeeyas saungz.


What place is besieged, and vainly tries to raise the siege?
Lo, I send to that place a commander, swift, brave, immortal,
And with him horse and foot, and parks of artillery,
And artillery-men, the deadliest that ever fired gun.


Hwut plaes iz biséejd, aand váenle triez
tu raez tha seej?
Loe, I send tu thaat plaes a kamáander, swift, braev, imáurtal,
Aand witth him haurs aand foot, aand porks uv ortílere,
Aand ortílereemèn, tha dédleeyast thaat éver fíeyerd gun.


Still though the one I sing,
(One, yet of contradictions made,) I dedicate to Nationality,
I leave in him revolt, (O latent right of insurrection! O quenchless, indispensable fire!)


Stil tho tha wun I sing,
(Wun, yet uv kòntradíkshanz maed,) I dédikaet tu Nàashanáalite,
I leev in him reevóelt, (Oe láetant riet uv ìnsarékshan! Oe kwénchlas, ìndispénsabool fíeyer!)


Shut not your doors to me proud libraries,
For that which was lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet needed most, I bring,
Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made,
The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing,
A book separate, not link'd with the rest nor felt by the intellect,
But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page.


Shut not yaur daurz tu me proud líebrerèez,
Faur thaat hwich wuz láaking on aul yaur wél-fìld shelvz, yet néedad moest, I bring,
Faurtth frum tha waur eemérjing, a book I haav maed,
Tha werdz uv mi book nútthing, tha drift uv it évreetthing,
A book séprat, not linkt witth tha rest naur felt bi the íntalekt,

But yu ye úntóeld láetanseez wil tthril tu évre paej.


Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for,
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known,
Arouse! for you must justify me.


Póewats tu kum! áuraterz, síngerz, myuezíshanz
tu kum!
Not toodáe iz tu jústifie me aand áanser hwut I aam faur,
But yu, a nu brued, náetiv, aatthlétik, kòntinéntal, gráeter thaan beefáur noen,
Aróuz! faur yu must jústifie me.

I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,
I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.
I miesélf but riet wun aur tueq iendíkativ werdz faur tha fyúecher,
I but aadváans a móemant óenle tu hweel aand hére baak in tha dórknas.
I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a casual look upon you and then averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you.
I aam a maan hu, sáuntering aláung witthóut fóole stóping, ternz a káazhuewal look apón yu aand then avérts hiz faes,
Léeving it tu yu tu pruev aand deefíen it,
Ekspékting tha maen tthingz frum yu.

Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me?
And why should I not speak to you?


Stráenjer, if yu páasing meet me aand dizíeyer tu speek tu me, hwi shood yu not speek tu me?
Aand hwi shood I not speek tu yu?


Thou reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as I,
Therefore for thee the following chants.


Thou réeder tthróbast lief aand pried aand luv tha saem aaz I,
Tháirfaur faur thee tha fóloewing chaants.


Starting from fish-shape Paumanok where I was born,
Well-begotten, and rais'd by a perfect mother,
After roaming many lands, lover of populous pavements,
Dweller in Mannahatta my city, or on southern savannas,
Or a soldier camp'd or carrying my knapsack and gun, or a miner in California,
Or rude in my home in Dakota's woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring,
Or withdrawn to muse and meditate in some deep recess,
Far from the clank of crowds intervals passing rapt and happy,
Aware of the fresh free giver the flowing Missouri, aware of mighty Niagara,
Aware of the buffalo herds grazing the plains, the hirsute and strong-breasted bull,
Of earth, rocks, Fifth-month flowers experienced, stars, rain, snow, my amaze,
Having studied the mocking-bird's tones and the flight of the mountain-hawk,
And heard at dawn the unrivall'd one, the hermit thrush from the swamp-cedars,
Solitary, singing in the West, I strike up for a New World.


Stórting frum físháep Páumanòk hwair I wuz baurn,
Wel-beegótan, aand raezd bi a pérfakt múther,
Áafter róeming méne laandz, lúver uv pópyoolas páevmants,
Dwéler in Màanaháata mi síte, aur on súthern saváanaz,
Aur a sóeljer kaampt aur káareeying mi náapsaak aand gun, aur a míener in Kaalifáurnya,
Aur rued in mi hoem in Dakóeta'z woodz, mi díeyat meet, mi dringk frum tha spring,
Aur witthdráun tu myuez aand méditaet in sum deep risés,
For frum tha klaangk uv kroudz íntervalz páasing raapt aand háape,
Awáir uv tha fresh fre gíver tha flóewing Mizúere, awáir uv míete Nieyáagra,
Awáir uv tha búfalo herdz gráezing tha plaenz, tha hersúet aand stráung-brèstad bool,
Uv ertth, roks, Fìftth-muntth flóuwerz ekspéereeyanst, storz, raen, sno, mi amáez,
Háaving stúdeed tha mókingberd'z toenz aand tha fliet uv tha móuntan-hàuk,
Aand herd aat daun the unríevald wun, tha hérmit tthrush frum tha swòmp-séederz,
Sólitere, sínging in tha West, I striek up faur a Nu Woorld.

Victory, union, faith, identity, time,
The indissoluble compacts, riches, mystery,
Eternal progress, the kosmos, and the modern reports.
This then is life,
Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and convulsions.
Víktare, yúenyan, faetth, iedéntite, tiem,
The ìndisólyoobool kómpaakts, ríchaz, místere,
Eetérnal prógres, tha kózmoes, aand tha módern reepáurts.
This then iz lief,
Heer iz hwut haaz kum tu tha sérfas áafter so méne tthroez aand kanvúlshanz.
How curious! how real!
Underfoot the divine soil, overhead the sun.
Hou kyúereeyas! hou reel!
Underfóot tha divíen sóiyal, oeverhéd tha sun.
See, revolving the globe,
The ancestor-continents away group'd together,
The present and future continents north and south, with the isthmus between.
Se, revólving tha gloeb,
The áansester-kóntinants awáe gruept toogéther,
Tha prézant aand fyúecher kóntinants naurtth aand soutth, witth the ísmas beetwéen.
See, vast trackless spaces,
As in a dream they change, they swiftly fill,
Countless masses debouch upon them,
They are now cover'd with the foremost people, arts, institutions, known.
Se, vaast tráaklas spáesaz,
Aaz in a dreem thae chaenj, thae swíftle fil,
Kóuntlas máasaz dibóuch apón them,
Thae or nou kúverd witth tha fáurmoest péepool, orts, institúeshanz, noen.
See, projected through time,
For me an audience interminable.
Se, prajéktad tthru tiem,
Faur me aan áudeeyans ìntérminabool.
With firm and regular step they wend, they never stop,
Successions of men, Americanos, a hundred millions,
One generation playing its part and passing on,
Another generation playing its part and passing on in its turn,
With faces turn'd sideways or backward towards me to listen,
With eyes retrospective towards me.
Witth ferm aand régyooler step thae wend, thae néver stop,
Sakséshanz uv men, Amairikónoez, a húndrad mílyanz,
Wun jeneráeshan pláeying its port aand páasing on,
Anúther jeneráeshan pláeying its port aand páasing on in its tern,
Witth fáesaz ternd síedwaez aur báakwerd taurdz me tu lísan,
Witth iez retroespéktiv taurdz me.
Americanos! conquerors! marches humanitarian!
Foremost! century marches! Libertad! masses!
For you a programme of chants.
Amairikónoez! kóngkererz! mórchaz hyuemàanitáireeyan!
Fáurmoest! sénchare mórchas! Leebairtóth! máasaz!
Faur yu a próegraam uv chaants.
Chants of the prairies,
Chants of the long-running Mississippi, and down to the Mexican sea,
Chants of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin and Minnesota,
Chants going forth from the centre from Kansas, and thence equidistant,
Shooting in pulses of fire ceaseless to vivify all.
Chaants uv tha práireez,
Chaants uv tha láung-rùning Mìsisípe, aand doun tu tha Méksikan see,
Chaants uv Oehíeyo, Iendeeyáana, Ilinói, Íeyawa, Wiskónsin aand Minasóeta,
Chaants góewing faurtth frum tha sénter frum Káanzas, aand thens eekwidístant,
Shúeting in púlsaz uv fíeyer séeslas tu vívifie aul.
Take my leaves America, take them South and take them North,
Make welcome for them everywhere, for they are your own off-spring,
Surround them East and West, for they would surround you,
And you precedents, connect lovingly with them, for they connect
lovingly with you.
Taek mi leevz Amáirika, taek them Soutth aand taek them Naurtth,
Maek wélkam faur them évreehwair, faur thae or yaur oen áufspring,
Saróund them Eest aand West, faur thae wood saróund yu,
Aand yu présadants, kanékt lúvingle witth them, faur thae kanékt lúvingle witth yu.
I conn'd old times,
I sat studying at the feet of the great masters,
Now if eligible O that the great masters might return and study me.
I kond oeld tiemz,
I saat stúdeeying aat tha feet uv tha graet máasterz,
Nou if élijibool Oe thaat tha graet máasterz miet reetérn aand stúde me.
In the name of these States shall I scorn the antique?
Why these are the children of the antique to justify it.
In tha naem uv theez Staets shaal I skaurn the aantéek
Hwi theez or tha chíldran uv the aantéek tu jústifie it.
Dead poets, philosophs, priests,
Martyrs, artists, inventors, governments long since,
Language-shapers on other shores,
Nations once powerful, now reduced, withdrawn, or desolate,
I dare not proceed till I respectfully credit what you have left waited hither,
I have perused it, own it is admirable, (moving awhile among it,)
Think nothing can ever be greater, nothing can ever deserve more than it deserves,
Regarding it all intently a long while, then dismissing it,
I stand in my place with my own day here.
Ded póewats, fílasofs, preests,
Mórterz, órtists, invénterz, gúvernmants laung sins,
Láanggwaj-sháeperz on úther shaurz,
Náeshanz wuns póuwerfool, nou reedúest, witthdráun, aur désalat,
I dair not proeséed til I reespéktfoole krédit hwut yu haav left wóftad híther,
I haav perúezd it, oen it iz áadmarabool, (múeving ahwíeyal amúng it,)
Tthingk nútthing kaan éver be gráeter, nútthing kaan éver dizérv maur thaan it dizérvz,
Reegórding it aul inténtle a laung hwieyal, then dismísing it,
I stáand in mi plaes witth mi oen dae heer.
Here lands female and male,
Here the heir-ship and heiress-ship of the world, here the flame of materials,
Here spirituality the translatress, the openly-avow'd,
The ever-tending, the finale of visible forms,
The satisfier, after due long-waiting now advancing,
Yes here comes my mistress the soul.
Heer laandz féemail aand mail,
Heer the air-ship aand áiras-ship uv tha woorld, heer tha flaem uv matéereeyalz,
Heer spèerichuewáalite tha traanzláetras, the óepanlee-avóud,
The éver-ténding, tha fináale uv vízibool faurmz,
Tha sáatisfìeyer, áafter du laung-wáeting nou aadváansing,
Yet heer kumz mi místras tha soel.
The soul,
Forever and forever — longer than soil is brown and solid — longer than water ebbs and flows.
I will make the poems of materials, for I think they are to be the most spiritual poems,
And I will make the poems of my body and of mortality,
For I think I shall then supply myself with the poems of my soul and of immortality.
Tha soel,
Fauréver aand fauréver — láungger thaan sóiyal iz broun aand sólid — láungger thaan wúter ebz aand floez.
I wil maek the póewamz uv matéereeyalz, faur I tthingk thae or tu be tha moest spéerichùewal póewamz,
I wil maek tha póewamz uv mi bóde aand uv maurtáalite,
Faur I tthingk I shaal then saplí miesélf witth tha póewamz uv mi soel aand uv ímaurtàalite.
I will make a song for these States that no one State may under any circumstances be subjected to another State,
And I will make a song that there shall be comity by day and by night between all the States, and between any two of them,
And I will make a song for the ears of the President, full of weapons with menacing points,
And behind the weapons countless dissatisfied faces;
And a song make I of the One form'd out of all,
The fang'd and glittering One whose head is over all,
Resolute warlike One including and over all,
(However high the head of any else that head is over all.)
I wil maek a saung faur theez Staets thaat no wun Staet mae únder éne sérkamstàansaz be sabjéktad tu anúther Staet,
Aand I wil maek a saung thaat thair shaal be kómite bi dae aand bi niet beetwéen aul tha Staets, aand beetwéen éne tueq uv them,
Aand I wil maek a saung faur the eerz uv tha Prézidant, fool uv wépanz witth ménasing points,
Aand beehíend tha wépanz kóuntlas disáatisfied fáesaz;
Aand a saung maek I uv tha Wun faurmd out uv aul,
Tha faangd aand glítering Wun huez hed iz óever aul,
Rezalúet wáurliek Wun inklúeding aand óever aul,
(Houwéver hie tha hed uv éne els thaat hed iz óever aul.)
I will acknowledge contemporary lands,
I will trail the whole geography of the globe and salute courteously every city large and small,
And employments! I will put in my poems that with you is heroism upon land and sea,
And I will report all heroism from an American point of view.
I wil aaknólaj kantémparère laandz,
I wil trail tha hoel jeeyógrafe uv tha gloeb aand salúet kérteeyasle évre síte lorj aand smaul,
Aand emplóimants! I wil poot in mi póewamz thaat witth yu iz héroewizam apón laand aand see,
Aand I wil reepáurt aul héroewizam frum aan Amáirikan point uv vyu.
I will sing the song of companionship,
I will show what alone must finally compact these,
I believe these are to found their own ideal of manly love, indicating it in me,
I will therefore let flame from me the burning fires that were threatening to consume me,
I will lift what has too long kept down those smouldering fires,
I will give them complete abandonment,
I will write the evangel-poem of comrades and of love,
For who but I should understand love with all its sorrow and joy?
And who but I should be the poet of comrades?
I wil sing tha saung uv kampáanyanship,
I wil sho hwut alóen must fíenale kampáakt theez,
I beeléev theez or tu found thair oen iedéel uv maanle luv, índikàeting it in me,
I wil tháirfaur let flaem frum me tha bérning fíeyerz thaat wer tthrétaning tu kasúem me,
I wil lift hwut haaz tue laung kept doun thoez smóeldering fíeyerz,
I wil giv them kampléet abáandanmant,
I wil riet the eeváanjal-póewam uv kómraadz aand uv luv,
Faur hu but I shood understáand luv witth aul its sóro aand joi?
Aand hu but I shood be tha póewat uv kómraadz?
I am the credulous man of qualities, ages, races,
I advance from the people in their own spirit,
Here is what sings unrestricted faith.
I aam tha kréjoolas maan uv kwóliteez, áejaz, ráesaz,
I aadváans frum tha péepool in thair oen spéerit,
Heer iz hwut singz ùnreestríktad faetth.
Omnes! omnes! let others ignore what they may,
I make the poem of evil also, I commemorate that part also,
I am myself just as much evil as good, and my nation is — and I say there is in fact no evil,
(Or if there is I say it is just as important to you, to the land or to me, as any thing else.)
Óemnaes! óemnaes! let útherz ignáur hwut thae mae,
I maek tha póewam uv éevool áulso, I kamémaraet thaat port áulso,
I aam miesélf just aaz much éevool aaz good, aand mi náeshan iz — and I sae thair iz in faakt no éevool,
(Aur if thair iz I sae it iz just aaz impáurtant tu yu, tu tha laand aur tu me, aaz éne tthing els.)
I too, following many and follow'd by many, inaugurate a religion, I descend into the arena,
(It may be I am destin'd to utter the loudest cries there, the winner's pealing shouts,
Who knows? they may rise from me yet, and soar above every thing.)
I tue, fóloewing méne aand fóloed bi méne, ináugyooraet a reelíjan, I dasénd íntu the aréena,
(It mae be I aam déstiend tu úter tha lóudast kriez thair, tha wíner'z péeling shouts,
Hu noez? thae mae riez frum me yet, aand saur abúv évre tthing.)
Each is not for its own sake,
I say the whole earth and all the stars in the sky are for religion's sake.
Eech iz not faur its oen saek,
I sae tha hoel ertth aand aul tha storz in tha skie or faur reelíjan'z saek.
I say no man has ever yet been half devout enough,
None has ever yet adored or worship'd half enough,
None has begun to think how divine he himself is, and how certain the future is.
I sae no maan haaz éver yet bin haaf deevóut eenúf,
Nun haaz éver yet adáurd aur wérshipt haaf eenúf,
Nun haaz beegún tu tthingk hou divíen he himsélf iz, aand hou sértan tha fyúecher iz.
I say that the real and permanent grandeur of these States must be their religion,
Otherwise there is just no real and permanent grandeur;
(Nor character nor life worthy the name without religion,
Nor land nor man or woman without religion.)
I sae thaat tha reel aand pérmanant gráanjer uv theez Staets must be thair reelíjan,
Útherwiez thair iz just no reel aand pérmanant gráanjer;
(Naur káarakter naur lief wérthe tha naem witthout reelíjan,
Naur laand naur maan aur wóoman witthóut reelíjan.)
What are you doing young man?
Are you so earnest, so given up to literature, science, art, amours?
These ostensible realities, politics, points?
Your ambition or business whatever it may be?
Hwut or yu dúewing yung maan?
Or yu so érnast, so gívan up tu líterachèr, síeyans, ort, amúerz?
Theez osténsibool reeyáaliteez, pólitiks, points?
Yaur aambíshan aur bíznaz hwutéver it mae be?
It is well — against such I say not a word, I am their poet also,
But behold! such swiftly subside, burnt up for religion's sake,
For not all matter is fuel to heat, impalpable flame, the essential life of the earth,
Any more than such are to religion.
It iz wel — agénst such I sae not a werd, I aam thair póewat áulso,
But beehóeld! such swíftle sabsíed, bernt up faur reelíjan'z saek,
Faur not aul máater iz fyúewal tu heet, impáalpabool flaem, the isénchal lief uv the ertth,
Éne maur thaan such or tu reelíjan.
What do you seek so pensive and silent?
What do you need camerado?
Dear son do you think it is love?
Hwut du yu seek so pénsiv aand síelant?
Hwut du yu need kòmeródo?
Deer sun du yu tthingk it iz luv?
Listen dear son — listen America, daughter or son,
It is a painful thing to love a man or woman to excess, and yet it satisfies, it is great,
But there is something else very great, it makes the whole coincide,
It, magnificent, beyond materials, with continuous hands sweeps and provides for all.
Lísan deer sun — lísan Amáirika, dáuter aur sun,
It iz a páenfool tthing tu luv a maan aur wóoman tu eksés, aand yet it sáatisfiez, it iz graet,
But thair iz súmtthing els vére graet, it maeks tha hoel kòewinsíed,
It, maagnífisant, beeyónd matéereeyalz, witth kantínyuewas haandz sweeps aand pravíedz faur aul.
Know you, solely to drop in the earth the germs of a greater religion,
The following chants each for its kind I sing.
Noe yu, sóele tu drop in the ertth tha jermz uv a gráeter reelíjan,
Tha fóloewing chaants eech faur its kiend I sing.
My comrade!
For you to share with me two greatnesses, and a third one rising inclusive and more resplendent,
The greatness of Love and Democracy, and the greatness of Religion.
Mi kómraad!
Faur yu tu shair witth me tueq gráetnasaz, aand a ttherd wun ríezing inklúesiv aand maur reespléndant,
Tha gráetnas uv Luv aand Damókrase, aand tha gráetnas uv Reelíjan.
Melange mine own, the unseen and the seen,
Mysterious ocean where the streams empty,
Prophetic spirit of materials shifting and flickering around me,
Living beings, identities now doubtless near us in the air that we know not of,
Contact daily and hourly that will not release me,
These selecting, these in hints demanded of me.
Maelónnzh mien oen, the únseen* aand tha seen,
Mistéereeyas óeshan hwair tha streemz émpte,
Prafétik spéerit uv matéereeyalz shífting aand flíkering aróund me,
Líving béeyingz, iedéntiteez nou dóutlas neer us in the air thaat we noe not uv,
Kóntaakt dáile aand óuwerle thaat wil not reelées me,
Theez silékting, theez in hints deemáandad uv me.
Not he with a daily kiss onward from childhood kissing me,
Has winded and twisted around me that which holds me to him,
Any more than I am held to the heavens and all the spiritual world,
After what they have done to me, suggesting themes.
Not he witth a dáile kis ónwerd frum chíeyaldhood kísing me,
Haaz wíendad aand twístad aróund me thaat hwich hoeldz me tu him,
Ène maur thaan I aam held tu tha hévanz aand aul tha spéerichuewal woorld,
Áafter hwut thae haav dun tu me, sagjésting ttheemz.
O such themes — equalities! O divine average!
Warblings under the sun, usher'd as now, or at noon, or setting,
Strains musical flowing through ages, now reaching hither,
I take to your reckless and composite chords, add to them, and cheerfully pass them forward.
Oe such ttheemz — eekwóliteez! Oe divíen áavraj!
Wáurblingz únder tha sun, úsherd aaz nou, aur aat nuen, aur séting,
Straenz myúezikal flóewing tthru áejaz, nou réeching híther,
I taek tu yaur réklas aand kampózit kaurdz, aad tu them, aand chéerfoole paas them fáurwerd.
As I have walk'd in Alabama my morning walk,
I have seen where the she-bird the mocking-bird sat on her nest in the briers hatching her brood.
Aaz I haav waukt in Aalabáama mi máurning wauk,
I haav seen hwair tha shée-berd tha mókingberd saat on her nest in tha bríeyerz haaching her brued.
I have seen the he-bird also,
I have paus'd to hear him near at hand inflating his throat and joyfully singing.
I haav seen tha hée-berd áulso,
I haav pauzd tu heer him neer aat haand infláeting hiz tthroet aand jóifoole sínging.
And while I paus'd it came to me that what he really sang for was not there only,
Nor for his mate nor himself only, nor all sent back by the echoes,
But subtle, clandestine, away beyond,
A charge transmitted and gift occult for those being born.
Aand hwiel I pauzd it kaem tu me thaat hwut he réele saang faur wuz not thair óenle,
Naur faur hiz maet naur himsélf óenle, naur aul sent baak bi the ékoez,
But sútal, klaandéstin, awáe beeyónd,
A chorj traanzmítad aand gift akúlt faur thoez béeying baurn.
Democracy! near at hand to you a throat is now inflating itself and joyfully singing.
Damókrasee! neer aat haand tu yu a tthroet iz nou infláeting itsélf aand jóifoole sínging.
Ma femme! for the brood beyond us and of us,
For those who belong here and those to come,
I exultant to be ready for them will now shake out carols stronger and haughtier than have ever yet been heard upon earth.
Moq fom! faur tha brued beeyónd us aand uv us,
Faur thoez hu beelaung heer aand thoez tu kum,
I egzúltant tu be réde faur them wil nou shaek out káaralz stráungger aand háuteeyer thaan haav éver yet bin herd apón ertth.
I will make the songs of passion to give them their way,
And your songs outlaw'd offenders, for I scan you with kindred eyes, and carry you with me the same as any.
I wil maek tha saungz uv páashan tu giv them thair wae,
Aand yaur saungz óutlaud afénderz, faur I skaan yu witth kíndrad iez, aand káare yu witth me tha saem aaz éne.
I will make the true poem of riches,
To earn for the body and the mind whatever adheres and goes forward and is not dropt by death;
I will effuse egotism and show it underlying all, and I will be the bard of personality,
And I will show of male and female that either is but the equal of the other,
And sexual organs and acts! do you concentrate in me, for I am
determin'd to tell you with courageous clear voice to prove you illustrious,
And I will show that there is no imperfection in the present, and can be none in the future,
And I will show that whatever happens to anybody it may be turn'd to beautiful results,
And I will show that nothing can happen more beautiful than death,
And I will thread a thread through my poems that time and events are compact,
And that all the things of the universe are perfect miracles, each as profound as any.
I wil maek tha tru póewam uv ríchaz,
Tu ern faur tha bóde aand tha miend hwutéver aadhéerz aand goez fáurwerd aand iz not dropt bi detth;
I wil efyúez éegatìzam aand sho it únderlìeying aul, aand I wil be tha bord uv persanáalite,
Aand I wil sho uv mail aand féemail thaat éether iz but the éekwal uv the úther,
Aand sékshuewal áurganz aand aakts! du yu kónsentraet in me, faur I aam deetérmiend tu tel yu witth karáejas kleer vois tu pruev yu ilústreeyas,
Aand I wil sho yu thaat thair iz no imperfékshan in tha prézant, aand kaan be nun in tha fyúecher,
Aand I wil sho thaat hwutéver háapanz tu éneebùde it mae be ternd tu byúetifool reezúlts,
Aand I wil sho thaat nútthing kaan háapan maur byúetifool thaan detth,
Aand I wil tthred a tthred tthru mi póewamz thaat tiem aand eevénts or kampáakt,
Aand thaat aul the tthingz uv tha yúenivers or pérfakt méerakoolz, eech aaz proefóund aaz éne.
I will not make poems with reference to parts,
But I will make poems, songs, thoughts, with reference to ensemble,
And I will not sing with reference to a day, but with reference to all days,
And I will not make a poem nor the least part of a poem but has reference to the soul,
Because having look'd at the objects of the universe, I find there is no one nor any particle of one but has reference to the soul.
I wil not maek póewamz witth réfrans tu ports,
But I wil maek póewamz, saungz, tthauts, witth réfrans tu onsómbool,
Aand I wil not sing witth réfrans tu a dae, but witth réfrans tu aul daez,
Aand I wil not maek a póewam naur tha leest port uv a póewam but haaz réfrans tu tha soel,
Beekáuz háaving lookt aat the óbjekts uv tha yúenivers, I fiend thair iz no wun naur éne pórtikool uv wun but haaz réfrans tu tha soel.
Was somebody asking to see the soul?
See, your own shape and countenance, persons, substances, beasts, the trees, the running rivers, the rocks and sands.
Wuz súmbude áasking tu se tha soel?
Se, yaur oen shaep aand kóuntanans, pérsanz, súbstansaz, beests, tha treez, tha rúning ríverz, tha roks aand saandz.
All hold spiritual joys and afterwards loosen them;
How can the real body ever die and be buried?
Aul hoeld spéerichuewal joiz aand áafterwerdz lúesan them;
Hou kaan tha reel bóde éver di aand be béreed?
Of your real body and any man's or woman's real body,
Item for item it will elude the hands of the corpse-cleaners and pass to fitting spheres,
Carrying what has accrued to it from the moment of birth to the moment of death.
Uv yaur reel bóde aand éne maan'z aur wóoman'z reel bóde,
Íetam faur íetam it wil eelúed tha haandz uv tha káurps-klèenerz aand paas tu fíting sfeerz,
Káareeying hwut haaz akrúed tu it frum tha móemant uv bertth tu tha móemant uv detth.
Not the types set up by the printer return their impression, the meaning, the main concern,
Any more than a man's substance and life or a woman's substance and life return in the body and the soul,
Indifferently before death and after death.
Not tha tieps set up bi tha prínter reetérn thair impréshan, tha méening, tha maen kansérn,
Éne maur thaan a maan'z súbstans aand lief aur a wóoman'z súbstans aand lief reetérn in tha bóde aand tha soel,
Iendífrantle beefáur detth aand áafter detth.
Behold, the body includes and is the meaning, the main concern and includes and is the soul;
Whoever you are, how superb and how divine is your body, or any part of it!
Beehóeld, tha bóde inklúedz aand iz tha méening, tha maen kansérn aand inklúedz aand iz tha soel;
Huewéver yu or, hou soopérb aand hou divíen iz yaur bóde, aur éne port uv it!
Whoever you are, to you endless announcements!
Huewéver yu or, tu yu éndlas anóunsmants!
Daughter of the lands did you wait for your poet?
Did you wait for one with a flowing mouth and indicative hand?
Toward the male of the States, and toward the female of the States,
Exulting words, words to Democracy's lands.
Dáuter uv tha laandz did yu waet faur yaur póewat?
Did yu waet faur wun witth a flóewing moutth aand iendíkativ haand?
Taurd tha mail uv tha Staets, aand taurd the féemail uv tha Staets,
Egzúlting werdz, werdz tu Damókrase'z laandz.
Interlink'd, food-yielding lands!
Land of coal and iron! land of gold! land of cotton, sugar, rice!
Land of wheat, beef, pork! land of wool and hemp! land of the apple and the grape!
Land of the pastoral plains, the grass-fields of the world! land of those sweet-air'd interminable plateaus!
Land of the herd, the garden, the healthy house of adobie!
Lands where the north-west Columbia winds, and where the south-west
Colorado winds!
Land of the eastern Chesapeake! land of the Delaware!
Land of Ontario, Erie, Huron, Michigan!
Land of the Old Thirteen! Massachusetts land! land of Vermont and
Land of the ocean shores! land of sierras and peaks!
Land of boatmen and sailors! fishermen's land!
Inextricable lands! the clutch'd together! the passionate ones!
The side by side! the elder and younger brothers! the bony-limb'd!
The great women's land! the feminine! the experienced sisters and the inexperienced sisters!
Far breath'd land! Arctic braced! Mexican breez'd! the diverse! the compact!
The Pennsylvanian! the Virginian! the double Carolinian!
O all and each well-loved by me! my intrepid nations! O I at any rate include you all with perfect love!
I cannot be discharged from you! not from one any sooner than another!
O death! O for all that, I am yet of you unseen this hour with irrepressible love,
Walking New England, a friend, a traveler,
Splashing my bare feet in the edge of the summer ripples on Paumanok's sands,
Ìnterlíngkt, fúed-yèelding laandz!
Laand uv koel aand íeyern! laand uv goeld! laand uv kótan, shóoger, ries!
Laand uv hweet, beef, paurk! laand uv wool aand hemp! laand uv the áapool aand tha graep!
Laand uv tha páastaral plaenz, tha gráas-feeldz uv tha woorld! laand uv thoez swéet-áird intérminabool plaatóez!
Laand uv tha herd, tha górdan, tha héltthe hous uv adóebe!
Laandz hwair tha náurtthwest Kalúmbeeya wiendz, aand hwair tha sóutthwest Kolaródo wiendz!
Laand uv the éestern Chésapeek! laand uv tha Délawair!
Laand uv Ontáireeyo, Éere, Hyúeron, Míshigan!
Laand uv the Oeld Tthertéen! Màsachúesats laand! laand uv Vermónt aand Kanétikat!
Laand uv the óeshan shaurz! laand uv seeyáiraz aand peeks!
Laand uv bóetmen aand sáilerz! físherman'z laand!
Inekstríkabool laandz! tha klucht toogéther! tha páashanat wunz!
Tha sied bi sied! the élder aand yúngger brútherz! tha bóenee-limd!
Tha graet wóoman'z laand! tha féminin! the ekspéereeyanst sísterz aand the ínekspèereeyanst sísterz!
For brettht laand! Órktik braest! Méksikan breezd! tha divérs! tha kampáakt!
Tha Pensalváenyan! tha Verjínyan! tha dúbool Kàaralíneeyan!
Oe aul aand eech wèl-lúvd bi me! mi intrépid náeshanz! oe I aat éne raet inklúed yu aul witth pérfakt luv!
I káanot be dischórjd frum yu! not frum wun éne súener thaan anúther!
Oe detth! oe faur aul thaat, I aam yet uv yu unséen this óuwer witth ireeprésibool luv,
Wáuking Nu Inggland, a frend, a tráavaler,
Spláashing mi bair feet in the ej uv tha súmer rípoolz on Páumanòk's saandz,
With me with firm holding, yet haste, haste on.
For your life adhere to me,
(I may have to be persuaded many times before I consent to give myself really to you, but what of that?
Must not Nature be persuaded many times?)
Witth me witth ferm hóelding, yet haest, haest on.
Faur yaur lief aadhéer tu me,
(I mae haav tu be perswáedad méne tiemz befáur I kansént tu giv miesélf réele tu yu, but hwut uv thaat?
Must not Náecher be perswáedad méne tiemz?)
No dainty dolce affettuoso I,
Bearded, sun-burnt, gray-neck'd, forbidding, I have arrived,
To be wrestled with as I pass for the solid prizes of the universe,
For such I afford whoever can persevere to win them.
No dáente dóelchae afètuewóezo I,
Béerdad, súnbernt, gráe-nekt, farbíding, I haav aríevd,
Tu be résoold witth aaz I paas faur tha sólid príezaz uv tha yúenivers,
Faur such I afáurd huewéver kaan persavéer tu win them.
On my way a moment I pause,
Here for you! and here for America!
Still the present I raise aloft, still the future of the States I harbinge glad and sublime,
And for the past I pronounce what the air holds of the red aborigines.
On mi wae a móemant I pauz,
Heer faur yu! aand heer faur Amáirika!
Stil tha prézant I raez aláuft, stil tha fyúecher uv tha Staets I hórbinj glaad aand sablíem,
Aand faur tha paast I pranóuns hwut the air hoeldz uv tha red aabaríjineez.
The red aborigines,
Leaving natural breaths, sounds of rain and winds, calls as of birds and animals in the woods, syllabled to us for names,
Okonee, Koosa, Ottawa, Monongahela, Sauk, Natchez, Chattahoochee,
Kaqueta, Oronoco, Wabash, Miami, Saginaw, Chippewa, Oshkosh, Walla-Walla,
Leaving such to the States they melt, they depart, charging the water and the land with names.
Tha red aabaríjineez,
Léeving náachral bretths, soundz uv raen aand wiendz, kaulz aaz uv berdz aand áanimalz in tha woodz, sílaboold tu us faur naemz,
Oekóene [?], Kúesa, Ótawa, Manònggahéela, Sauk, Náachez, Chaatahúeche, Kakáeta [?], Aurinóeko,
Wóbaash, Mieyáame, Sáaginau, Chípawoq, Óshkosh, Wòla-Wóla,
Léeving such tu tha Staets thae melt, thae deepórt, chórjing tha wúter aand tha laand witth naemz.
Expanding and swift, henceforth,
Elements, breeds, adjustments, turbulent, quick and audacious,
A world primal again, vistas of glory incessant and branching,
A new race dominating previous ones and grander far, with new contests,
New politics, new literatures and religions, new inventions and arts.
Ekspáanding aand swift, hénsfaurtth,
Élamants, breedz, ajústmants, térbyoolant, kwik aand audáeshas,
A woorld príemal agén, vístaz uv gláure insésant aand bráanching,
A nu raes dóminaeting préeveeyas wunz aand gráander for, witth nu kóntests,
Nu pólitiks, nu líterachèrz aand reelíjanz, nu invénshanz aand orts.
These, my voice announcing — I will sleep no more but arise,
You oceans that have been calm within me! how I feel you, fathomless, stirring, preparing unprecedented waves and storms.
Theez, mi vois anóunsing — I wil sleep no maur but aríez,
Yu óeshanz thaat haav bin kom witthín me! hou I feel yu, fáathamlas, stéring, preepáiring unprésadèntad waevz aand staurmz.
See, steamers steaming through my poems,
See, in my poems immigrants continually coming and landing,
See, in arriere, the wigwam, the trail, the hunter's hut, the
flat-boat, the maize-leaf, the claim, the rude fence, and the backwoods village,
See, on the one side the Western Sea and on the other the Eastern
Sea, how they advance and retreat upon my poems as upon their own shores,
See, pastures and forests in my poems — see, animals wild and tame — see, beyond the Kaw, countless herds of buffalo feeding on short curly grass,
See, in my poems, cities, solid, vast, inland, with paved streets, with iron and stone edifices, ceaseless vehicles, and commerce,
See, the many-cylinder'd steam printing-press — see, the electric telegraph stretching across the continent,
See, through Atlantica's depths pulses American Europe reaching, pulses of Europe duly return'd,
See, the strong and quick locomotive as it departs, panting, blowing the steam-whistle,
See, ploughmen ploughing farms — see, miners digging mines — see, the numberless factories,
See, mechanics busy at their benches with tools — see from among them superior judges, philosophs, Presidents, emerge, drest in working dresses,
See, lounging through the shops and fields of the States, me well-belov'd, close-held by day and night,
Hear the loud echoes of my songs there — read the hints come at last.
Se, stéemerz stéeming tthru mi póewamz,
Se, in mi póewamz ímigrants kantínyuewale kúming aand láanding,
Se, in oreeyáir, tha wígwom, tha trail, tha húnter'z hut, tha fláat-boet, tha máez-leef, tha klaem, tha rued fens, aand tha báakwoodz vílaj,
Se, on tha wun sied tha Wéstern See aand on the úther the Éestern See, hou thae aadváans aand reetréet apón mi póewamz aaz apón thair oen shaurz,
Se, páascherz aand fórasts in mi póewamz — se, áanimalz wíeyald aand taem — se, beeyónd tha Kau, kóuntlas herdz uv búfalo féeding on shaurt kóorle graas,
Se, in mi póewamz, síteez, sólid, vaast, ínland, witth paevd streets, witth íeyern aand stoen édifisaz, séeslas véeyikoolz, aand kómers,
Se, the ménee-sílinderd steem prínting-près — se, the eeléktrik télagraaf stréching akráus tha kóntinant,
Se, tthru Aatláantika'z deptths púlsaz Amáirikan Yúerap réeching, púlsaz uv Yúerap dúele reetérnd,
Se, tha straung aand kwik loekamóetiv aaz it deepórts, páanting, blóewing tha stéem-hwisool,
Se, plóuman plóuwing formz — se, míenerz díging mienz — se, tha númberlas fáaktareez,
Se, makáaniks bíze aat thair bénchaz witth tuelz — se frum amúng them soopéereeyer jújaz, fílasofs, Prézidants, eemérj, drest in wérking drésaz,
Se, lóunjing tthru tha shopz aand feeldz uv the Staets, me wel-beelúvd, klòes-héld bi dae aand niet,
Heer tha loud ékoez uv mi saungz thair — reed tha hints kum aat laast.
O camerado close! O you and me at last, and us two only.
O a word to clear one's path ahead endlessly!
O something ecstatic and undemonstrable! O music wild!
O now I triumph — and you shall also;
O hand in hand — O wholesome pleasure — O one more desirer and lover!
O to haste firm holding — to haste, haste on with me.
Oe kòmeródo kloes! Oe yu aand me aat laast, aand us tueq óenle.
Oe a werd tu kleer wun'z paatth ahéd éndlaslee!
Oe súmtthing ekstáatik aand ùndamónstrabool! Oe myúezik wíeyald!
Oe nou I tríeyumf — aand yu shaal áulso;
Oe haand in haand — Oe hóelsam plézher — Oe wun maur dizíeyerer aand lúver!
Oe tu haest ferm hóelding — tu haest, haest on witth me.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.


I sélabraet miesélf, aand sing miesélf,
Aand hwut I asúem yu shaal asúem,
Faur évre áatam beeláunging tu me aaz good beeláungz tu yu.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
I loef aand invíet mi soel,
I leen aand loef aat mi eez abzérving a speer uv súmer graas.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
Mi tung, évre áatam uv mi blud, faurmd frum this sóiyal, this air,
Baurn heer uv páarants baurn heer frum páarants tha saem, aand thair páarants tha saem,
I, nou tthèrtee-sévan yeerz oeld in pérfakt heltth beegín,
Hóeping tu sees not til detth.
Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.
Kreedz aand skuelz in abáeyans,
Reetíeyering baak a hwieyal safíest aat hwut thae or, but néver fargótan,
I hórber faur good aur baad, I permít tu speek aat évre háazerd,
Náecher witthout chek witth aríjinal énerje.
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
Hóuzaz aand ruemz or fool uv pérfyuemz, tha shelvz or króudad witth pérfyuemz,
I breeth tha fráegrans miesélf aand noe it aand liek it,
Tha dìstiláeshan wood intóksikaet me áulso, but I shaal not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
The áatmasfèer iz not a pérfyuem, it haaz no taest uv tha dìstiláeshan, it iz óederlas,
It iz faur mi moutth fauréver, I aam in luv witth it,
I wil go tu tha baangk bi tha wood aand beekúm undisgíezd aand náekad,
I aam maad faur it tu be in kóntaakt witth me.
The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
Tha smoek uv mi oen bretth,
Ékoez, rípoolz, buzd hwísperz, lúv-ruet, sílk-tthred, kroch aand vien,
Mi rèsperáeshan aand ínsperàeshan, tha béeting uv mi hort, tha páasing uv blud aand air tthru mi lungz,
Tha snif uv green leevz aand dri leevz, aand uv tha shaur aand dórk-kùlerd sée-roks, aand uv hae in tha born,
The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.
Tha sound uv tha belcht werdz uv mi vois luest tu the édeez uv tha wind,
A fyu liet kísaz, a fyu embráesaz, a réeching aróund uv ormz,
Tha plae uv shien aand shaed on tha treez aaz tha súpool bouz waag,
Tha dilíet alóen aur in tha rush uv tha streets, aur aláung tha feeldz aand hílsied,
Tha féeling uv heltth, tha fóol-nuen tril, tha saung uv me ríezing frum bed aand méeting tha sun.
Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much?
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
Haav yu rékand a tthóuzand áekerz much? haav yu rékand the ertth much?
Haav yu práaktist so laung tu lern tu reed?
Haav yu felt so proud tu get aat the méening uv póewamz?
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.
Stop this dae aand niet witth me aand yu shaal pazés the áurijin uv aul póewamz,
Yu shaal pazés tha good uv the ertth aand sun, (thair or mílyanz uv sunz left,)
Yu shaal no láungger taek tthingz aat sékand aur ttherd haand, naur look tthru the iez uv tha ded, naur feed on tha spékterz in books,
Yu shaal not look tthru mi iez éether, naur taek tthingz frum me,
Yu shaal lísan tu aul siedz aand fílter them frum yaur self.
I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
I haav herd hwut tha táukerz wer táuking, tha tauk uv tha beegíning aand the end,
But I du not tauk uv tha beegíning aur the end.
There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.
Thair wuz néver éne maur insépshan thaan thair iz nou,
Naur éne maur yuetth aur aej thaan thair iz nou,
Aand wil néver be éne maur perfékshan thaan thair iz nou,
Naur éne maur hévan aur hel thaan thair iz nou.
Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.
Erj aand erj aand erj,
Áulwaez tha próekreeyant erj uv tha woorld.
Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.
To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so.
Out uv tha dímnas ópasit éekwalz aadváans, áulwaez súbstans aand ínkrees, áulwaez seks,
Áulwaez a nit uv iedéntite, áulwaez distíngkshan, áulwaez a breed uv lief.
Tu eeláabaraet iz no aváil, lernd aand únlernd feel thaat it iz so.
Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams,
Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
I and this mystery here we stand.
Shuer aaz tha moest sértan shuer, plum in the úpriets, wel entréeteed, braest in tha beemz,
Stout aaz a haurs, afékshanat, háute, eeléktrikal,
I aand this místere heer we staand.
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Kleer aand sweet iz mi soel, aand kleer aand sweet iz aul thaat iz not mi soel.
Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.
Laak wun laaks boetth, aand the ùnséen is pruevd bi tha seen,
Til thaat beekúmz unséen aand reeséevz pruef in its tern.
Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age,
Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.
Shóewing tha best aand divíeding it frum tha werst aej véksaz aej,
Nóewing tha pérfakt fítnas aand èkwanímite uv tthingz, hwiel thae diskús I aam síelant, aand go baeth aand aadmíeyer miesélf.
Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean,
Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest.
Wélkam iz évre áurgan aand áatribyuet uv me, aand uv éne maan hórte aand kleen,
Not aan inch naur a pórtikool uv aan inch iz víeyal, aand nun shaal be les famílyer thaan tha rest.
I am satisfied — I see, dance, laugh, sing;
As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the
night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread,
Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with their plenty,
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?
I aam sáatisfied — I se, daans, laaf, sing;
Aaz tha húging aand lúving bédfeloe sleeps aat mi sied tthru tha niet, aand witthdráuz aat tha peep uv tha dae witth stéltthe tred,
Léeving me báaskats kúverd witth hwiet tóuwalz swéling tha hous witth thair plénte,
Shaal I poestpóen mi àakseptáeshan aand rèeyalizáeshan aand skreem aat mi iez,
Thaat thae tern frum gáezing áafter aand doun tha roed,
Aand fáurtthwitth síefer aand sho me tu a sent,
Egzáaktle the váalyu uv wun aand egzáaktle tha váalyu uv tueq, aand hwich iz ahéd
Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.
Tríperz aand áaskerz saróund me,
Péepool I meet, the ifékt apón me uv mi óorle lief aur tha waurd aand síte I liv in, aur tha náeshan,
Tha láetast daets, diskúvereez, invénshanz, sasíeyateez, áuttherz oeld aand nu,
Mi díner, dres, asóseeyats, looks, kómplimants, duez,
Tha reel aur fáanseed indífrans uv sum maan aur wóoman I luv,
Tha síknas uv wun uv mi foeks aur uv miesélf, aur il-dúewing aur laus aur laak uv múne, aur deepréshanz aur ègzaultáeshanz,
Báatalz, tha hórerz uv fràatrisíedal waur, tha féever uv dóutfool nuez, the fítfool eevénts;
Theez kum tu me daez aand niets aand go frum me agén,
But thae or not tha Me miesélf.
Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.
Apórt frum tha póoling aand háuling staandz hwut I aam,
Staandz amyúezd, kampláesant, kampáashanaeting, íedal, yúenitère,
Looks doun, iz eerékt, aur bendz aan orm on aan impáalpabool sértan rest,
Lóoking witth síed-kèrvd hed kyúereeyas hwut wil kum nekst,
Boetth in aand out uv tha gaem aand wóching aand wúndering aat it.
Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.
Báakwerd I se in mi oen daez hwair I swétad tthru fog witth línggwists aand kanténderz,
I haav no mókingz aur órgyoomants, I wítnas aand waet.
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to
And you must not be abased to the other.
I beeléev in yu mi soel, the úther I aam must not abáes itsélf tu yu,
Aand yu must not be abáest tu the úther.
Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
Loef witth me on tha graas, lues tha stop frum yaur tthroet,
Not werdz, not myúezik aur riem I wont, not kústam aur lékcher, not éevan tha best,
Óenle tha lul I liek, tha hum uv yaur váalvd vois.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,
And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.
I miend hou wuns we lae such a traanspáarant súmer máurning,
Hou yu sétald yaur hed atthwáurt mi hips aand jentle ternd óever apón me,
Aand pórtad tha shert frum mi bóozam-boen, aand plunjd yaur tung tu mi bair-stript hort,
Aand reecht til yu felt mi beerd, aand reecht til yu held mi feet.
Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed.
Swíftle aróez aand spred aróund me tha pees aand nólaj thaat paas aul the órgyoomant uv the ertth,
Aand I noe thaat tha haand uv God iz tha prómis uv mi oen,
Aand I noe thaat tha spéerit uv God iz tha brúther uv mi oen,
Aand thaat aul tha men éver baurn or áulso mi brútherz, aand tha wíman mi sísterz aand lúverz,
Aand thaat a kélsan uv tha kreeyáeshan iz luv,
Aand límitlas or leevz stif aur drúeping in tha feeldz,
Aand broun aants in tha lítal welz beenéetth them,
Aand máuse skaabz uv tha werm fens, heept stoenz, élder, múlan aand póekweed.
6 [link]
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
[link] A chíeyald sed Hwut iz tha graas? féching it tu me witth fool haandz;
Hou kood I áanser tha chíeyald? I du not noe hwut it iz éne maur thaan he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. I ges it must be tha flaag uv mi dìspazíshan, out uv hóepfool green stuf wóevan.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?
Aur I ges it iz tha háangkerchif uv tha Laurd,
A séntad gift aand reemémbranser dizíenadle dropt,
Báiring the óener'z naem súmwae in tha káurnerz, thaat we mae se aand reemórk, aand sae Huez?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Aur I ges tha graas iz itsélf a chíeyald, tha pradúest baeb uv tha vejatáeshan.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.
Aur I ges it iz a yúenifaurm hìeraglífik,
Aand it meenz, Spróuting aliek in braud zoenz aand náaroe zoenz,
Gróewing amúng blaak foeks aaz amúng hwiet,
Kanúk, Túkaho, Konggrasman, Kuf, I giv them tha saem, I reeséev them tha saem.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Aand nou it seemz tu me tha byúetifool únkut hair uv graevz.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps.
Ténderle wil I yuez yu kóorling graas,
It mae be yu traanspíeyer frum tha brests uv yung men,
It mae be if I haad noen them I wood haav luvd them,
It mae be yu or frum oeld péepool, aur frum áufspring táekan suen out uv thair mútherz' laaps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
This graas iz vére dork tu be frum tha hwiet hedz uv oeld mútherz,
Dórker thaan tha kúlerlas beerdz uv oeld men,
Dork tu kum frum únder tha faent red ruefs uv mouthz.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.
Oe I perséev áafter aul so méne útering tungz,
Aand I perséev thae du not kum frum tha ruefs uv mouthz faur nútthing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.
I wish I kood tráanzlaet tha hints abóut tha ded yung men and wíman,
Aand tha hints abóut oeld men aand mútherz, aand the áufspring táekan suen out uv thair laaps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?
Hwut du yu tthingk haaz beekúm uv tha yung aand oeld men?
Aand hwut du yu tthingk haaz beekum uv tha wíman aand chíldran?
They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.
Thae or alíev aand wel súmhwair,
Tha smáulast sprout shoez thair iz réele no detth,
Aand if éver thair wuz it led fáurwerd lief, aand duz not waet at the end tu arést it,
Aand seest tha móemant lief apéerd.
All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
Aul goez ónwerd aand óutwerd, nútthing kaláapsaz,
Aand tu di iz dífrant frum hwut éne wun sapóezd, aand lúkeeyer.
Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
Haaz ene wun sapoezd it lúke tu be baurn?
I háesan tu infáurm him aur her it iz just aaz lúke tu di, and I noe it.
I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contain'd between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.
I paas detth witth tha díeying aand bertth witth tha nú-wòsht baeb, aand aam not kantáend beetwéen mi haat aand buets,
Aand perúez máanifoeld óbjekts, no tueq alíek aand évre wun good,
The ertth good aand tha stors good, aand thair áajunkts aul good.
I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)
I aam not aan ertth naur aan áajunkt uv aan ertth,
I aam tha maet aand kampáanyan uv péepool, aul just aaz imáurtal aand fáathamlas aaz miesélf,
(Thae du not noe hou imáurtal, but I noe.)
Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears, For me children and the begetters of children.
Évre kiend faur itsélf aand its oen, faur me mien mail aand féemail,
Faur me thoez thaat haav bin boiz aand thaat luv wíman,
Faur me tha maan thaat iz proud aand feelz hou it stingz tu be slíetad,
Faur me tha swéetqhort aand the oeld maed, faur me mútherz aand tha mútherz uv mútherz,
Faur me lips thaat haav smíeyald, iez thaat haav shed teerz,
Faur me chíldran aand tha beegéterz uv chíldran.
Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.
Undráep! yu or not gílte tu me, naur stail naur diskórdad,
I se tthru tha bráudklautth aand gíngam hwéther aur no,
Aand aam aróund, tanáeshas, akwízitiv, tíeyerlas, aand káanot be sháekan awáe.
The little one sleeps in its cradle,
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand.
Tha lítal wun sleeps in its kráedool,
I lift tha gauz aand look a laung tiem, aand síelantle brush awae fliez witth mi haand.
The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,
I peeringly view them from the top.
Tha yúngster aand tha réd-faest goorl tern asíed up tha bóoshe hil,
I péeringle vyu them frum tha top.
The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom,
I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen.
Tha súewisied spraulz on tha blúde flaur uv tha bédruem,
I wítnas tha kaurps witth its dáaboold hair, I noet hwair tha pístal haaz fáulan.
The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders,
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls,
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous'd mobs,
The flap of the curtain'd litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital,
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his passage to the centre of the crowd,
The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv'd who fall sunstruck or in fits,
What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls restrain'd by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances, rejections with convex lips,
I mind them or the show or resonance of them — I come and I depart.
Tha blaab uv tha paev, tíyerz uv korts, sluf uv búet-soelz, tauk uv tha prómanaederz,
Tha héve ómnibus, tha dríever witth hiz intéragaeting tthum, tha klaangk uv tha shod háursaz on tha gráanit flaur,
Tha snóe-slàez, klíngking, shóutad joeks, pelts uv snóebaulz,
Tha haróz faur pópyooler fáevrits, tha fyúere uv rouzd mobz,
Tha flaap uv tha kértand líter, a sik maan insíed baurn tu tha hóspital,
Tha méeting uv énameez, tha súdan oetth, tha bloez aand faul,
The eksíetad kroud, tha paléesman witth hiz stor kwíkle wérking hiz páasaj tu tha sénter uv tha kroud,
The impáasiv stoenz thaat reeséev aand reetérn so méne ékoez,
Hwut groenz uv òeverféd aur hàaf-stórvd hu faul súnstruk aur in fits,
Hwut eksklamáeshanz uv wíman táekan súdanle hu hére hoem aand giv bertth tu baebz,
Hwut líving aand béreed speech iz áulwaez víebraeting heer, hwut hóuwalz reestráend bi dakáuram,
Arésts uv kríminalz, sliets, adúlteras áufers maed, aakséptansaz, reejékshanz witth kónveks lips,
I miend them aur the sho aur rézanans uv them — I kum aand I deepórt.
The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,
The armfuls are pack'd to the sagging mow.
Tha big daurz uv tha kúntre born staand óepan aand réde,
Tha dried graas uv tha hórvast-tiem loedz tha slóe-dràun wáagan,
Tha kleer liet plaez on tha broun grae aand green intertínjd,
The órmfoolz or paakt tu tha sáaging mou.
I am there, I help, I came stretch'd atop of the load,
I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,
I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,
And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.
I aam thair, I help, I kaem strecht atóp uv tha loed,
I felt its sauft joelts, wun leg reeklíend on the úther,
I jump frum tha kráusbeemz aand seez tha klóever aand tímatthe,
Aand roel hed óever heelz aand táanggool mi hair fool uv wisps.
Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,
Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill'd game,
Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves with my dog and gun by my side.
Aloen for in tha wíeyaldz aand móuntanz I hunt,
Wóndering amáezd aat mi oen líetnas aand gle,
In tha laet aafternúen chúezing a saef spot tu paas tha niet,
Kíndling a fíeyer aand bróiling tha frésh-kìld gaem,
Fáuling asléep on tha gáatherd leevz witth mi daug aand gun bi mi sied.
The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud,
My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck.
Tha Yáangke klíper is únder her skíe-sailz, she kuts tha spórkool aand skud,
Mi iez sétal tha laand, I bend aat her prou aur shout jóiyasle frum tha dek.
The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me,
I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time;
You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.
Tha bóetmen aand kláamdigerz aróez óorle aand stopt faur me,
I tukt mi tróuzer-endz in mi buets aand went aand haad a good tiem;
Yu shood haav bin witth us thaat dae round tha chóuder-kétal.
I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl,
Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking,
they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders,
On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his
luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand,
She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach'd to her feet.
I sau tha máaraj uv tha tráaper in the óepan air in tha for west, tha bried wuz a red goorl,
Her fóther aand hiz frendz saat neer kráus-lègad aand dúmle smóeking, thae haad mókasinz tu thair feet aand lorj tthik bláangkats háanging frum thair shóelderz,
On a baangk lounjd tha tráaper, he wuz drest móestle in skinz, hiz lagzhúereeyant beerd aand koorlz pratéktad hiz nek, he held hiz bried bi the haand,
She haad laung íelàashaz, her hed wuz bair, her kaurs straet loks diséndad apón her valúpchuewas limz aand reecht tu her feet.
The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside,
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile,
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak,
And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him,
And brought water and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and bruis'd feet,
And gave him a room that enter'd from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,
And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass'd north,
I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean'd in the corner.
Tha rúnawae slaev kaem tu mi hous aand stopt outsíed,
I herd hiz móeshanz kráakling tha twigz uv tha wóodpieyal,
Tthru tha swung hàaf-dáur uv tha kíchan I sau him límpse aand week,
Aand went hwair he saat on a log aand led him in aand ashúerd him,
Aand braut wúter aand fild a tub faur hiz swétad bóde and bruezd feet,
Aand gaev him a ruem thaat énterd frum mi oen, aand gaev him sum kaurs kleen kloethz,
Aand reemémber pérfaktle wel hiz reevólving iez aand hiz áukwerdnas,
Aand reemémber póoting pláasterz on tha gaulz uv hiz nek aand áangkoolz;
He staed witth me a week beefáur he wuz reekúeperaetad aand paast naurtth,
I haad him sit nekst me aat táebool, mi fíeyer-lok leend in tha káurner.
Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,
Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;
Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.
[link] Twèntee-áet yung men baeth bi tha shaur,
Twèntee-áet yung men aand aul so fréndle;
Twéntee-aet yeerz uv wóomanle lief aand aul so loensam.
She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,
She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.
She oenz tha fien hous bi tha riez uv tha baangk,
She hiedz háandsam aand ríchle drest aaft the bliendz uv tha wíndo.
Which of the young men does she like the best?
Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.
Hwich uv tha yung men duz she liek tha best?
Oq tha hóemleeyast uv them iz byúetifool tu her.
Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,
You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.
Hwair or yu auf tu, láede? faur I se yu,
Yu splaash in tha wúter thair, yet stae stok stil in yaur ruem.
Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather,
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.
Dáansing aand láafing aláung tha beech kaem tha twèntee-níentth báether,
Tha rest did not se her, but she sau them aand luvd them.
The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair,
Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.
Tha beerdz uv tha yung men glísand witth wet, it raan frum thair laung hair,
Lítal streemz paast aul oever thair bódeez.
An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies,
It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.
Aan únséen haand áulso paast óever thair bódeez,
It diséndad trémblingle frum thair témpoolz aand ribz.
The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them,
They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch,
They do not think whom they souse with spray.
Tha yung men floet on thair baaks, thair hwiet béleez bulj tu tha sun, thae du not aask hu séezaz faast tu them,
Thae du not noe hu pufs aand deeklíenz witth péndant aand bénding orch,
Thae du not tthingk huem thae sous witth sprae.
The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market,
I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.
Tha bóocher-boi poots auf hiz kíling-kloethz, aur shórpanz hiz nief aat tha staul in tha mórkat,
I lóiter enjóiying hiz rèportáe aand hiz shúfool aand bráekdoun.
Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil,
Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire.
Bláaksmitths witth griemd aand háire chests envíeran the áanvool,
Eech haaz hiz máen-slej, thae or aul out, thair iz a graet heet in tha fíeyer.
From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements,
The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms,
Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure,
They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.
Frum tha sínder-strùed tthréshqhoeld I fóloe thair múevmants,
Tha lieth sheer uv thair waests plaez éevan witth thair máasiv ormz,
Óeverhaand tha háamerz swing, óeverhaand so slo, óeverhaand so shuer,
Thae du not háesan, eech maan hits in hiz plaes.
The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain,
The negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and tall he stands pois'd on one leg on the string-piece,
His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over his hip-band,
His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat away from his forehead,
The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of his polish'd and perfect limbs.
Tha néegro hoeldz férmle tha raenz uv hiz faur háursaz, tha blok swaagz undernéetth on its tíed-òever chaen,
Tha néegro thaat drievz tha laung drae uv tha stóen-yord, stéde aand taul he staandz poizd on wun leg on tha stríng-pees,
Hiz blu shert ekspóezaz hiz áampool nek aand brest aand lúesanz óever hiz híp-baand,
Hiz glaans is kom aand kamáanding, he táusaz tha slouch uv hiz haat awáe frum hiz fáurhed,
Tha sun faulz on hiz kríspe hair aand mústaash, faulz on tha blaak uv hiz pólisht aand pérfakt limz.
I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there,
I go with the team also.
I beehóeld tha pìkcherésk jíeyant aand luv him, aand I du not stop thair,
I go witth tha teem áulso.
In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as forward sluing,
To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing,
Absorbing all to myself and for this song.
In me tha karéser uv lief hwairéver múeving, báakwerd aaz wel as fáurwerd slúewing,
Tu níchaz asíed aand júenyer bénding, not a pérsan aur óbjekt mísing,
Abzáurbing aul tu miesélf aand faur this saung.
Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes?
It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.
Óksan thaat rátal tha yoek aand chaen aur hault in tha léefe shaed, hwut iz thaat yu eksprés in yaur iez?
It seemz tu me maur thaan aul tha print I haav red in mi lief.
My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble,
They rise together, they slowly circle around.
Mi tred skairz tha wóod-draek aand wood-dúk on mi dístant aand dáe-laung ráambool,
Thae riez toogéther, thae slóele sérkool aróund.
I believe in those wing'd purposes,
And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me,
And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional,
And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else,
And the in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me,
And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me.
I beeléev in thoez wingd pérpasaz,
Aand aaknólaj red, yélo, hwiet, plaéying witthín me,
Aand kansíder green aand víeyalat aand tha túftad kroun inténshanal,
Aand du not kaul tha táurtas unwérthe beekáuz she iz not súmtthing els,
Aand tha jae in tha woodz néver stúdeed tha gáamat, yet trilz príte wel tu me,
Aand tha look uv tha bae mair shaemz síleenas out uv me.
The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night,
Ya-honk he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation,
The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listening close,
Find its purpose and place up there toward the wintry sky.
Tha wíeyald gáander leedz hiz flok tthru tha kuel niet,
Ya-hóngk he sez, aand soundz it doun tu me liek aan ìnvitáeshan,
Tha pert mae sapóez it méeninglas, but I lísaning kloes,
Fiend its pérpas aand plaes up thair taurd tha wíntre ski.
The sharp-hoof'd moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie-dog,
The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats,
The brood of the turkey-hen and she with her half-spread wings,
I see in them and myself the same old law.
Tha shórp-hòoft mues uv tha naurtth, tha kaat on tha hóus-sìl, the chíkade, tha práire daug,
Tha líter uv tha grúnting sou aaz thae tug aat her teets,
Tha brued uv tha térke-hen aand she witth her háaf-spred wingz,
I se in them aand miesélf tha saem oeld lau.
The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections,
They scorn the best I can do to relate them.
Tha pres uv mi foot tu the ertth springz a húndrad affections,
Thae scorn tha best I kaan du tu reeláet them.
I am enamour'd of growing out-doors,
Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods,
Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses,
I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out.
I aam ináamerd uv gróewing out-doorz,
Uv men thaat liv amúng káatal aur taest uv the óeshan aur woodz,
Uv tha bílderz aand stéererz uv ships aand tha wéelderz uv àaksaz aand maulz, aand tha dríeverz uv háursaz,
I kaan eet aand sleep witth them week in aand week out.
What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me,
Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns,
Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me,
Not asking the sky to come down to my good will,
Scattering it freely forever.
Hwut iz kómanast, chéepest, néerast, éezeeyast, iz Me,
Me góewing in faur mi cháansaz, spénding faur vaast reetérnz,
Adáurning miesélf tu beestó miesélf on tha ferst thaat wil taek me,
Not áasking tha ski tu kum doun tu mi good wil,
Skáatering it fréele fauréver.
The pure contralto sings in the organ loft,
The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp,
The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner,
The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with a strong arm,
The mate stands braced in the whale-boat, lance and harpoon are ready,
The duck-shooter walks by silent and cautious stretches,
The deacons are ordain'd with cross'd hands at the altar,
The spinning-girl retreats and advances to the hum of the big wheel,
The farmer stops by the bars as he walks on a First-day loafe and looks at the oats and rye,
The lunatic is carried at last to the asylum a confirm'd case,
(He will never sleep any more as he did in the cot in his mother's bed-room;)
The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case,
He turns his quid of tobacco while his eyes blur with the manuscript;
The malform'd limbs are tied to the surgeon's table,
What is removed drops horribly in a pail;
The quadroon girl is sold at the auction-stand, the drunkard nods by the bar-room stove,
The machinist rolls up his sleeves, the policeman travels his beat, the gate-keeper marks who pass,
The young fellow drives the express-wagon, (I love him, though I do not know him;)
The half-breed straps on his light boots to compete in the race,
The western turkey-shooting draws old and young, some lean on their rifles, some sit on logs,
Out from the crowd steps the marksman, takes his position,
Tha pyuer kantráalto singz in the áurgan lauft,
Tha kórpanter drésaz hiz plaangk, tha tung uv hiz fáurplaen
hwísalz its wíeyald asénding lisp,
Tha máareed aand únmaareed chíldran ried hoem tu thair Ttháangksgìving díner,
Tha píelat séezaz tha kíngpin, he heevz doun witth a straung orm,
Tha maet staandz braest in tha hwáilboet, laans aand harpoon or réde,
Tha dúk-shùeter wauks bi síelant aand káushas stréchaz,
Tha déekanz or aurdáend witth kraust haandz aat the áulter,
Tha spíning-gèrl reetréets aand aadváansaz tu tha hum uv tha big hweel,
Tha fórmer stops bi tha borz aaz he wauks on a Férst-dae loef aand looks aat the oets aand ri,
Tha lúenatik iz káareed aat laast tu the asíelam a kanférmd kaes,
(He wil néver sleep éne maur aaz he did in tha kot in hiz múther'z bédruem;)
Tha zhuer [?] prínter witth grae hed aand gaunt jaus werks aat hiz kaes,
He ternz hiz kwid uv tobacco hwiel hiz iez bler witth tha máanyooskript;
Tha máalfaurmd limz or tied tu tha sérjan'z táebool,
Hwut iz reemúevd drops hórible in a pail;
Tha kwodrúen goorl iz soeld aat the áukshan-staand, tha drúngkerd nods by the bóruem stoev,
Tha mashéenist roelz up hiz sleevz, tha paléesman tráavalz hiz beet,
the gáetkèeper morks hu paas,
Tha yung félo drievz the eksprés-wàagan, (I luv him, tho I du not noe him;)
Tha háaf-breed straaps on hiz liet buets tu kampéet in tha raes,
Tha wéstern térke-shùeting drauz oeld aand yung, sum leen on thair ríefalz, sum sit on logz,
I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,
Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,
Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse and stuff'd with the stuff that is fine,
One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the largest the same,
A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and hospitable down by the Oconee I live,
A Yankee bound my own way ready for trade, my joints the limberest joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth,
A Kentuckian walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin leggings, a Louisianian or Georgian,
A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye;
At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen off Newfoundland,
At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tacking,
At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine, or the Texan ranch,
Comrade of Californians, comrade of free North-Westerners, (loving their big proportions,)
Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen, comrade of all who shake hands and welcome to drink and meat,
A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest,
A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons,
Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion,
A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker,
Prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest.
I aam uv oeld aand yung, uv tha fúelish aaz much aaz tha wiez,
Reegórdlas uv útherz, éver reegórdfool uv útherz,
Matérnal aaz wel aaz patérnal, a chíeyald aaz wel aaz a maan,
Stuft witth tha stuf thaat iz kaurs aand stuft witth tha stuf
thaat iz fien,
Wun uv tha Náeshan uv méne náeshanz, tha smáulast tha saem aand tha lórjast tha saem,
A Sútherner suen aaz a Náurtherner, a pláanter nònshalónt aand hóspitabòol doun bi the Oekóene [?] I liv,
A Yáangke bound mi oen way réde faur traed, mi joints tha límberast joints on ertth aand tha stérnast joints on ertth,
A Kentúkeeyan wáuking tha vail uv the Élkhaurn in mi déer-skin
légingz, a Luewèezeeyáaneeyan aur Jáurjan,
A bóetman óever laeks aur baez aur aláung koests, a Húezher, Báajer, Búkie;
Aat hoem on Kanadian snóeshuez aur up in tha boosh, aur witth físhermen auf Núefandland
Aat hoem in tha fleet uv íes-boets, sáiling witth tha rest aand táaking,
Aat hoem on tha hilz uv Vermónt aur in tha woodz uv Maen, aur tha Téksan raanch,
Kómraad uv Kàlifáurnyanz, kómraad uv fre Naurtth-Wésterners, (lúving thair big prapáurshanz,)
Kómraad uv ráaftsmen aand kóelmen, kómraad uv aul hu shaek haandz aand wélkam tu dringk aand meet,
A lérner witth tha símplast, a téecher uv tha ttháutfoolest,
A nóvis beegíning yet ekspéereeyant uv méereeyadz uv séezanz,
Uv évre hyu aand kaast aam I, uv évre raangk aand reelíjan,
A fórmer, makáanik, órtist, jéntalman, sáiler, kwáeker,
Prízaner, fáanse-màn, róude, láuyer, fizíshan, preest.
I resist any thing better than my own diversity,
Breathe the air but leave plenty after me,
And am not stuck up, and am in my place.
I reezíst éne tthing béter thaan mi oen divérsite,
Breeth the air but leev plénte áafter me,
Aand aam not stuk up, aand aam in mi plaes.
(The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place,
The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place,
The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.)
(The mautth aand tha fish-egz or in thair plaes,
Tha briet sunz I se aand tha dork sunz I káanot se or in thair
Tha páalpabool iz in its plaes aand the ímpàalpabool iz in its plaes.)
These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me,
If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing,
If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing,
If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.
Theez or réele tha tthauts uv aul men in aul áejaz aand laandz, thae or not aríjinal witth me,
If thae or not yaurz aaz much aaz mien thae or nútthing, aur next to nútthing,
If thae or not tha rídool aand the untíeying uv tha rídool thae or nútthing,
If thae or not just aaz kloes aaz thae or dístant thae or nútthing.
This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is,
This the common air that bathes the globe.
This iz tha graas thaat groez hwairéver tha laand iz aand tha wúter iz,
This tha kóman air thaat baethz tha gloeb.
With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums,
I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquer'd and slain persons.
Witth myúezik straung I kum, witth mi kaurnéts aand mi drumz,
I plae not mórchaz faur aakséptad víkterz óenle, I plae mórchaz faur kóngkerd aand slaen pérsanz.
Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.
Haav yu herd thaat it wuz good tu gaen tha dae?
I áulso sae it iz good tu faul, báatalz or laust in tha saem spéerit in hwich thae or wun.
I beat and pound for the dead,
I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.
I beet aand pound faur tha ded,
I blo tthru mi ombooshúerz mi lóudast aand gáeyast faur them.
Vivas to those who have fail'd!
And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!
And to those themselves who sank in the sea!
And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!
And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!
Véevaz tu thoez hu haav faild!
Aand tu thoez huez wáur-vèsoolz saangk in tha see!
Aand tu thoez themselves hu saangk in tha see!
Aand tu aul jéneralz thaat laust engáejmants, aand aul óeverkum héeroez!
Aand tha númberlas unóen héeroez éekwal tu tha gráestast héeroez
This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger,
It is for the wicked just same as the righteous, I make appointments with all,
I will not have a single person slighted or left away,
The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited,
The heavy-lipp'd slave is invited, the venerealee is invited;
There shall be no difference between them and the rest.
This iz tha meel éekwalle set, this tha meet faur náacharal húngger
It iz faur tha wíkad just tha saem aaz tha ríechas, I maek apóintmants witth aul,
I wil not haav a sínggal pérsan slíetad aur left awáe,
Tha kèpt-wóoman, spúnjer, ttheef, or héerbi invíetd,
Tha hévee-lìpt slaev iz invíetad, tha vanèereeyalé iz invíetad;
Thair shaal be no dífrans beetwéen them aand tha rest.
This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair,
This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning,
This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face,
This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.
This iz tha pres uv a báashfool haand, this tha floet aand óeder uv hair,
This tha tuch uv mi lips tu yaurz, this tha mérmer uv yérning,
This tha fór-auf deptth aand hiet reeflékting mi oen faes,
This tha tthautfool merj uv miesélf, aand the óutlat agén.
Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?
Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.
Do yu ges I haav sum íntrikat pérpas?
Wel I haav, faur tha Fáurtth-mùntth shóuwerz haav, aand tha míeka on the sied uv a rok haaz.
Do you take it I would astonish?
Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering through the woods?
Do I astonish more than they?
Du yu taek it I wood astónish?
Duz tha dáeliet astónish? duz the óorle rédstort twítering
tthru tha woodz? du I astónish maur thaan thae?
This hour I tell things in confidence,
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.
This óuwer I tel tthingz in kónfidans,
I miet not tel évreebùde, but I wil tel yu.
Who goes there? hankering, gross, mystical, nude;
How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?
Hu goez thair? háangkering, groes, místikal, nued;
How iz it I ekstráakt strengktth frum tha beef I eet?
What is a man anyhow? what am I? what are you? Hwut iz a maan éneehou? hwut aam I? hwut or yu?
All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own,
Else it were time lost listening to me.
Aul I mork aaz mi oen yu shaal aufsét it witth yaur oen,
Els it wer tiem laust lísaning tu me.
I do not snivel that snivel the world over,
That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.
I du not sníval thaat sníval tha woorld óever,
Thaat muntths or váakyuemz aand tha ground but wólo aand filtth.
Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity goes to the fourth-remov'd,
I wear my hat as I please indoors or out.
Hwímpering aand trúkling foeld witth póuderz faur ínvalidz, kanfáurmite goez tu tha fàurtth-reemúevd,
I wair mi hat aaz I pleez índoors aur out.
Why should I pray? why should I venerate and be ceremonious? Hwi shood I prae? hwi shood I véneraet aand be sèramóeneyas?
Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel'd with doctors and calculated close,
I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.
Háaving pried tthru tha stráata, áanalìezd tu a hair, kòunsald witth dókterz aand káalkyoolàetad kloes,
I fiend no swéeter fat thaan stiks tu mi oen boenz.
In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less,
And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.
In aul péepool I se miesélf, nun maur aand not wun a bórlee-kaurn les,
Aand tha good aur baad I sae uv miesélf I sae uv them.
I know I am solid and sound,
To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow,
All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.
I noe I aam sólid aand sound,
tu me tha kanvérjingg óbjekts uv tha yúenivèrs perpéchuewalè flo,
Aul or rítan tu me, aand I must get hwut tha ríeting meenz.
I know I am deathless,
I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass,
I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.
I noe I aam détthlas,
I noe this áurbit uv mien káanot be swept bi a kórpanter'z kúmpas,
I noe I shaal not paas liek a chíeyald'z kóorlakyu kut witth a bernt stik aat niet.
I know I am august,
I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood,
I see that the elementary laws never apologize,
(I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.)
I noe I aam augúst,
I du not trúbal mi spéerit tu víndikàet itsélf aur be ùnderstóod,
I se thaat the elaméntare lauz néver apólajìez,
(I rékan I beeháev no próuder thaan tha léval I plaant mi hous by, áafter aul.)
I exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.
I egzíst aaz I aam, thaat iz eenúf,
If no úther in tha woorld be awáir I sit kantént,
Aand if eech aand aul be awáir I sit kantént.
One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself,
And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.
Wun woorld iz awáir aand bi for tha lórjast tu me, aand thaat iz miesélf,
Aand hwéther I kum tu mi oen toodáe aur in ten tthóuzand aur ten mílyan yeerz,
I kaan chéerfoole taek it nou, aur witth éekwal chéerfoolnas I kaan waet.
My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite,
I laugh at what you call dissolution,
And I know the amplitude of time.
Mi fóothoeld iz ténund aand máurtist in gráanit,
I laaf aat hwut yu kaul dìsalúeshan,
Aand I noe the áamplitùed uv tiem.
I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,
The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,
The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into new tongue.
I aam tha póewat uv tha Bóde aand I aam tha póewat uv tha Soel,
Tha plézherz uv hévan or witth me aand tha paenz uv hel or witth me,
Tha ferst I graaft aand inkrées apón miesélf, tha láater I tráanzlaet íntu nu tung.
I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.
I aam tha póewat uv tha wóoman tha saem aaz tha maan,
Aand I sae it iz aaz graet tu be a wóoman aaz tu be a maan,
Aand I sae thair iz nútthing gráeter thaan tha múther uv men.
I chant the chant of dilation or pride,
We have had ducking and deprecating about enough,
I show that size is only development.
I chaant tha chaant uv dieláeshan aur pried,
We haav haad dúking aand déprakàeting abóut eenúf,
I sho thaat siez iz óenle davélapmant.
Have you outstript the rest? are you the President?
It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on.
Haav yu outstrípt tha rest? or yu tha Prézidant?
It iz a tríefal, thae wil maur thaan aríev thair évre wun, aand stil paas on.
I am he that walks with the tender and growing night,
I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.
I aam he thaat wauks witth tha ténder aand gróewing niet,
I kaul tu the ertth aand see hàaf-héld bi tha niet.
Press close bare-bosom'd night — press close magnetic nourishing night!
Night of south winds — night of the large few stars!
Still nodding night — mad naked summer night.
Pres kloes báir-bòozamd niet — pres kloes maagnétik nérishing niet!
Niet uv soutth windz — niet uv tha lorj fyu storz!
Stil nóding niet — maad náekad súmer niet.
Smile O voluptuous cool-breath'd earth!
Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!
Earth of departed sunset — earth of the mountains misty-topt!
Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!
Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!
Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!
Far-swooping elbow'd earth — rich apple-blossom'd earth!
Smile, for your lover comes.
Smíeyal Oe valúpchuewas kúel-brètht ertth!
Ertth uv tha slúmbering aand líkwid treez!
Ertth uv deepórtad súnset — ertth uv tha móuntanz mìstee-tópt!
Ertth uv tha vítreeyas paur uv tha fool muen just tinjd witth blu!
Ertth uv shien aand dork mótaling tha tied uv tha ríver!
Ertth uv tha límpid grae uv kloudz brieter aand kléerer faur mi saek!
Fór-swùeping élboed ertth — rich áapool-blòsamd ertth!
Smíeyal, faur yaur lúver kumz.
Prodigal, you have given me love — therefore I to you give love!
O unspeakable passionate love.
Pródigal, yu haav gívan me luv — tháirfaur I tu yu giv luv!
Oe unspéekabool páashanat luv.
You sea! I resign myself to you also — I guess what you mean,
I behold from the beach your crooked fingers,
I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me,
We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land,
Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse,
Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you.
Yu see! I reezíen miesélf tu yu áulso — I ges hwut yu meen,
I beehóeld frum tha beech yaur króokad fínggerz,
I beeléev yu reefyúez tu go baak witthóut féeling uv me,
We must haav a tern toogéther, I undrés, húre me out uv siet uv the laand,
Kóoshan me sauft, rok me in bíloewe drouz,
Daash me witth áamaras wet, I kaan reepáe yu.
Sea of stretch'd ground-swells,
Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths,
Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves,
Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea,
I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases.
See uv strecht gróund-swelz,
See bréething braud aand kanvúlsiv bretths,
See uv tha brien uv lief aand uv unshúvald yet àalwaez-réde graevz,
Hóuwaler aand skúeper uv staurmz, kapríshas aand dáente see,
I aam íntagral witth yu, I tue aam uv wun faez aand uv aul fáezaz.
Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation,
Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms.
Portáeker uv ínfluks aand éfluks I, ekstóeler uv haet aand kansìleeyáeshan,
Ekstóeler uv aaméez aand thoez thaat sleep in eech útherz' ormz.
I am he attesting sympathy,
(Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them?)
I aam he atésting símpatthe,
(Shaal I maek mi list uv tthingz in tha hous aand skip tha hous thaat sapáurts them?)
I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also. I aam not tha póewat uv góodnas óenle, I du not deeklíen tu be tha póewat uv wíkadnas áulso.
What blurt is this about virtue and about vice?
Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent,
My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait,
I moisten the roots of all that has grown.
Hwut blert iz this abóut vérchu aand abóut vies?
Éevool prapélz me aand reefáurm uv éevool prapélz me, I staand indífrant,
Mi gaet iz no fáult-fìender'z aur reejékter'z gaet,
I móisan tha ruets uv aul thaat haaz groen.
Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy?
Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified?
Did yu feer sum scrófyoola out uv the unfláaging prégnanse?
Did yu ges tha salésteeyal lauz or yet tu be werkt óever aand
I find one side a balance and the antipedal side a balance,
Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine,
Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start.
I fiend wun sied a báalans aand the aantípadal sied a báalans,
Sauft dóktrin aaz stéde help aaz stáebool dóktrin,
Tthauts aand deedz uv tha prézant óuwer rouz aand óorle stort.
This minute that comes to me over the past decillions,
There is no better than it and now.
This mínit thaat kumz tu me óever tha paast disílyanz,
Thair iz no béter thaan it aand nou.
What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder,
The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.
Hwut beeháevd wel in tha paast aur beeháevz wel toodáe iz not such wúnder,
Tha wúnder iz áulwaez aand áulwaez hou thair kaan be a meen maan aur aan ínfidel.
Endless unfolding of words of ages!
And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse.
Éndlas unfóelding uv werdz uv áejaz!
Aand mien a werd uv tha módern, tha werd On-Mós.
A word of the faith that never balks,
Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely.
A werd uv tha faetth thaat néver bauks,
Heer aur hensfáurwerd it iz aul tha saem tu me, I aaksépt Tiem
It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all,
That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all.
It alóen iz witthóut flau, it alóen roundz aand kampléets aul,
Thaat místik báafling wúnder alóen kampléets aul.
I accept Reality and dare not question it,
Materialism first and last imbuing.
I aaksépt Reeyáalite aand dair not kwéschan it,
Matéereeyalìzam ferst aand laast imbyúewing.
Hurrah for positive science! long live exact demonstration!
Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac,
This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches,
These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas.
This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician.
Haróq faur pózitiv síeyans! laung liv egzáakt dèmanstráeshan!
Fech stóenkrop mikst witth séeder aand bráanchaz uv líelaak,
This iz tha lèksikógrafêr, this tha kémist, this maed a gráamer uv the oeld kortúeshaz,
Theez máarinerz poot tha ship tthru dáenjeras unóen seez.
This iz tha jeeyólajìst, this werks witth tha skáalper, aand this iz a màatthamatíshan.
Gentlemen, to you the first honors always!
Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling,
I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.
Jéntalman, tu yu tha ferst ónerz áulwaez!
Yaur facts or yúesfool, aand yet thae or not mi dwéling,
I but énter bi them tu aan áireeya uv mi dwéling.
Less the reminders of properties told my words,
And more the reminders they of life untold, and of freedom and extrication,
And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt,
And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives and them that plot and conspire.
Les tha reemíenderz uv próperteez toeld mi werdz,
Aand maur tha reemíenderz thae uv lief untóeld, aand uv fréedam aand ekstrikáeshan,
Aand maek shaurt akóunt uv núeterz aand géldingz, aand fáever men aand wímin foole eekwípt,
Aand beet tha gong uv reevóelt, aand stop witth fyúejitivz aand them thaat plot aand kanspíeyer.
Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son,
Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding,
No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them,
No more modest than immodest.
Wault Hwítman, a kózmoes, uv Manháatan tha sun,
Térbyalant, fléshe, sénshoowal, éeting, dríngking aand bréeding,
No sèntiméntalist, no stáander abúv men aand wímin aur apórt frum them,
No maur módast thaan ímòdast.
Unscrew the locks from the doors!
Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!
Unskrú tha loks frum tha daurz!
Unskrú tha daurz themsélvz frum thair jaamz!
Whoever degrades another degrades me,
And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
Huewéver deegráedz anúther deegráedz me,
Aand hwutéver iz dun aur sed reetérnz aat laast tu me.
Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. Tthru me the afláetas sérjing aand sérjing, tthru me tha kérant aand índeks.
I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy,
By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms.
I speek tha páaswerd priméeval, I giv tha sien uv damókrase,
bi God! I wil aaksépt nútthing hwich aul káanot haav thair kóunterpòrt uv on tha saem terms.
Through me many long dumb voices,
Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves,
Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs,
Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion,
And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the
And of the rights of them the others are down upon,
Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised,
Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.
Tthru me méne laung dum vóisaz,
Vóisaz uv the intérminabòol jèneráeshanz uv prízanerz aand slaevz,
Vóisaz uv tha dizéezd aand dispáiring aand uv ttheevz aand dwaurfs,
Vóisaz uv síekalz uv prèparáeshan aand akréeshan,
Aand uv tha tthredz thaat kanékt tha storz, aand uv wuemz aand uv the fóther-stùf,
Aand uv tha riets uv them the úthrs or doun apón,
Uv tha deefáurmd, tríveeyal, flaat, fúelish, dispíezd,
Fog in the air, béetalz róeling baulz uv dung.
Through me forbidden voices,
Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil,
Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd.
Tthru me farbídan vóisaz,
Vóisaz uv séksaz aand lusts, vóisaz vaild aand I reemúev tha vail,
Vóisaz indéesant bi me kláarifìed aand traansfígyerd.
I do not press my fingers across my mouth,
I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart,
Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.
I du not pres mi fínggerz akráus mi moutth,
I keep aaz délikat aróund tha bóuwalz aaz aróund tha hed aand hort,
Kòpyooláeshan iz no maur raangk tu me thaan detth is.
I believe in the flesh and the appetites,
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
I beeléev in tha flesh aand the áapatìets,
Séeying, héering, féeling, or méerakalz, aand eech port aand taag uv me iz a méerakal.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from,
The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer,
This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.
Divíen aam I ínsied aand out, aand I maek hoel hwutéver I tuch aur aam tucht frum,
Tha sent uv theez órm-pits aróema fíener thaan prair,
This hed maur thaan chérchaz, bíeboolz, aand aul tha kreedz.
If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it,
Translucent mould of me it shall be you!
Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!
Firm masculine colter it shall be you!
Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you!
You my rich blood! your milky stream pale strippings of my life!
Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!
My brain it shall be your occult convolutions!
Root of wash'd sweet-flag! timorous pond-snipe! nest of guarded duplicate eggs! it shall be you!
Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you!
Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!
Sun so generous it shall be you!
Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you!
You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you!
Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you!
Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you!
Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you.
If I wérship wun tthing maur thaan anúther it shaal be tha spred uv my oen bóde, aur éne port uv it,
Traanzlúesant moeld uv me it shaal be yu!
Sháedad léjaz aand rests it shaal be yu!
Ferm máaskyoolin kóelter it shaal be yu!
Hwutéver goez tu tha tiltth uv me it shaal be yu!
Yu mi rich blud! yaur mílke streem pail strípingz uv mi lief!
Brest thaat présaz agénst úther brests it shaal be yu!
Mi braen it shaal be yaur akúlt kònvalúeshanz!
Ruet uv wosht swéet-flaag! tímaras pónd-sniep! nest uv górdad dúeplikat egz! it shaal be yu!
Mikst túsald hae uv hed, beerd, braun, it shaal be yu!
Tríkling saap uv maple, fíeber uv manle hweet, it shaal be yu!
Sun so jéneras it shaal be yu!
Váeperz lieting aand sháeding mi faes it shaal be yu!
Yu swéte brooks aand duez it shaal be yu!
Windz huez sáuft-tìkling jénitalz rub agénst me it shaal be yu!
Braud múskyooler feeldz, bráanchaz uv liev oek, lúving lóunjer in mi wíending paathz, it shaal be yu!
Haandz I haav táekan, faes I haav kist, máurtal I haav éver tucht, it shaal be yu.
I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious,
Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy,
I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish,
Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again.
I doet on miesélf, thair iz thaat lot uv me aand aul so lúshas,
Eech móemant aand hwutéver háapanz tthrilz me witth joi,
I káanot tel hou mi áangkalz bend, naur hwens tha kauz uv mi fáentast wish,
Naur tha kauz uv tha fréndship I eemít, naur tha kauz uv the fréndship I taek agén.
That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be,
A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.
Thaat I wauk up mi stuep, I pauz tu kansíder if it réele be,
A máurning-glàure aat mi wíndo sáatisfìez me maur thaan tha mètafíziks uv books.
To behold the day-break!
The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows,
The air tastes good to my palate.
Tu beehóeld tha dáe-braek!
Tha lítal liet faedz the iméns aand dieyáafanas sháadoez,
The air taests good tu mi páalat.
Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding,
Scooting obliquely high and low.
Hefts uv tha múeving woorld aat ínasant gáambalz síelantle ríezing, fréshle egzúeding,
Skúeting oebléekle hie aand lo.
Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs,
Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.
Súmtthing I káanot se poots úpwerd libídinas prongz,
Seez uv briet jues safyúez hévan.
The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction,
The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head,
The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master!
The ertth bi tha ski staed witth, tha daile kloez uv thair júngkshan,
Tha heevd cháalanj frum the eest thaat móemant óever mi hed,
Tha móking taunt, se then hwéther yu shaal be máaster!
Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me,
If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me.
Dáazling aand treeméndas hou kwik tha sún-riez wood kil me,
If I kood not nou aand áulwaez send sún-riez out uv me.
We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun,
We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak.
We áulso asénd dáazling aand treeméndas aaz tha sun,
We found óuwer oen Oe mi soel in tha kom aand kuel uv tha dáebraek.
My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach,
With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds.
Mi vois goez áafter hwut mi iez káanot reech,
Witth tha twoorl uv mi tung I enkúmpas woorldz aand vólyuemz uv woorldz.
Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself,
It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically,
Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?
Speech iz tha twin uv mi vízhan, it iz unéekwal tu mézher itsélf,
It pravóeks me fauréver, it sez sorkáastikle,
Wault yu contain eenúf, hwi doen't yu let it out then?
Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation,
Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded?
Waiting in gloom, protected by frost,
The dirt receding before my prophetical screams,
I underlying causes to balance them at last,
My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of all things,
Happiness, (which whoever hears me let him or her set out in search of this day.)
Kum nou I wil not be táantalíezd, yu kanséev tue much uv ortìkyooláeshan,
du yu not noe Oe speech hou tha budz beenéetth yu or fóeldad?
Wáeting in gluem, pratéktad bi fraust,
Tha dert receding beefáur mi prafétikal skreemz,
I ùnderlíeying káuzaz tu báalans them aat laast,
Mi nólaj mi liev ports, it kéeping táale witth tha méening uv aul tthingz,
Háapeenas, (hwich huewéver heerz me let him aur her set out in serch uv this dae.)
My final merit I refuse you, I refuse putting from me what I really am,
Encompass worlds, but never try to encompass me,
I crowd your sleekest and best by simply looking toward you.
Mi fíenal mérit I reefyúez yu, I reefyúez póoting frum me hwut I réele aam,
Enkúmpas woorldz, but néver tri tu enkúmpas me,
I kroud yaur sléekast aand best bi símple lóoking taurd yu.
Writing and talk do not prove me,
I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face,
With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic.
Ríeting aand tauk du not pruev me,
I káare tha pléenam uv pruef aand évre tthing els in mi faes,
Witth tha hush uv mi lips I hóele kanfóund tha sképtik.
Now I will do nothing but listen,
To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it.
Nou I wil du nútthing but lísan,
tu akrú hwut I heer íntu this saung, tu let soundz kantríbyuet taurd it.
I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals,
I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice,
I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following,
Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night,
Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of work-people at their meals,
The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick,
The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence,
The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the refrain of the anchor-lifters,
The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights,
The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars,
The slow march play'd at the head of the association marching two and two,
(They go to guard some corpse, the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.)
I heer bravyúeraz uv berdz, búsal uv gróewing hweet, gósip uv flaemz, klaak uv stiks cóoking mi meelz,
I heer tha sound I luv, tha sound uv tha hyúeman vois,
I heer aul soundz rúning toogéther, kambíend, fyuezd aur fóloewing,
Soundz uv tha síte aand soundz out uv tha síte, soundz uv tha dae aand niet,
Táukativ yung wunz tu thoez thaat liek them, tha loud laaf uv wérk-pèepool aat thair meelz,
The áangre baes uv disjóintad fréndship, tha faent toenz uv tha sik,
Tha juj witth haandz tiet tu tha desk, hiz páalid lips pranóunsing a détth-sèntans,
Tha hèev'-ee'yó uv stéevadàurz unláeding ships bi tha hwáurvz, tha reefráen uv the áangker-lífterz,
Tha ring uv alórm-belz, tha kri uv fíeyer, tha hwer uv swíft-strèeking énjinz aand hòez-korts witth primónitáure tíngkalz aand kúlered liets,
Tha stéem-hwìsal, tha sólid roel uv tha traen uv apróeching korz,
Tha slo morch plaed aat tha hed uv the asòeseeyáeshan mórching tueq aand tueq,
(Thae go tu gord sum kaurps, tha fláag-tops or draept witth blaak múzlin.)
I hear the violoncello, ('tis the young man's heart's complaint,)
I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears,
It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast.
I heer tha vèeyalanchélo, ('tis tha yung maan'z hort's kampláent,)
I heer tha keed cornet, it gliedz kwíkle in tthru mi eerz,
It shaeks máad-sweet paangz tthru mi béle aand brest.
I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera,
Ah this indeed is music — this suits me.
I heer tha káuras, it iz a graand ópra,
Oq this indéed iz myúezik — this suets me.
A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me,
The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.
A téner lorj aand fresh aaz tha kreeyáeshan filz me,
The áurbik fleks uv hiz moutth iz páuring aand fíling me fool.
I hear the train'd soprano (what work with hers is this?)
The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies,
It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess'd them,
It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick'd by the indolent waves,
I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath,
Steep'd amid honey'd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death,
At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles,
And that we call Being.
I heer tha traened sapráano (hwut werk witth herz iz this?)
The áurkastra hwoorlz me wíeder thaan Yooráenas fliez,
It rénchaz such órderz frum me I did not noe I pazést them,
It sailz me, I daab witth bair feet, thae or likt bi the indolent waevz,
I aam kut bi bíter aand áangre hail, I luez mi bretth,
Steept amíd húneed máurfeen, mi wíndpiep tthrótald in faeks uv detth,
aat lengktth let up agén tu feel tha púzal uv púzalz,
Aand thaat we kaul Béeying.
To be in any form, what is that?
(Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither,)
If nothing lay more develop'd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough.
Tu be in éne faurm, hwut iz thaat?
(Round aand round we go, aul uv us, aand éver kum baak tthíther,)
If nútthing lae maur divélapt tha kwáuhaug in its káalas shel wer eenúf.
Mine is no callous shell,
I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop,
They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me.
Mien iz no káalas shel,
I haav ínstant kandúkterz aul óever me hwéther I paas aur stop,
Thae seez évre óbjekt aand leed it hórmlasle tthru me.
I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy,
To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand.
I méerle ster, pres, feel witth mi fínggerz, aand aam háape,
Tu tuch mi pérsan tu sum wun els'az iz abóut aaz much aaz I kaan staand.
Is this then a touch? quivering me to a new identity,
Flames and ether making a rush for my veins,
Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them,
My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself,
On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs,
Straining the udder of my heart for its withheld drip,
Behaving licentious toward me, taking no denial,
Depriving me of my best as for a purpose,
Unbuttoning my clothes, holding me by the bare waist,
Deluding my confusion with the calm of the sunlight and pasture-fields,
Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away,
They bribed to swap off with touch and go and graze at the edges of me,
No consideration, no regard for my draining strength or my anger,
Fetching the rest of the herd around to enjoy them a while,
Then all uniting to stand on a headland and worry me.
Iz this then a tuch? kwívering me tu a nu iedéntitè,
Flaemz aand éetther máeking a rush faur mi vaenz,
Trécheras tip uv me réeching aand króuding tu help them,
Mi flesh aand blud plaéying out líetning tu striek hwut iz hórdle dífrant frum miesélf,
On aul siedz próoreeyant provóekerz stífaning mi limz,
Stráening the úder uv mi hort faur its witthqhéld drip,
Beeháeving liesénshas taurd me, táeking no deeníeyal,
Deepríeving me uv mi best aaz faur a pérpas,
Unbútaning mi kloethz, hóelding me bi tha bair waest,
Dilúeding mi kanfyúezhan witth tha kom uv tha súnliet aand páascher-fèeldz,
Imódastle slíeding tha félo-sénsaz awáe,
Thae bríebd tu swop auf witth tuch aand go aand graez aat the éjaz uv me,
No kansìderáeshan, no reegórd faur mi dráening strengktth aur mi áangger,
Féching tha rest uv tha herd aróund tu enjói them a hwieyal,
Then aul yooníeting tu staand on a hédland aand wére me.
The sentries desert every other part of me,
They have left me helpless to a red marauder,
They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me.
Tha séntreez dazért évre úther port uv me,
Thae haav left me hélplas tu a red maráuder,
Thae aul kum tu tha hédland tu wítnas aand asíst agénst me.
I am given up by traitors,
I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor,
I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there.
I aam gívan up bi tráeterz,
I tauk wíeyaldle, I haav laust mi wits, I aand nóebùde els aam tha gráestast tráeter,
I went miesélf ferst tu tha hédland, mi oen haandz káareed me thair.
You villain touch! what are you doing? my breath is tight in its throat,
Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for me.
Yu vílan tuch! hwut or yu dúewing? mi bretth iz tiet in its tthroet,
Unklénch yaur flúdgaets, yu or tue much faur me.
Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp-tooth'd touch!
Did it make you ache so, leaving me?
Bliend lúving résling tuch, sheethd hóodad shòrp-túettht tuch!
Did it maek yu aek so, léeving me?
Parting track'd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan,
Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward.
Pórting traakt bi aríeving, perpéchuewal páemant uv perpéchuewal loen,
Rich shóuwering raen, aand rékampèns rícher áafterwerd.
Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital,
Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.
Sprouts taek aand akyúemyoolàet, staand bi tha kerb pralífik aand víetal,
Láandskaeps prajéktad máaskyoolin, fóol-sìezd aand góeldan.
All truths wait in all things,
They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it,
They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon,
The insignificant is as big to me as any,
(What is less or more than a touch?)
Aul trúethz waet in aul tthingz,
Thae néether háesan thair oen dalívere naur reezíst it,
Thae du not need the abstétrik fáurseps uv tha sérjan,
The ìnsignífikant iz aaz big tu me aaz éne,
(Hwut iz les aur maur thaan a tuch?)
Logic and sermons never convince,
The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.
Lójik aand sérmanz néver kanvíns,
Tha daamp uv tha niet drievz déeper íntu mi soel.
(Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so,
Only what nobody denies is so.)
(Óenle hwut pruevz itsélf tu évre maan aand wóoman iz so,
Óenle hwut nóebùde denies iz so.)
A minute and a drop of me settle my brain,
I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps,
And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman,
And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other,
And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it becomes omnific,
And until one and all shall delight us, and we them.
A mínit aand a drop uv me sétal mi braen,
I beeléev tha sóge klodz shaal beekúm lúverz aand laamps,
Aand a kómpend uv kómpendz iz tha meet uv a maan aur wóoman,
Aand a súmit aand flóuwer thair iz tha féeling thae haav faur eech úther,
Aand thae or tu braanch bóundlasle out uv thaat lésan untíl it beekúmz omnífik,
Aand untíl wun aand aul shaal dilíet us, aand we them.
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey work of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.
I beeléev a leef uv graas iz no les thaan tha jérne werk uv tha storz,
Aand tha písmieyer iz éekwale pérfakt, aand a graen uv saand, aand the egg uv tha ren,
Aand tha trée-toed iz a shef-dúvra faur tha híeyast,
Aand tha rúning bláakbere wood adáurn tha pórlerz uv hévan,
Aand tha náarowast hinj in mi haand poots tu skaurn aul mashéenere,
Aand tha kou krunching witth deeprést hed serpáasaz éne stáachu,
Aand a mous iz méerakal eenúf tu stáager sekstílyanz uv ínfidelz.
I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots,
And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over,
And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons,
But call any thing back again when I desire it.
I fiend I inkáurparàet nies, koel, láung-tthrèdad maus, fruets,
graenz, éskyoolant ruets,
Aand aam stúkoed witth kwódroopedz aand berdz aul óever,
Aand haav dístanst hwut iz beehíend me faur good réezanz,
But kaul éne tthing baak agén hwen I dizíeyer it.
In vain the speeding or shyness,
In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach,
In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones,
In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes,
In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low,
In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky,
In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs,
In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods,
In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador,
I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff.
In vaen tha spéeding aur shíenas,
In vaen tha pluetónik roks send thair oeld heet agénst mi apróech,
In vaen tha máastadon reetréets beenéetth its oen póuderd boenz,
In vaen óbjekts staand leegz auf aand asúem máanifoeld shaeps,
In vaen the óeshan sétaling in hóloez aand tha graet mónsterz líeying lo,
In vaen tha búzerd hóuzaz hersélf witth tha ski,
In vaen tha snaek sliedz tthru tha kréeperz aand logz,
In vaen the elk taeks tu the íner páasaz uv tha woodz,
In vaen tha ráezer-bild auk sailz for naurtth tu Láabradaur,
I folo kwíkle, I asénd tu tha nest in tha físher uv tha cliff.
I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain'd,
I stand and look at them long and long.
I tthingk I kood tern aand liv witth áanimalz, thae or so pláasid aand sèlf-kantáend,
I staand aand look aat them laung aand laung.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.
Thae du not swet aand hwien abóut thair kandíshan,
Thae du not li awáek in tha dork aand weep faur thair sinz,
Thae du not maek me sik diskúsing thair dúete tu God,
Not wun iz disáatisfìed, not wun iz deeméntad witth tha máeneeya uv óening tthingz,
Not wun neelz tu anúther, naur tu hiz kiend thaat livd tthóusandz uv yeerz agó,
Not wun iz reespéktabool aur unháape óever tha hoel ertth.
So they show their relations to me and I accept them,
They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession.
So thae sho thair reeláeshanz tu me aand I aaksépt them,
Thae bring me tóekanz uv miesélf, thae eevíns them pláenle in thair pazéshan.
I wonder where they get those tokens,
Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?
I wúnder hwair thae get thoez tóekanz,
Did I paas thaat wae hyuej tiemz agó aand néglijantle drop them?
Myself moving forward then and now and forever,
Gathering and showing more always and with velocity,
Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them,
Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers,
Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms.
Miesélf múeving fáurwerd then aand nou aand fauréver,
Gáathering aand shóewing maur áulwaez aand witth valósite,
Ínfinit aand omníjanas aand tha liek uv theez amúng them,
Not tue eksklúesiv taurd tha réecherz uv mi reemémbransèrz,
Piking out heer wun thaat I luv, aand nou go witth him on brútherle termz.
A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses,
Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears,
Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground,
Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.
A jiegáantik byúete uv a stáalyan, fresh aand reespónsiv tu mi karésaz,
Hed hie in tha fáurhed, wied beetwéen the eerz,
Limz gláuse aand súpal, tail dústing tha ground,
Iez fool uv spórkling wíkadnas, eerz fienle kut, fléksible múeving.
His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him,
His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.
Hiz nóstralz dieláet aaz mi heelz embráes him,
Hiz wél-bìlt limz trémbool witth plézher aaz we raes aróund aand
I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion,
Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them?
Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.
I but yuez yu a mínit, then I reezíen yu, stáalyan,
Hwi du I need yaur páesaz hwen I miesélf out-gáalap them?
Éevan aaz I staand aur sit páasing fáaster thaan yu.
Space and Time! now I see it is true, what I guess'd at,
What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass,
What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed,
And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the morning.
Spaes aand Tiem! nou I se it iz tru, hwut I gest at,
Hwut I gest hwen I loeft on tha graas,
Hwut I gest hwiel I lae alóen in mi bed,
Aand agén aaz I waukt tha beech únder tha páiling storz uv tha máurning.
My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps,
I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents,
I am afoot with my vision.
Mi tiez aand báalasts leev me, mi élboez rest in sée-gaaps,
I skert seeyáiraz, mi pomz kúver kóntinènts,
I aam afóot witth mi vízhan.
By the city's quadrangular houses — in log huts, camping with lumber-men,
Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed,
Weeding my onion-patch or hosing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, trailing in forests,
Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new purchase,
Scorch'd ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat down the shallow river,
Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, where the buck turns furiously at the hunter,
Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, where the otter is feeding on fish,
Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou,
Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tall;
Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flower'd cotton plant, over the rice in its low moist field,
Over the sharp-peak'd farm house, with its scallop'd scum and slender shoots from the gutters,
Over the western persimmon, over the long-leav'd corn, over the delicate blue-flower flax,
Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there with the rest,
Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the breeze;
Bi tha síte'z kwodráanggyooler hóuzaz — in log huts, káamping witth lúmber-men,
Aláung tha ruts uv tha térnpiek, aláung tha dri gulch aand rívyalat bed,
Wéeding mi únyan-páach aur hóezing roez uv káarats aand pórsnips,
kráusing saváanaz tráiling in fórasts,
Próspekting, góeld-dìging, gérdaling tha treez uv a nu pérchas,
Skaurcht àangkal-déep bi tha hot saand, háuling mi boet doun tha sháalo ríver,
Hwair tha páantther wauks tu aand fro on a lim oeverhéd, hwair tha buk ternz fyúereeyasle aat tha húnter,
Hwair tha rátalsnàek sunz hiz fláabe lengktth on a rok, hwair the óter iz féeding on fish,
Hwair the áaligàeter in hiz tuf pímpalz sleeps bi tha bíeyu,
Hwair tha blaak bair iz sérching faur ruets aur húne, hwair tha béever paats tha mud witth hiz páadal-shàept taul;
Óever tha gróewing shóoger, óever tha yélo-flòuwerd kótan plaant, óever the ries in its lo moist feeld,
Óever tha shórp-peekt form hous, witth its skáalapt skum aand slénder shuets frum tha gúterz,
Óever tha wéstern persíman, óever tha láung-leevd kaurn, óever tha délikat blúe-flòuwer flaaks,
Óever tha hwiet aand broun búkhweet, a húmer aand búzer thair witth the rest,
Óever tha dúske green uv tha ri aaz it rípalz aand shaeds in tha breez;
Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low scragged limbs,
Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of the brush,
Where the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and the wheat-lot,
Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great goldbug drops through the dark,
Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to the meadow,
Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous shuddering of their hides,
Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andirons straddle the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoons from the rafters;
Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling its cylinders,
Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs,
Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, (floating in it myself and looking composedly down,)
Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heat hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand,
Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it,
Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant of smoke,
Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water,
Where the half-burn'd brig is riding on unknown currents,
Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupting below;
Where the dense-starr'd flag is borne at the head of the regiments,
Scáiling móuntanz, póoling miesélf káushasle up, hóelding on bi lo skraagd limz,
Wáuking tha paatth waurn in tha graas aand beet tthru tha leevz uv the brush,
Hwair tha kwail iz hwísling bitwíkst tha woodz aand tha hwéet-lot,
Hwair tha baat fliez in tha Sévantth-mùntth eev, hwair tha graet góeldbug drops tthru tha dork,
Hwair tha brook poots out uv tha ruets uv the oeld tre aand floez tu the médo,
Hwair káatal staand aand shaek awáe fliez witth tha trémyalas shúdering uv thair hiedz,
Hwair tha chéez-klautth haangz in tha kíchan, hwair áandìeyernz stráadal the hórth-slaab, hwair kóbwebz faul in festúenz frum tha ráafters;
Hwair tríp-hàamerz kraash, hwair tha pres iz hwóorling its sílinderz,
Hwairéver tha hyúeman hort beets witth téribool tthroez únder its ribz,
Hwair tha páir-shaept balúen iz flóeting aláuft, (flóeting in it miesélf aand lóoking kampóezadle doun,)
Hwair tha líef-kor iz draun on tha slíp-nues, hwair tha heet háachaz páil-grèen egz in tha déntad saand,
Hwair tha shée-hwail swimz witth her kaaf aand néver faursáeks it,
Hwair tha stéem-ship trailz híend-waez its laung pénant uv smoek,
Hwair tha fin uv tha shork kuts liek a blaak chip out uv tha wúter,
Hwair tha háaf-bernd brig iz ríeding on únoen kérants,
Hwair shelz gro tu her slíeme dek, hwair tha ded or karúpting beeló;
Hwair tha déns-stord flaag iz baurn aat tha hed uv tha réjimants,
Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island,
Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance,
Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside,
Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a good game of base-ball,
At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances, drinking, laughter,
At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the juice through a straw,
At apple-peelings wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find,
At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, huskings, house-raisings;
Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles, screams, weeps,
Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks are scatter'd, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel,
Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud to the mare, where the cock is treading the hen,
Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with short jerks,
Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome prairie,
Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the square miles far and near,
Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long-lived swan is curving and winding,
Apróeching Manháatan up bi tha láung-strèching íeland,
Únder Nieyáagra, tha káataràakt fáuling liek a vail óever mi kóuntanans,
Apón a dáur-step, apón tha háurs-blok uv hord wood outsíed,
Apón tha ráes-kaurs, aur enjóiying píkniks aur jigz aur a good gaem uv báes-baul,
aat he-festivals, witth bláagerd jiebz, ierónikal líesans,
bóol-dàansaz, dríngking, láafter,
aat tha síeder-mil táesting tha sweets uv tha broun maash, súking tha jues tthru a strau,
aat áapal-peelingz wónting kísaz faur aul tha red fruet I fiend,
aat músterz, béech-pòrteez, fréndle bees, huskingz, hóus-ràezingz;
Hwair tha móking-berd soundz hiz dilíshas gérgalz, káakalz,
skreemz, weeps,
Hwair tha háe-rik staandz in tha bórn-yord, hwair tha dríe-stauks or skáaterd, hwair tha brúed-kou waets in tha húval,
Hwair tha bool aadváansaz tu du hiz máaskyoolin werk, hwair tha stud to the mair, hwair tha kok iz tréding tha hen,
Hwair tha héferz brouz, hwair gees nip thair fued witth shaurt jerks,
Hwair sún-doun sháadoez léngktthan óever tha límitlas aand lóensam práire,
Hwair herdz uv búfalo maek a kráuling spred uv tha skwair míeyalz for aand neer,
Hwair tha húming-berd shímerz, hwair tha nek uv tha laung-livd swon iz kérving aand wíending,
Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her near-human laugh,
Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hid by the high weeds,
Where band-neck'd partridges roost in a ring on the ground with their heads out,
Where burial coaches enter the arch'd gates of a cemetery,
Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees,
Where the yellow-crown'd heron comes to the edge of the marsh at night and feeds upon small crabs,
Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon,
Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree over the well,
Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wired leaves,
Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs,
Through the gymnasium, through the curtain'd saloon, through the office or public hall;
Hwair tha láafing-gul skuets bi tha shaur, hwair she laafs her
neer-hyúeman laaf,
Hwair bée-hievz raenj on a grae bench in tha górdan haaf hid bi tha hie weedz,
Hwair báand-nekt pórtrijaz ruest in a ring on tha ground witth thair hedz out,
Hwair béreeyal kóechaz énter the orcht gaets uv a sématère,
Hwair wínter woolvz bork amíd waests uv sno aand íesikald treez,
Hwair tha yélo-kround héran kumz tu the ej uv tha morsh at niet aand feedz apón smaul kraabz,
Hwair tha splaash uv swímerz aand díeverz kuelz tha waurm nuen,
Hwair tha káetee-did werks her kroemáatik reed on tha wáulnut-tre óever the wel,
Tthru páachaz uv sítranz aand kyúekumber witth sílver-wíeyerd leevz,
Tthru tha sáult-lik aur óranj glaed, aur únder kónikal ferz,
Tthru tha jimnáezeeyam, tthru tha kértand salúen, tthru the áufis aur públik haul;
Pleas'd with the native and pleas'd with the foreign, pleas'd with the new and old,
Pleas'd with the homely woman as well as the handsome,
Pleas'd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks melodiously,
Pleas'd with the tune of the choir of the whitewash'd church,
Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preacher, impress'd seriously at the camp-meeting;
Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole forenoon, flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass,
Wandering the same afternoon with my face turn'd up to the clouds, or down a lane or along the beach,
My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle;
Coming home with the silent and dark-cheek'd bush-boy, (behind me he rides at the drape of the day,)
Far from the settlements studying the print of animals' feet, or the moccasin print,
By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverish patient,
Nigh the coffin'd corpse when all is still, examining with a candle;
Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure,
Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any,
Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him,
Pleezd witth tha náetiv aand pleezd witth tha fóran, pleezd witth the nu aand oeld,
Pleezd witth tha hóemle wóoman aaz wel aaz tha háandsam,
Pleezd witth tha kwáekeres aaz she poots auf her bónat aand tauks malóedeeyasle,
Pleezd witth tha tuen uv tha kwíeyer uv tha hwíetwosht cherch,
Pleezd witth the érnast werdz uv tha swéting Métthadist préecher,
imprést séereeyasle aat tha káamp-mèeting;
Lóoking in aat tha shóp-wìndoez uv Bráudwae tha hoel fáurnuen,
fláating tha flesh uv mi noez on tha tthik plaet glaas,
Wóndering tha saem àafternúen witth mi faes ternd up tu tha kloudz,
aur doun a lane aur aláung tha beech,
Mi riet aand left ormz round tha siedz uv tueq frendz, aand I in tha mídal;
Kúming hoem witth tha síelant aand dórk-chèekt bóosh-boi, (beehíend me he riedz aat tha draep uv tha dae,)
For frum tha sétalmants stúdeeying tha print uv áanimalz' feet, aur tha mókasìn print,
bi tha kot in tha hóspital réeching lèmanáed tu a féeverish páeshant,
Ni tha káufind kaurps hwen aul iz stil, egzáamining witth a káandal;
Vóiyajing tu évre port tu díker aand aadvéncher,
Húreeying witth tha módern kroud aaz éeger aand fíkal aaz éne,
Hot taurd wun I haet, réde in mi máadnas tu nief him,
Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while,
Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by my side,
Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars,
Speeding amid the seven satellites and the broad ring, and the diameter of eighty thousand miles,
Speeding with tail'd meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest,
Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly,
Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning,
Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing,
I tread day and night such roads.
Sólitère aat midniet in mi baak yord, mi tthauts gaun frum me a laung hwieyal,
Wáuking the oeld hilz uv Juedéeya witth tha byúetifool jéntal God bi mi sied,
Spéeding tthru spaes, spéeding tthru hévan aand tha storz,
Spéeding amíd tha sévan sáataliets aand tha braud ring, aand tha dieyáamater uv áete tthóuzand míeyalz,
Spéeding witth taild méeteeyerz, tthróewing fíeyer-baulz liek tha rest,
Káareeying tha krésant chíeyald thaat káareez its oen fool múther in its béle,
Stáurming, enjóiying, pláaning, lúving, káushaning,
Baaking aand fíling, apéering aand dísapèering,
I tred dae aand niet such roedz.
I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product,
And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green.
I vízit the áurcherdz uv sfeerz aand look aat tha pródukt,
Aand look aat kwintílyanz ríepand aand look aat kwintílyanz green.
I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul,
My course runs below the soundings of plummets.
I fli thoez fliets uv a flúewid aand swóloewing soel,
Mi kaurs runz beeló tha sóundingz uv plúmats.
I help myself to material and immaterial,
No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me.
I help miesélf tu matéereeyal aand ímatèereeyal,
No gord kaan shut me auf, no lau preevént me.
I anchor my ship for a little while only,
My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me.
I áangker mi ship faur a lítal hwieyal óenle,
Mi mésanjerz kantínyuewale kruez awáe aur bring thair reetérnz tu me.
I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue. I go húnting póeler ferz aand tha seel, léeping káazamz witth a
píek-pòintad staaf, klínging tu tópalz uv brítal aand blu.
I ascend to the foretruck,
I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest,
We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough,
Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty,
The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is plain in all directions,
The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them,
We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged,
We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still feet and caution,
Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin'd city,
The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe.
I asénd tu tha fáurtruk,
I taek mi plaes laet aat niet in tha króe'z-nest,
We sail the órktik see, it iz plénte liet eenúf,
Tthru tha kleer áatmasfèer I strech aróund on tha wúnderfool byúete,
The eenáurmas máasaz uv ies paas me aand I paas them, tha séenere iz plaen in aul dirékshanz,
Tha hwíet-topt móuntanz sho in tha dístans, I fling out mi fáanseez taurd them,
We or apróeching sum graet báatal-feeld in hwich we or suen tu be engáejd,
We paas tha kalósal óutpoests uv the enkáampmant, we paas witth stil feet aand káushan,
Aur we or éntering bi tha súberbz sum vaast aand rúewind síte,
Tha bloks aand fáulan órkitèkcher maur thaan aul tha líving síteez uv tha gloeb.
I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires,
I turn the bridgroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself,
I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips.
I aam a fre kampáanyan, I bívuewàak bi inváeding wóchfìeyerz,
I tern tha bríedgruem out uv bed aand stae witth tha bried miesélf,
I tieten her aul niet tu mi tthiez aand lips.
My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs,
They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd.
Mi vois iz tha wief's vois, tha screech bi tha rail uv tha stairz,
Thae fech mi maan'z bóde up dríping aand dround.
I understand the large hearts of heroes,
The courage of present times and all times,
How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steamship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm,
How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faithful of days and faithful of nights,
And chalk'd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will not desert you;
How he follow'd with them and tack'd with them three days and would not give it up,
How he saved the drifting company at last,
How the lank loose-gown'd women look'd when boated from the side of their prepared graves,
How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharp-lipp'd unshaved men;
All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine,
I am the man, I suffer'd, I was there.
I ùnderstáand tha lorj horts uv héeroez,
Tha kéraj uv prézant tiemz aand aul tiemz,
How tha skíper sau tha króudad aand rúderlas rek uv tha stéemship, aand Detth cháesing it up aand doun tha staurm,
How he núkald tiet aand gaev not baak aan inch, aand wuz fáetthfool uv daez aand fáetthfool uv niets,
Aand chaukt in lorj léterz on a baurd, Be uv good cheer, we wil not dazért yu;
Hou he fóloed witth them aand taakt witth them tthre daez aand wood not giv it up,
Hou he saevd tha drífting kúmpane aat laast,
Hou tha laangk lúes-gòund wímin lookt hwen bóetad frum tha sied uv thair preepáird graevz,
Hou tha síelant óeld-fàest ínfants aand tha líftad sik, aand tha shórp-lipt únshaevd men;
Aul this I swólo, it taests good, I liek it wel, it beekúmz mien,
I aam tha maan, I súferd, I wuz thair.
The disdain and calmness of martyrs,
The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on,
The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat,
The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous buckshot and the bullets,
All these I feel or am.
Tha distáen aand kómnas uv mórterz,
Tha múther uv oeld, kandémd faur a wich, bernt witth dri wood, her chíldran gáezing on,
Tha hóundad slaev thaat flaagz in tha raes, leenz bi tha fence, blóewing, kúverd witth swet,
Tha twinges thaat sting liek néedalz hiz legs aand nek, tha mérderas bukshot aand tha bóolats,
Aul theez I feel aur aam.
I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs,
Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen,
I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the ooze of my skin,
I fall on the weeds and stones,
The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close,
Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks.
I aam tha hóundad slaev, I wins aat tha biet uv tha daugz,
Hel aand dispáir or apón me, kraak aand agén kraak tha mórksmen,
I kluch tha railz uv tha fens, mi gaur dribz, tthind witth the uez uv mi skin,
I faul on tha weedz aand stoenz,
Tha ríederz sper thair unwíling háursaz, haul kloes,
Taunt mi díze eerz aand beet me víeyalantle óever tha hed witth hwíp-stoks.
Agonies are one of my changes of garments,
I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person,
My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe.
Áaganeez or wun uv mi cháenjaz uv górmants,
I du not aask tha wúendad pérsan hou he feelz, I miesélf beekúm tha wúendad pérsan,
Mi herts tern lívid apón me aaz I leen on a kaen aand abzérv.
I am the mash'd fireman with breast-bone broken,
Tumbling walls buried me in their debris,
Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades,
I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels,
They have clear'd the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth.
I aam tha maasht fíeyerman witth bréstboen bróekan,
Túmbling waulz béreed me in thair dabré,
Heet aand smoek I inspíeyerd, I herd tha yéling shouts uv mi kómraadz,
I herd tha dístant klik uv thair piks aand shúvalz,
Thae haav kleerd tha beemz awáe, thae ténderle lift me faurtth.
I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake,
Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy,
White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps,
The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.
I li in tha niet air in mi red shert, tha perváeding hush iz faur mi saek,
Páenlas áafter aul I li egzáustad but not so unháape,
Hwiet aand byúetifool or tha fáesaz aróund me, tha hedz or baird uv thair fíeyer-kaaps,
Tha néeling kroud faedz witth tha liet uv tha táurchaz.
Distant and dead resuscitate,
They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself.
Dístant aand ded reesúsitàet,
Thae sho aaz tha dial aur muev aaz tha haandz uv me, I aam tha klok miesélf.
I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment,
I am there again.
I aam aan oeld ortílerìst, I tel uv mi fort's bombórdmant,
I aam thair agén.
Again the long roll of the drummers,
Again the attacking cannon, mortars,
Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive.
Agén tha laung roel uv tha drúmerz,
Agén the atáaking káanan, máurterz,
Agén tu mi lísaning eerz tha káanan reespónsiv.
I take part, I see and hear the whole,
The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aim'd shots,
The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip,
Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs,
The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion,
The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air.
I taek port, I se aand heer tha hoel,
Tha kriez, kérsaz, raur, tha pláudits faur wél-àemd shots,
The òmbuelónza slóele páasing tráiling its red drip,
Wérkmen sérching áafter dáamajaz, máeking ìndispénsabool reepáirz,
Tha faul uv granáedz tthru tha rent ruef, tha fáan-shaept eksplóezhan,
Tha hwiz uv limz, hedz, stoen, wood, íeyern, hie in the air.
Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand,
He gasps through the clot Mind not me — mind — the entrenchments.
Agén gérgalz tha moutth uv mi díeying jéneral, he fyúereeyasle waevz witth hiz haand,
He gaasps tthru tha klot Miend not me — miend — the entrénchmants.
Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth,
(I tell not the fall of Alamo,
Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo,
The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo,)
'Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve young men.
Nou I tel hwut I nue in Téksas in mi óorle yuetth,
(I tel not tha faul uv Áalamo,
Not wun eskáept tu tel tha faul uv Áalamo,
Tha húndrad aand fífte or dum yet aat Áalamo,)
'Tis tha tail uv tha mérder in koeld blud uv faur húndrad aand twelv yung men.
Retreating they had form'd in a hollow square with their baggage for breastworks,
Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance,
Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone,
They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv'd writing and seal, gave up their arms and march'd back prisoners of war.
Reetréeting thae haad faurmd in a hólo skwair witth thair báagaj faur bréstwerks,
Nien húndrad lievz out uv tha saróunding énameez, nien tiemz thair númber, wuz tha pries thae took in aadváans,
Thair kérnal wuz wúendad aand thair àamyooníshan gaun,
Thae tréetad faur aan ónarabool kapìchooláeshan, reeséevd ríeting aand seel, gaev up thair ormz aand morcht baak prízanerz uv waur.
They were the glory of the race of rangers,
Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship,
Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate,
Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters,
Not a single one over thirty years of age.
Thae wer tha gláure uv tha raes uv ráenjerz,
Máachlas witth haurs, ríefal, saung, súper, káurtship,
Lorj, térbyalant, jéneras, háandsam, proud, aand afékshanat,
Béerded, súnbernt, drest in tha fre kóschuem uv húnterz,
Not a sínggal wun óever tthérte yeerz uv aej.
The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer,
The work commenced about five o'clock and was over by eight.
Tha sékand Fárst-dae máurning thae wer braut out in skwodz aand
máasakèrd, it wuz byúetifool óorle súmer,
Tha werk kaménst abóut fiev a'klók aand wuz óever bi aet.
None obey'd the command to kneel,
Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight,
A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead lay together,
The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw them there,
Some half-kill'd attempted to crawl away,
These were despatch'd with bayonets or batter'd with the blunts of muskets,
A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more came to release him,
The three were all torn and cover'd with the boy's blood.
Nun obáed tha kamáand tu neel,
Sum maed a maad aand hélplas rush, sum stood stork aand straet,
A fyu fel aat wuns, shot in tha témpool aur hort, tha líving aand ded lae toogéther,
Tha maemd aand máanggald dug in tha dert, tha núekumerz sau them thair,
Sum haf-kíld atémptad tu kraul awáe,
Theez wer dispáacht witth baeyanéts aur báaterd witth tha blunts uv múskats,
A yuetth not sévantèen yeerz oeld seezd hiz asáasin til tueq maur kaem tu reelées him,
Tha tthre wer aul taurn aand kúverd witth tha boi'z blud.
At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies;
That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men.
Aat eleven a'klók beegáan tha bérning uv tha bódeez;
Thaat iz tha tail uv tha mérder uv tha faur húndrad aand twelv yung men.
Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight?
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me.
Wood yu heer uv aan óeld-tiem sée-fiet?
Wood yu lern hu wun bi tha liet uv tha muen aand storz?
List tu tha yorn, aaz mi graandmúther'z fóther tha sáiler toeld it tu me.
Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,)
His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be;
Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us.
Óuwer foe wuz no sulk in hiz ship I tel yu, (sed he,)
Hiz wuz tha sérle Íngglish pluk, aand thair iz no túfer aur trúewer,
aand néver wuz, aand néver wil be;
Aláung tha lóewerd eev he kaem hórible ráeking us.
We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch'd,
My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.
We kloezd witth him, tha yordz entáanggald, tha káanan tucht,
Mi káaptan laasht faast witth hiz oen haandz.
We had receiv'd some eighteen pound shots under the water,
On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead.
We haad reeséevd sum áeteen pound shots únder tha wúter,
On óuwer lóewer gún-dek tue lorj péesaz haad berst aat tha ferst fíeyer,
kíling aul aróund aand blóewing up oeverhéd.
Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark,
Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported,
The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves.
Fíeting aat sún-doun, fíeting aat dork,
Ten a'klók aat niet, tha fool muen wel up, óuwer leeks on tha gaen, aand fiev feet uv wúter reepáurtad,
Tha máaster-at-ormz lúesing tha prízanerz kanfíend in the áafter-hòeld tu giv them a chaans faur themsélvz.
The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels,
They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.
Tha tráanzit tu aand frum tha máagazeen iz nou stopt bi tha séntinalz,
Thae see so méne straenj fáesaz thae du not noe huem tu trust.
Our frigate takes fire,
The other asks if we demand quarter?
If our colors are struck and the fighting done?
Óuwer frígat taeks fíeyer,
The úther aasks if we deemáand kwáurter?
If óuwer kúlerz or struk aand tha fíeting dun?
Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,
We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting.
Nou I laaf kantént, faur I heer tha vois uv mi lítal káaptan,
We haav not struk, he kampóezadle kriez, we haav just begun óuwer port uv tha fíeting.
Only three guns are in use,
One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's main-mast,
Two well serv'd with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks.
Óenle tthre gunz or in yues,
Wun iz diréktad bi tha káaptan himsélf agénst the enemy'z máen-maast,
Tueq wel servd witth graep aand káanister síelans hiz múskatre aand kleer hiz deks.
The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top,
They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.
Tha tops alóen sékand tha fíeyer uv this lítal báatere, espéshale the máen-top,
Thae hoeld out bráevle dúering tha hoel uv the áakshan.
Not a moment's cease,
The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.
Not a móemant's sees,
Tha leeks gaen faast on tha pumps, tha fíeyer eets taurd tha póuder-máagazeen.
One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking. Wun uv tha pumps haaz bin shot awáe, it iz jénrale tthaut we or síngking.
Serene stands the little captain,
He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low,
His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.
Saréen staandz tha lítal káaptan,
He iz not héreed, hiz vois iz néether hie naur lo,
Hiz iez giv maur liet tu us thaan óuwer báatal-láanternz.
Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us. Taurd twelv thair in tha beemz uv tha muen thae surrender tu us.
Stretch'd and still lies the midnight,
Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness,
Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the one we have conquer'd,
The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a countenance white as a sheet,
Near by the corpse of the child that serv'd in the cabin,
The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully curl'd whiskers,
The flames spite of all that can be done flickering aloft and below,
The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty,
Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of flesh upon the masts and spars,
Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of waves,
Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent,
A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining,
Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by the shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors,
The hiss of the surgeon's knife, the gnawing teeth of his saw,
Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long, dull, tapering groan,
These so, these irretrievable.
Strecht aand stil liez tha mídniet,
Tueq graet hulz móeshanlas on tha brest uv tha dórknas,
Óuwer vésal rídoold aand slóele síngking, prèparáeshanz tu paas tu tha wun we haav kóngkerd,
Tha káaptan on tha kwáurter-dek kóeldle gíving hiz áurderz tthru a kóuntanans hwiet aaz a sheet,
Neer bi tha kaurps uv tha chíeyald thaat servd in tha káabin,
Tha ded faes uv aan oeld sault witth laung hwiet hair aand káirfoole koorld hwískerz,
Tha flaemz spiet uv aul thaat kaan be dun flíkering aláuft aand beeló,
Tha húske vóisaz uv tha tueq aur tthre áufiserz yet fit faur dúete,
Fáurmlas staaks uv bódeez aand bódeez bi themsélvz, daabz uv flesh apón tha maasts aand sporz,
Kut uv káurdaj, dáanggal uv ríging, sliet shok uv tha sueth uv waevz,
Blaak aand impáasiv gunz, líter uv póuder-pórsalz, straung sent,
A fyu lorj storz oeverhéd, síelant aand máurnfool shíening,
Délikat snifs uv sée-breez, smelz uv séje graas aand feeldz bi the shaur, dítth-mèsajaz gívan in chorj tu servíeverz,
Tha his uv tha sérjan'z nief, tha náuqing teetth uv hiz sau,
Hweez, kluk, swosh uv fáuling blud, shaurt wíeyald skreem, aand laung, dul, táepering groen,
Theez so, theez ìreetréevabool.
You laggards there on guard! look to your arms!
In at the conquer'd doors they crowd! I am possess'd!
Embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering,
See myself in prison shaped like another man,
And feel the dull unintermitted pain.
Yu láagerdz thair on gord! look tu yaur ormz!
In aat tha kóngkerd daurz thae kroud! I aam pazést!
Embóde aul prézansaz óutlaud aur súfering,
Se miesélf in prízan shaept liek anúther maan,
Aand feel tha dul ùnintermítad paen.
For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch,
It is I let out in the morning and barr'd at night.
Faur me tha kéeperz uv kónvikts shóelder thair kórbeenz aand keep woch,
It iz I let out in tha máurning aand bord aat niet.
Not a mutineer walks handcuff'd to jail but I am handcuff'd to him and walk by his side,
(I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat on my twitching lips.)
Not a myuetinéer wauks háandkuft tu jail but I aam háandkuft tu him aand wauk bi hiz sied,
(I aam les tha jóle wun thair, aand maur tha síelant wun witth swet on mi twíching lips.)
Not a youngster is taken for larceny but I go up too, and am tried and sentenced. Not a yúngster iz táekan faur lórsane but I go up tue, aand aam tried aand séntanst.
Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp,
My face is ash-color'd, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat.
Not a cholera páeshant liez aat tha laast gaasp but I áulso li aat tha laast gaasp,
Mi faes iz áash-kùlerd, mi sínyuez norl, awáe frum me péepool reetréet.
Askers embody themselves in me and I am embodied in them,
I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg.
Áaskers embóde themsélvz in me aand I aam embódeed in them,
I prajékt mi hat, sit sháem-fàest, aand beg.
Enough! enough! enough!
Somehow I have been stunn'd. Stand back!
Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping,
I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.
Eenúf! eenúf! eenúf!
Súmhou I haav bin stund. Staand baak!
Giv me a lítal tiem beeyónd mi kuft hed, slúmberz, dreemz, gáeping,
I diskúver miesélf on tha verj uv a yúezhoowal mistáek.
That I could forget the mockers and insults!
That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers!
That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and bloody crowning.
Thaat I kood fargét tha mókerz aand ínsults!
Thaat I kood fargét tha tríkling teerz aand tha bloez uv tha blújanz aand háamerz!
Thaat I kood look witth a séparat look on mi oen krùesifíkshan aand blúde króuning.
I remember now,
I resume the overstaid fraction,
The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves,
Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me.
I reemémber nou,
I reezúem the óeverstàed fráakshan,
Tha graev uv rok múltipliez hwut haaz bin kanfíedad tu it, aur tu éne graevz,
Káurpsaz riez, gáashaz heel, fáasaningz roel frum me.
I troop forth replenish'd with supreme power, one of an average unending procession,
Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines,
Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth,
The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years.
I truep faurtth reeplénisht witth soopréem póuwer, wun uv aan áavraj unénding praséshan,
Ínland aand sée-koest we go, aand paas aul bóundare lienz,
Óuwer swift áurdinansaz on thair wae óever tha hoel ertth,
Tha blósamz we wair in óuwer haats tha groetth uv tthóuzandz uv yeerz.
Eleves, I salute you! come forward!
Continue your annotations, continue your questionings.
Aelév, I salúet yu! kum fáurwerd!
Kantínyu yaur àanatáeshanz, kantínyu yaur kwéschaningz.
The friendly and flowing savage, who is he?
Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it?
Tha fréndle aand flóewing sáavaj, hu iz he?
Iz he wáeting faur sìvilizáeshan, aur paast it aand máastering it?
Is he some Southwesterner rais'd out-doors? is he Kanadian?
Is he from the Mississippi country? Iowa, Oregon, California?
The mountains? prairie-life, bush-life? or sailor from the sea?
Iz he sum Soutthwésterner raezd out-dáurz? iz he Kanáedeeyan?
Iz he frum tha Mìsisípe kúntre? Íeyawa, Áuragòn, Kàalifáurnya?
Tha móuntanz? práiree-lief, boosh-lief? aur sáiler frum tha see?
Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him,
They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them.
Hwairéver he goez men aand wímin aaksépt aand dizíeyer him,
Thae dizíeyer he shood liek them, tuch them, speek tu them, stae witth them.
Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncomb'd head, laughter, and naivete,
Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations,
They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers,
They are waited with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of the glance of his eyes.
Beeháevyer láulas aaz snóeflaeks, werdz símpal aaz graas, únkòemd hed, láafter, aand naivete,
Slóe-stèping feet, kóman féecherz, kóman moedz aand emanáeshanz,
Thae disénd in nu faurmz frum tha tips uv hiz fínggerz,
Thae or wáetad witth the óeder uv hiz bóde aur bretth, thae fli out uv the glaans uv hiz iez.
Flaunt of the sunshine I need not your bask — lie over!
You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also.
Flaunt uv tha súnshien I need not yaur baask — li óever!
Yu liet sérfasaz óenle, I fáurs sérfasaz aand deptths áulso.
Earth! you seem to look for something at my hands,
Say, old top-knot, what do you want?
Ertth! yu seem tu look faur súmtthing aat mi haandz,
Sae, oeld tóp-not, hwut du yu wont?
Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, but cannot,
And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot,
And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days.
Maan aur wóoman, I miet tel hou I liek yu, but kanót,
Aand miet tel hwut it iz in me aand hwut it iz in yu, but kanót,
Aand miet tel thaat píening I haav, thaat puls uv mi niets aand daez.
Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity,
When I give I give myself.
Beehóeld, I du not giv lékcherz aur a lítal cháarite,
Hwen I giv I giv miesélf.
You there, impotent, loose in the knees,
Open your scarf'd chops till I blow grit within you,
Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets,
I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare,
And any thing I have I bestow.
Yu thair, ímpatant, lues in tha neez,
Óepan yaur skorft chops til I blo grit witthín yu,
Spred yaur pomz aand lift tha flaaps uv yaur pókats,
I aam not tu be deeníed, I kampél, I haav staurz plénte aand tu spair,
Aand éne tthing I haav I beestó.
I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me,
You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you.
I du not aask hu yu or, thaat iz not impáurtant tu me,
Yu kaan du nútthing aand be nútthing but hwut I wil infóeld yu.
To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean,
On his right cheek I put the family kiss,
And in my soul I swear I never will deny him.
Tu kótan-feeld druj aur kléener uv príveez I leen,
On hiz riet cheek I poot tha fáamile kis,
Aand in mi soel I swair I néver wil deení him.
On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes.
(This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.)
On wímin fit faur kansépshan I stort bíger aand nimbler baebz.
(This dae I aam jéting tha stuf uv for maur áaragant reepúbliks.)
To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door.
Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed,
Let the physician and the priest go home.
Tu éne wun díeying, tthíther I speed aand twist tha nob uv tha daur.
Tern tha béd-kloethz taurd tha foot uv tha bed,
Let tha fizíshan aand tha preest go hoem.
I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will,
O despairer, here is my neck,
By God, you shall not go down! hang your whole weight upon me.
I seez tha disénding maan aand raez him witth reezístlas wil,
Oe dispáirer, heer iz mi nek,
Bi God, yu shaal not go doun! haang yaur hoel waet apón me.
I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up,
Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force,
Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.
I dieláet yu witth treeméndas bretth, I boi yu up,
Évre ruem uv tha hous du I fil witth aan ormd fáurs,
Lúverz uv me, báaflerz uv graevz.
Sleep — I and they keep guard all night,
Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you,
I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself,
And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so.
Sleep — I aand thae keep gord aul niet,
Not dout, not disées shaal dair tu lae fíngger apón yu,
I haav embraest yu, aand hénsfaurtth pazés yu tu miesélf,
Aand hwen yu riez in tha máurning yu wil fiend hwut I tel yu iz so.
I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs,
And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help.
I aam he brínging help faur tha sik aaz thae paant on thair baaks,
Aand faur straung upriet men I bring yet maur néedad help.
I heard what was said of the universe,
Heard it and heard it of several thousand years;
It is middling well as far as it goes — but is that all?
I herd hwut wuz sed uv tha yúenivèrs,
Herd it aand herd it uv sévral tthóuzand yeerz;
It iz mídling wel aaz for aaz it goez — but iz thaat aul?
Magnifying and applying come I,
Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters,
Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah,
Lithographing Kronos, Zeus his son, and Hercules his grandson,
Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha,
In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah on a leaf, the crucifix engraved,
With Odin and the hideous-faced Mexitli and every idol and image,
Taking them all for what they are worth and not a cent more,
Admitting they were alive and did the work of their days,
(They bore mites as for unfledg'd birds who have now to rise and fly and sing for themselves,)
Accepting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself, bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see,
Discovering as much or more in a framer framing a house,
Putting higher claims for him there with his roll'd-up sleeves driving the mallet and chisel,
Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke or a hair on the back of my hand just as curious as any revelation,
Lads ahold of fire-engines and hook-and-ladder ropes no less to me than the gods of the antique wars,
Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction,
Máagnifìeying aand aplíeying kum I,
Outbíding aat tha stort the oeld káushas húksterz,
Táeking miesélf the egzáakt diménshanz uv Jihóeva,
Lítthagràafing Króenos, Zues hiz sun, aand Hérkyalèez hiz gráandsun,
Bíeying draafts uv Oesíeris, Íesis, Bélus [?], Bróma, Búeda,
In mi paurtfóeleeyo pláesing Máanito lues, Óla on a leef, tha krúesifìks engráevd,
Witth Óedin aand tha hídeeyas-fàest Mekséetle [?] aand évre íedal aand ímaj,
Táeking them aul faur hwut thae or wertth aand not a sent maur,
Aadmíting thae wer alíev aand did tha werk uv thair daez,
(Thae baur miets aaz faur únflèjd berdz hu haav nou tu riez aand fli aand sing faur themsélvz,)
Aaksépting tha ruf deeyífik skéchaz tu fil out béter in miesélf, beestóewing them fréele on eech maan aand wóoman I se,
Diskúvering aaz much aur maur in a fráemer fráeming a hous,
Póoting híeyer klaemz faur him thair witth hiz róeld-up sleevz dríeving tha máalat aand chízal,
Not óbjekting tu spéshal rèvaláeshanz, kansídering a koorl uv smoek aur a hair on tha baak uv mi haand just aaz kyúereeyas aaz éne rèvaláeshan,
Laadz ahóeld uv fíeyer-énjinz aand hóok-aand-láader roeps no les tu me than tha godz uv the aantéek waurz,
Míending thair vóisaz peel tthru tha kraash uv distrúkshan,
Their brawny limbs passing safe over charr'd laths, their white foreheads whole and unhurt out of the flames;
By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple interceding for every person born,
Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels with shirts bagg'd out at their waists,
The snag-tooth'd hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to come,
Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his brother and sit by him while he is tried for forgery;
What was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about me, and not filling the square rod then,
The bull and the bug never worshipp'd half enough,
Dung and dirt more admirable than was dream'd,
The supernatural of no account, myself waiting my time to be one of the supremes,
The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as the best, and be as prodigious;
By my life-lumps! becoming already a creator,
Putting myself here and now to the ambush'd womb of the shadows.
Thair bráune limz páasing saef óever kaurd laatths, thair hwiet fáurhedz hoel aand unhért out uv tha flaemz;
Bi tha makáanik's wief witth her baeb aat her nípal ìnterséeding faur évre pérsan baurn,
Tthre siethz aat hórvast hwízing in a row frum tthre lusty angels witth sherts baagd out aat thair waests,
Tha snáag-tuettht hósler witth red hair reedéeming sinz paast aand tu kum,
Séling aul he pazésaz, tráavaling on foot tu fe láuyerz faur hiz brúther aand sit bi him hwiel he iz tried faur fáurjere;
Hwut wuz struen in the áamplast strúewing tha skwair rod abóut me, aand not fíling tha skwair rod then,
Tha bool aand tha bug néver wérshipt haaf eenúf,
Dung aand dert maur áadmarabòol thaan wuz dreemd,
Tha sùepernáacharal uv no akóunt, miesélf wáeting mi tiem tu be wun uv the soopréemz,
Tha dae géting réde faur me hwen I shaal du aaz much good aaz tha best, aand be aaz pradíjas;
Bi mi líef-lumps! beekúming alréde a kreeyáeter,
Póoting miesélf heer aand nou tu the áamboosht wuem uv tha sháadoez.
A call in the midst of the crowd,
My own voice, orotund sweeping and final.
A kaul in tha midst uv tha kroud,
Mi oen vois, áuratund swéeping aand fíenal.
Come my children,
Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates,
Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass'd his prelude on the reeds within.
Kum mi chíldran,
Kum mi boiz aand goorlz, mi wímin, hóusqhoeld aand íntimats,
Nou tha perfáurmer láunchaz hiz nerv, he haaz paast hiz prélyued on the reedz witthín.
Easily written loose-finger'd chords — I feel the thrum of your climax and close. Éezile rítan lúes-fìnggerd kaurdz — I feel tha tthrum uv yaur klíemaaks aand kloez.
My head slues round on my neck,
Music rolls, but not from the organ,
Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine.
Mi hed sluez round on mi nek,
Myúezik roelz, but not frum the áurgan,
Foeks or aróund me, but thae or no hóusqhoeld uv mien.
Ever the hard unsunk ground,
Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever the air and the ceaseless tides,
Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real,
Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn'd thumb, that breath of itches and thirsts,
Ever the vexer's hoot! hoot! till we find where the sly one hides and bring him forth,
Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life,
Ever the bandage under the chin, ever the trestles of death.
Éver tha hord únsungk ground,
Éver the eeters aand dríngkers, éver the úpwerd aand dóunwerd sun, éver the air aand tha séeslas tiedz,
Éver miesélf aand mi náeberz, reefréshing, wíkad, reel,
Éver the oeld ìneksplíkabool query, éver thaat tthaurnd tthum, thaat bretth uv íchaz aand tthersts,
Éver tha vékser'z huet! huet! til we fiend hwair tha sli wun hiedz aand bring him faurtth,
Éver luv, éver tha sóbing líkwid uv lief,
Éver tha báandaj únder tha chin, éver tha trésalz uv detth.
Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking,
To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning,
Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going,
Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving,
A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming.
Heer aand thair witth diemz on the iez wáuking,
Tu feed tha greed uv tha béle tha braenz líbrale spúening,
Tíkats bíeying, táeking, séling, but in tu tha feest néver wuns góewing,
Méne swéting, plóuwing, tthráashing, aand then tha chaaf faur páemant reeséeving,
A fyu íedle óening, aand thae tha hweet kantínyuewale kláeming.
This is the city and I am one of the citizens,
Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets, newspapers, schools,
The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate.
This iz tha síte aand I aam wun uv tha sítizanz,
Hwutéver íntrasts tha rest íntrasts me, pólitìks, waurz, mórkats,
núespaeperz, skuelz,
Tha máeyer aand kóunsalz, baangks, táarifs, stéemships, fáaktareez, stoks, staurz, reel istáet aand pérsanal istáet.
The little plentiful manikins skipping around in collars and tail'd coats
I am aware who they are, (they are positively not worms or fleas,)
I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest is deathless with me,
What I do and say the same waits for them,
Every thought that flounders in me the same flounders in them.
Tha lítal pléntifool máanikinz skíping aróund in collars aand taild koets
I aam awáir hu thae or, (thae or pòzitívle not wermz aur fleez,)
I aaknólaj tha dúeplikats uv miesélf, tha wéekast aand sháaloewast iz détthlas witth me,
Hwut I du aand sae tha saem waets faur them,
Évre tthaut thaat floúnderz in me tha saem floúnderz in them.
I know perfectly well my own egotism,
Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less,
And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself.
I noe pérfaktle wel mi oen éegatìzam,
Noe mi omnívaras lienz aand must not riet éne les,
Aand wood fech yu huewéver yu or flush witth miesélf.
Not words of routine this song of mine,
But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring;
This printed and bound book — but the printer and the printing-office boy?
The well-taken photographs — but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms?
The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets — but the pluck of the captain and engineers?
In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture — but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes?
The sky up there — yet here or next door, or across the way?
The saints and sages in history — but you yourself?
Sermons, creeds, theology — but the fathomless human brain,
And what is reason? and what is love? and what is life?
Not werdz uv ruetéen this saung uv mien,
But abrúptle tu kwéschan, tu leep beeyónd yet néerer bring;
This príntad aand bound book — but tha prínter aand tha prínting-àufis boi?
Tha wél-tàekan fóetagràafs — but yaur wief aur frend kloes aand sólid in yaur ormz?
Tha blaak ship maild witth íeyern, her míete gunz in her térats — but the pluk uv tha káaptan aand ènjinéerz?
In tha hóuzaz tha dishes aand fair aand furniture — but tha hoest aand hóestas, aand tha look out uv thair iez?
Tha ski up thair — yet heer aur nekst daur, aur akráus tha wae?
Tha saents aand sáejaz in hístare — but yu yaursélf?
Sérmanz, kreedz, ttheeyólaje — but tha fáathamlas hyúeman braen,
Aand hwut iz réezan? aand hwut iz luv? aand hwut iz lief?
I do not despise you priests, all time, the world over,
My faith is the greatest of faiths and the least of faiths,
Enclosing worship ancient and modern and all between ancient and modern,
Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years,
Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the gods, saluting the sun,
Making a fetich of the first rock or stump, powowing with sticks in the circle of obis,
Helping the llama or brahmin as he trims the lamps of the idols,
Dancing yet through the streets in a phallic procession, rapt and austere in the woods a gymnosophist,
Drinking mead from the skull-cap, to Shastas and Vedas admirant, minding the Koran,
Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife, beating the serpent-skin drum,
Accepting the Gospels, accepting him that was crucified, knowing assuredly that he is divine,
To the mass kneeling or the puritan's prayer rising, or sitting patiently in a pew,
Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiting dead-like till my spirit arouses me,
Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside of pavement and land,
Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits.
I du not dispíez yu preests, aul tiem, tha woorld óever,
Mi faetth iz tha gráestast uv faetths aand tha leest uv faetths,
Enklóezing wérship áenchant aand módern aand aul beetwéen áenchant aand módern,
Biléeving I shaal kum agén apón the ertth áafter fiev tthóuzand
Wáeting reespónsaz frum áurakalz, ónering tha godz, salúeting tha sun,
Máeking a fétish uv tha ferst rok aur stump, póuwòuwing witth stiks in the sérkool uv óebeez,
Hélping tha lóma aur brómin aaz he trimz tha laamps uv the íedalz,
Dáansing yet tthru tha streets in a fáalik praséshan, raapt aand austéer in tha woodz a jimnósafìst,
Dríngking meed frum tha skúl-kaap, tu Sháastaz aand Váedaz aadmíerant, míending tha Karáan,
Wáuking tha teeyakáaleez, spótad witth gaur frum tha stoen aand nief, béeting tha sérpant-skìn drum,
Aaksépting tha Góspalz, aaksépting him thaat wuz krúesifìed, noeing ashúradle thaat he iz divíen,
Tu tha maas néeling aur tha pyúritan'z prair ríezing, aur síting páeshantle in a pyu,
Ráanting aand fráutthing in mi insáen kríesis, aur wáeting déd-liek til my spéerit aróuzaz me,
Lóoking faurtth on páevmant aand laand, aur outsíed uv páevmant aand laand,
Beeláunging tu tha wíenderz uv tha sérkit uv sérkits.
One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like a man leaving charges before a journey. Wun uv thaat sentrípital aand sentrífagal gaang I tern aand tauk liek a man léeving chórjaz beefáur a jérne.
Down-hearted doubters dull and excluded,
Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, dishearten'd, atheistical,
I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair and unbelief.
Dóun-horted dóuterz dul aand eksklúedad,
Frívalas, súlan, móeping, áangre, aféktad, disqhórtand,
I noe évre wun uv yu, I noe tha see uv táurmant, dout, dispáir
aand ùnbiléef.
How the flukes splash!
How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood!
Hou tha flueks splaash!
Hou thae kantáurt ráapid aaz líetning, witth spáazamz aand spouts uv blud!
Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers,
I take my place among you as much as among any,
The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same,
And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely the same.
Be aat pees blúde flueks uv dóuterz aand súlan mopers,
I taek mi plaes amúng yu aaz much aaz amúng éne,
Tha paast iz tha poosh uv yu, me, aul, preesíesle tha saem,
Aand hwut iz yet untríed aand áafterwerd iz faur yu, me, aul, preesíesle the saem.
I do not know what is untried and afterward,
But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail.
I du not noe hwut iz untríed aand áafterwerd,
But I noe it wil in its tern pruev safíshant, aand káanot fail.
Each who passes is consider'd, each who stops is consider'd, not single one can it fail. Eech hu páasaz iz kansíderd, eech hu stops iz kansíderd, not sínggal wun kaan it fail.
It cannot fail the young man who died and was buried,
Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side,
Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again,
Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with bitterness worse than gall,
Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad disorder,
Nor the numberless slaughter'd and wreck'd, nor the brutish koboo call'd the ordure of humanity,
Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in,
Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth,
Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of myriads that inhabit them,
Nor the present, nor the least wisp that is known.
It káanot fail tha yung maan hu died aand wuz béreed,
Naur tha yung wóoman hu died aand wuz poot bi hiz sied,
Naur tha lítal chíeyald thaat peept in aat tha daur, aand then drew baak aand wuz néver seen agén,
Naur the oeld maan hu haaz livd witthóut pérpas, aand feelz it witth bíternas wers thaan gaul,
Naur him in tha púerhous túeberkald bi rum aand tha baad disáurder,
Naur tha númberlas sláuterd aand rekt, naur tha brúetish kóbu [?]
kauled the áurjer uv hyuemáanite,
Naur tha saaks méerle flóeting witth óepan moutthz faur fued tu slip in,
Naur éne tthing in the ertth, aur doun in the óeldast graevz uv the ertth,
Naur éne tthing in tha méereeyadz uv sfeerz, naur tha méereeyadz uv méereeyadz thaat inháabit them,
Naur tha prézant, naur tha leest wisp thaat iz noen.
It is time to explain myself — let us stand up.
It iz tiem tu ekspláen miesélf — let us staand up.
What is known I strip away,
I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.
Hwut iz noen I strip awáe,
I launch aul men aand wímin fáurwerd witth me íntu the unóen.
The clock indicates the moment — but what does eternity indicate? Tha klok índikàets tha móemant — but hwut duz eetérnite índikàet?
We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers,
There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.
We haav thus for egzáustad trílyanz uv wínterz aand súmerz,
Thair or trílyanz ahéd, aand trílyanz ahéd uv them.
Births have brought us richness and variety,
And other births will bring us richness and variety.
Bertths haav braut us ríchnas aand varíeyate,
Aand úther bertths wil bring us ríchnas aand varíeyate.
I do not call one greater and one smaller,
That which fills its period and place is equal to any.
I du not kaul wun gráeter aand wun smáuler,
Thaat hwich filz its péereeyad aand plaes iz éekwal tu éne.
Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister?
I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me,
All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation,
(What have I to do with lamentation?)
Wer máankiend mérderas aur jélas apón yu, mi brúther, mi síster?
I aam sóre faur yu, thae or not mérderas aur jélas apón me,
Aul haaz bin jéntal witth me, I keep no akóunt witth làamentáeshan,
(Hwut haav I tu du witth làamentáeshan?)
I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things to be. I aam aan áakme uv tthingz akómplisht, aand I aan enklóeser uv tthingz tu be.
My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs,
On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps,
All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.
Mi feet striek aan áepeks uv the áepisèez uv tha stairz,
On évre step búnchaz uv áejaz, aand lórjer búnchaz beetwéen tha steps,
Aul beeló dúele tráavald, aand stil I mount aand mount.
Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me,
Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there,
I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist,
And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.
Riez áafter riez bou tha fáantamz beehíend me,
Afór doun I se tha hyuej ferst Nútthing, I noe I wuz éevan thair,
I wáetad unséen aand áulwaez, aand slept tthru tha latthórjik mist,
Aand took mi tiem, aand took no hert frum tha fétid kórban.
Long I was hugg'd close — long and long. Laung I wuz hugd kloes — laung aand laung.
Immense have been the preparations for me,
Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me.
Iméns haav bin tha prèparáeshanz faur me,
Fáetthfool aand fréndle the ormz thaat haav helpt me.
Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen,
For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings,
They sent influences to look after what was to hold me.
Síekalz féreed mi kráedal, rowing aand rowing liek cheerfool bóetmen,
Faur ruem tu me storz kept asíed in thair oen ringz,
Thae sent ínfluewènsaz tu look áafter hwut wuz tu hoeld me.
Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me,
My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it.
Beefáur I wuz baurn out uv mi múther jèneráeshanz gíedad me,
Mi émbreeyo haaz néver bin táurpid, nútthing kood oeverláe it.
For it the nebula cohered to an orb,
The long slow strata piled to rest it on,
Vast vegetables gave it sustenance,
Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care.
Faur it tha nébyoola koehéerd tu aan aurb,
Tha laung slo stráata píeyald tu rest it on,
Vaast véjtaboolz gaev it sústanans,
Mónstras sáuroidz traanspáurtad it in thair mouthz aand deepózitad it witth kair.
All forces have been steadily employ'd to complete and delight me,
Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul.
Aul fáursaz haav bin stédile emlóid tu kampléet aand dilíet me,
Nou on this spot I staand witth mi roebúst soel.
O span of youth! ever-push'd elasticity!
O manhood, balanced, florid and full.
Oe spaan uv yuetth! éver-pòosht eelaastísite!
Oe máanhood, báalanst, fláurid aand fool.
My lovers suffocate me,
Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin,
Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night,
Crying by day, Ahoy! from the rocks of the river, swinging and chirping over my head,
Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush,
Lighting on every moment of my life,
Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses,
Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them to be mine.
Mi lúverz súfakàet me,
Króuding mi lips, tthik in tha paurz uv mi skin,
Jósling me tthru streets aand públik haulz, kúming náekad tu me at niet,
Kríeying bi dae, Ahói! frum tha roks uv tha ríver, swínging aand
chérping óever mi hed,
Káuling mi naem frum flóuwer-bedz, vienz, táanggald únderbrush,
Líeting on évre móemant uv mi lief,
Búsing mi bóde witth sauft baulsáamik búsaz,
Nóizlasle páasing háandfoolz out uv thair horts aand gíving them tu be mien.
Old age superbly rising! O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days! Oeld aej soopérble ríezing! Oe wélkam, inéfabool graes uv díeying daez!
Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows after and out of itself,
And the dark hush promulges as much as any.
Évre kandíshan proemúljaz not óenle itsélf, it proemúljaz hwut groez áafter aand out uv itsélf,
Aand tha dork hush proemúljaz aaz much aaz éne.
I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems,
And all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems.
I óepan mi skútal aat niet aand se tha fòr-sprìnkald sístamz,
Aand aul I se múltiplìed aaz hie aaz I kaan síefer ej but tha rim uv the fórther sístamz.
Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding,
Outward and outward and forever outward.
Wíeder aand wíeder thae spred, ekspáanding, áulwaez ekspáanding,
Óutwerd aand óutwerd aand fauréver óutwerd.
My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels,
He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit,
And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them.
Mi sun haaz hiz sun aand round him oebéedeeyantle hweelz,
He joinz witth hiz portners a gruep uv soopéereeyer sérkit,
Aand gráeter sets fólo, máeking speks uv tha gráestast insíed them.
There is no stoppage and never can be stoppage,
If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces,
were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail the long run,
We should surely bring up again where we now stand,
And surely go as much farther, and then farther and farther.
Thair iz no stópaj aand néver kaan be stópaj,
If I, yu, aand tha woorldz, aand aul beenéetth aur apón thair sérfasaz, wer this móemant reedúest baak tu a páalid floet, it wood not aváil tha laung run,
We shood shúerle bring up agén hwair we nou staand,
Aand shúerle go aaz much fórther, aand then fórther aand fórther.
A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span or make it impatient,
They are but parts, any thing is but a part.
A fyu kwodrílyanz uv eras, a fyu oktílyanz uv kyúebik leegz, du not háazerd tha spaan aur maek it impáeshant,
Thae or but ports, éne tthing iz but a port.
See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that,
Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that.
Se éver so for, thair iz límitlas spaes óutsied uv thaat,
Kount éver so much, thair iz límitlas tiem aróund thaat.
My rendezvous is appointed, it is certain,
The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms,
The great Camerado, the lover true for whom I pine will be there.
Mi róndaevù iz apóintad, it iz sértan,
Tha Laurd wil be thair aand waet til I kum on pérfakt termz,
Tha graet Kòmeródo, tha lúver tru faur huem I pien wil be thair.
I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured.
I noe I haav tha best uv tiem aand spaes, aand wuz néver mézherd aand néver wil be mézherd.
I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!)
My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods,
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, no church, no philosophy,
I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
My left hand hooking you round the waist,
My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road.
I traamp a perpéchuewal jérne, (kum lísan aul!)
Mi sienz or a ráen-pruef koet, good shuez, aand a staaf kut frum tha woodz,
No frend uv mien taeks hiz eez in mi chair,
I haav no chair, no cherch, no filósafe,
I leed no maan tu a díner-táebool, líebrere, excháenj
But eech maan aand eech wóoman uv yu I leed apón a noel,
Mi left haand hóoking yu round tha waest,
Mi riet haand póinting tu láandskaeps uv kóntinènts aand tha públik roed.
Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.
Not I, not éne wun els kaan tráaval thaat roed faur yu,
Yu must tráaval it faur yaursélf.
It is not far, it is within reach,
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,
Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.
It iz not for, it iz witthín reech,
Perháaps yu haav bin on it sins yu wer baurn aand did not noe,
Perháaps it iz évreehwair on wúter aand on laand.
Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth,
Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go.
Shóelder yaur dudz deer sun, aand I wil mien, aand let us háesan faurtth,
Wúnderfool síteez aand fre náeshanz we shaal fech aaz we go.
If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip,
And in due time you shall repay the same service to me,
For after we start we never lie by again.
If yu tíeyer, giv me boetth bérdanz, aand rest tha chuf uv yaur haand on mi hip,
Aand in due tiem yu shaal reepáe tha saem sérvis tu me,
Faur áafter we stort we néver li bi agén.
This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded heaven,
And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs,
and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then?
And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond.
This dae beefáur daun I aséndad a hil aand lookt aat tha króudad hévan,
Aand I sed tu mi spéerit hwen we beekúm the enfóelderz uv thoez aurbz, aand tha plézher aand nólaj uv évre tthing in them, shaal we be fild aand sáatisfìed then?
Aand mi spéerit sed No, we but léval thaat lift tu paas aand kantínyu beeyónd.
You are also asking me questions and I hear you,
I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.
Yu or áulso áasking me kwéschanz aand I heer yu,
I áanser thaat I káanot áanser, yu must fiend out faur yaursélf.
Sit a while dear son,
Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink,
But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss
you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress hence.
Sit a hwiel deer sun,
Heer or bískits tu eet aand heer iz milk tu dringk,
But aaz suen aaz yu sleep aand reenú yaursélf in sweet kloethz, I kis yu witth a góod-bi kis aand óepan tha gaet faur yaur éegres hens.
Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams,
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life.
Laung eenúf haav yu dreemd kantémptibool dreemz,
Nou I wosh tha gum frum yaur iez,
Yu must háabit yaursélf tu tha dáazal uv tha liet aand uv évre móemant uv yaur lief.
Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore,
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with your hair.
Laung haav yu tímidle wáedad hóelding a plaangk bi tha shaur,
Nou I wil yu tu be a boeld swímer,
Tu jump auf in tha midst uv tha see, riez agén, nod tu me, shout, aand láafingle daash witth yaur hair.
I am the teacher of athletes,
He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own proves the width of my own,
He most honors my style who learns under it to destroy the teacher.
I aam tha téecher uv áatthleets,
He thaat bi me spredz a wíeder brest thaan mi oen pruevz tha widtth uv mi oen,
He moest ónerz mi stíeyal hu lernz únder it tu distrói tha téecher.
The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived power, but in his own right,
Wicked rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear,
Fond of his sweetheart, relishing well his steak,
Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel cuts,
First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a skiff, to sing a song or play on the banjo,
Preferring scars and the beard and faces pitted with small-pox over all latherers,
And those well-tann'd to those that keep out of the sun.
Tha boi I luv, tha saem beekúmz a maan not tthru diríevd póuwer,
but in hiz oen riet,
Wíkad ráather thaan vérchuewas out uv kanfáurmite aur feer,
Fond uv hiz swéetqhort, rélishing wel hiz staek,
Ùnreekwíetad luv aur a sliet kúting him wers thaan shorp steel kuts,
Fèrst-ráet tu ried, tu fiet, tu hit tha bool'z ie, tu sail a skif, tu sing a saung aur plae on tha báanjo,
Preeféring skorz aand tha béerd aand fáesaz pítad witth smául-poks óever aul láathererz,
Aand thoez wel-táand tu thoez thaat keep out uv tha sun.
I teach straying from me, yet who can stray from me?
I follow you whoever you are from the present hour,
My words itch at your ears till you understand them.
I teech stráeying frum me, yet hu kaan strae frum me?
I folo yu huewéver yu or frum tha prézant óuwer,
Mi werdz ich aat yaur eerz til yu ùnderstáand them.
I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while
I wait for a boat,
(It is you talking just as much as myself, I act as the tongue of you,
Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd.)
I du not sae theez tthingz faur a dóler aur tu fil up tha tiem hwiel I waet faur a boet,
(It iz yu táuking just aaz much aaz miesélf, I aakt aaz tha tung uv yu,
Tied in yaur moutth, in mien it beegínz tu be lúesand.)
I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a house,
And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her who privately stays with me in the open air.
I swair I wil néver agén ménshan luv aur detth ínsied a hous,
Aand I swair I wil néver tráanzlaet miesélf aat aul, óenle tu him aur her hu príevatle staez witth me in the óepan air.
If you would understand me go to the heights or water-shore,
The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves key,
The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words.
If yu wood ùnderstáand me go tu tha hiets aur wúter-shaur,
Tha néerast naat iz aan èksplanáeshan, aand a drop aur móeshan uv waevz ke,
Tha maul, the aur, tha háand-sau, sékand mi werdz.
No shutter'd room or school can commune with me,
But roughs and little children better than they.
No shúterd ruem aur skuel kaan kamyúen witth me,
But rufs aand lítal chíldran béter thaan thae.
The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well,
The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with him all day,
The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice,
In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen and love them.
Tha yung makáanik iz klóesast tu me, he noez me wel,
Tha wóodman thaat taeks hiz aaks aand jug witth him shaal taek me witth him aul dae,
Tha fórm-bòi plóuwing in tha feeld feelz good aat tha sound uv mi vois,
In vésalz thaat sail mi werdz sail, I go witth físhermen aand séemen aand luv them.
The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine,
On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them,
On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek me.
My face rubs to the hunter's face when he lies down alone in his blanket,
The driver thinking of me does not mind the jolt of his wagon,
The young mother and old mother comprehend me,
The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget where they are,
They and all would resume what I have told them.
Tha sóeljer kaampt aur apón tha morch iz mien,
On tha niet air tha pending báatal méne seek me, aand I du not fail them,
On thaat sólam niet (it mae be thair laast) thoez thaat noe me seek me.
Mi faes rubz tu tha húnter'z faes hwen he liez doun alóen in hiz bláangkat,
Tha dríever tthíngking uv me duz not miend tha jolt uv hiz wáagan,
Tha yung múther aand oeld múther kòmprehénd me,
Tha goorl aand tha wief rest tha néedal a móemant aand fargét hwair thae or,
Thae aand aul wood reezúem hwut I haav toeld them.
I have said that the soul is not more than the body,
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud,
And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick of the earth,
And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds the learning of all times,
And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it may become a hero,
And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd universe,
And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes.
I haav sed thaat tha soel iz not maur thaan tha bóde,
Aand I haav sed thaat tha bóde iz not maur thaan tha soel,
Aand nútthing, not God, iz gráeter tu wun thaan wun'z self iz
Aand huewéver wauks a férlaung witthóut símpatthe wauks tu hiz oen fyúeneral drest in hiz shroud,
Aand I aur yu pókatlas uv a diem mae pérchas tha pik uv the ertth,
Aand tu glaans witth aan ie aur sho a been in its pod kanfóundz tha lérning uv aul tiemz,
Aand thair iz no traed aur emplóimant but tha yung maan fóloewing it mae beekúm a héero,
Aand thair iz no óbjekt so sauft but it maeks a hub faur tha hweeld yúenivèrs,
Aand I sae tu éne maan aur wóoman, Let yaur soel staand kuel aand kampóezd beefáur a mílyan yúenivèrsaz.
And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God,
For I who am curious about each am not curious about God,
(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God and about death.)
Aand I sae tu máankiend, Be not kyúereeyas abóut God,
Faur I hu aam kyúereeyas abóut eech aam not kyúereeyas abóut God,
(No aráe uv termz kaan sae hou much I aam aat pees abóut God aand abóut detth.)
I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.
I heer aand beehóeld God in évre óbjekt, yet ùnderstáand God not in tha leest,
Naur du I ùnderstáand hu thair kaan be maur wúnderfool thaan miesélf.
Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then,
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass,
I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd by God's name,
And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go,
Others will punctually come for ever and ever.
Hwi shood I wish tu se God béter thaan this dae?
I se súmtthing uv God eech óuwer uv tha twèntee-fáur, aand eech móemant then,
In tha fáesaz uv men aand wímin I se God, aand in mi oen faes in tha glaas,
I fiend léterz frum God dropt in tha street, aand évre wun iz siend bi God'z naem,
Aand I leev them hwair thae or, faur I noe thaat hwàirsoeqáir I go,
Útherz wil púngkchoowalè kum faur éver aand éver.
And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me.
Aand aaz tu yu Detth, aand yu bíter hug uv maurtáalite, it iz íedal tu tri tu alórm me.
To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes,
I see the elder-hand pressing receiving supporting,
I recline by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors,
And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape.
Tu hiz werk witthóut flínching the àakueshér kumz,
I se the élder-haand présing reeséeving sapáurting,
I reeklíen bi tha silz uv the ékskwizìt fléksibool daurz,
Aand mork the óutlat, aand mork tha reeléef aand eskáep.
And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me,
I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing,
I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.
Aand aaz tu yu Kaurps I tthingk yu or good manúer, but thaat duz not afénd me,
I smel tha hwiet róezaz sweet-séntad aand gróewing,
I reech tu tha léefe lips, I reech tu tha pólisht brests uv mélanz.
And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths,
(No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.)
Aand aaz tu yu Lief I rékan yu or tha léevingz uv méne detths,
(No dout I haav died miesélf ten tthóuzand tiemz beefáur.)
I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven,
O suns — O grass of graves — O perpetual transfers and promotions,
If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing?
I heer yu hwíspering thair Oe storz uv hévan,
Oe sunz — Oe graas uv graevz — Oe perpéchuewal tráansferz aand pramóeshanz,
Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest,
Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight,
Toss, sparkles of day and dusk — toss on the black stems that decay in the muck,
Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.
If yu du not sae éne tthing hou kaan I sae éne tthing?
Uv tha térbid puel thaat liez in the áutam fórast,
Uv tha muen thaat diséndz tha steeps uv tha súfing twíeliet,
Taus, spórkalz uv dae aand dusk — taus on tha blaak stemz thaat deekáe in tha muk,
Taus tu tha móening jíberish uv tha dri limz.
I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night,
I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected,
And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small.
I asénd frum tha muen, I asénd frum tha niet,
I perséev thaat tha gáastle glímer iz núendae súnbeemz reefléktad,
Aand dibúesh tu tha stéde aand séntral frum the áufspring graet aur smaul.
There is that in me — I do not know what it is — but I know it is in me.
Thair iz thaat in me — I du not noe hwut it iz — but I noe it iz in me.
Wrench'd and sweaty — calm and cool then my body becomes,
I sleep — I sleep long.
Rencht aand swéte — kom aand kuel then mi bóde beekúmz,
I sleep — I sleep laung.
I do not know it — it is without name — it is a word unsaid,
It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol.
I du not noe it — it iz witthóut naem — it iz a werd unséd,
It iz not in éne díkshanère, úterans, símbal.
Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on,
To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me.
Súmtthing it swingz on maur thaan the ertth I swing on,
Tu it tha kreeyáeshan iz tha frend huez embráesing awáeks me.
Perhaps I might tell more. Outlines! I plead for my brothers and sisters. Perháaps I miet tel maur. Óutlienz! I pleed faur mi brútherz aand sísterz.
Do you see O my brothers and sisters?
It is not chaos or death — it is form, union, plan — it is eternal life — it is Happiness.
Du yu se Oe mi brútherz aand sísterz?
It iz not káeyos aur detth — it iz faurm, yúenyan, plaan — it iz eetérnal lief — it iz Háapeenas.
The past and present wilt — I have fill'd them, emptied them.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.
Tha paast aand prézant wilt — I haav fild them, émpteed them.
Aand proeséed tu fil mi nekst foeld uv tha fyúecher.
Listener up there! what have you to confide to me?
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer.)
Lísaner up thair! hwut haav yu tu kanfíed tu me?
Look in mi faes hwiel I snuf tha síedal uv éevning
(Tauk ónastle, no wun els heerz yu, aand I stae óenle a mínit láungger.)
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
Du I kòntradíkt miesélf?
Vére wel then I kòntradíkt miesélf,
(I aam lorj, I kantáen múltitùedz.)
I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab. I kónsantràet taurd them thaat or ni, I waet on tha dáur-slaab.
Who has done his day's work? who will soonest be through with his supper?
Who wishes to walk with me?
Hu haaz dun hiz dae'z werk? hu wil súenast be tthru witth hiz súper?
Hu wishes tu wauk witth me?
Will you speak before I am gone? will you prove already too late? Wil yu speek beefáur I aam gaun? wil yu pruev alréde tue laet?
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.
Tha spótad hauk swueps bi aand akyúezaz me, he kampláenz uv mi gab aand mi lóitering.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
I tue aam not a bit taemd, I tue aam ùntraanzláetabool,
I sound mi borbáarik yaup óever tha ruefs uv tha woorld.
The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow'd wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
Tha laast skud uv dae hoeldz baak faur me,
It flingz mi lieknas áafter tha rest aand tru aaz éne on tha sháadoed wíeyaldz,
It kóeksaz me tu tha váeper aand tha dusk.
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
I deepórt aaz air, I shaek mi hwiet loks aat tha rúnawàe sun,
I ifyúez mi flesh in édeez, aand drift it in láese jaagz.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
I bikwéeth miesélf tu tha dert tu gro frum tha graas I luv,
If yu wont me agén look faur me únder yaur búet-soelz.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Yu wil hórdle noe hu I aam aur hwut I meen,
But I shaal be good heltth tu yu nèverthalés,
Aand fílter aand fíeber yaur blud.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
Fáiling tu fech me aat ferst keep enkérajd,
Mísing me wun plaes serch anúther,
I stop súmhwair wáeting faur yu.

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