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I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me

there.

You villain touch! what are you doing? my breath is tight in its

throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for me.

29 Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp-tooth'd

touch! Did it make you ache so, leaving me?

Parting track'd by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward.

Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.

30

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?)
Logic and sermons never convince,
The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.

(Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies is 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.

31 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 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.

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.

32 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. 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. So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their

possession.

I wonder where they get those tokens,
Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently 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.

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.
His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him,
His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and

return.

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.

33
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.
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.

By the city's quadrangular houses — in log huts, camping with

lumbermen, Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivulet bed, Weeding my onion-patch or hoeing 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 tail ; 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 ; 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 lies in the Seventh-month eve, where the great gold

bug 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 shud

dering 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 my.

self 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 corrupt

ing below; Where the dense-starr'd flag is borne at the head of the regiments, 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 At he festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances,

of base-ball,

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, 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; 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 preach

er, impress'd seriously at the camp-meeting ;

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