Mysterious Flood, that through the silent sands Art thou the keeper of that eldest lore Written ere yet thy hieroglyphs began When dawned upon thy fresh, untrampled shore The earliest life of Man? Thou guardest temple and vast pyramid, Where the gray Past records its ancient speech; But in thine unrevealing breast lies hid What they refuse to teach. All other streams with human joys and fears Thou tak'st no note of Man; a thousand years Are as a day to thee. 30 5 10 15 What were to thee the Osirian festivals? Or Memnon's music on the Theban plain? Even then thou wast a God, and shrines were built And past the bannered pylons that arose Above thy palms, the pageantry and state, Thou givest blessing as a God might give, In thy solemnity, thine awful calm, Thy grand indifference of Destiny, My soul forgets its pain, and drinks the balm Thy godship is unquestioned still: I bring No doubtful worship to thy shrine supreme; To float upon thy stream! THE QUAKER WIDOW 1855 Thee finds me in the garden, Hannah-come in! T is kind of thee Come, sit thee down! Here is the bench where Benjamin would sit 20 25 30 35 I think he loved the spring: not that he cared for flowers-most men He was but seventy-five: I did not think to lay him yet We 've lived together fifty years: it seems but one long day, I mind (for I can tell thee now) how hard it was to know Then she was still. They sat awhile; at last she spoke again: "The Lord incline thee to the right!" And "Thou shalt have him, 25 Jane!" My father said. I cried. Indeed, 't was not the least of shocks, I thought of this ten years ago, when daughter Ruth we lost: 30 Ah, dear! the cross was ours: her life's a happy one, at least. Perhaps she 'll wear a plainer dress when she 's as old as I- 35 How strange it seemed to sit with him upon the women's side! 40 I used to blush when he came near, but then I showed no sign; As home we rode, I saw no fields look half so green as ours; I see, as plain as thee sits there, the wedding-dinner spread: 45 50 It is not right to wish for death; the Lord disposes best. 55 Eusebius never cared to farm-'t was not his call, in truth: 60 But Ruth is still a Friend at heart: she keeps the simple tongue, 65 I once heard Jesse Kersey say a spirit clothed with grace, Thee mustn't be too hard on Ruth: she 's anxious I should go, 70 WALT WHITMAN [The selections from Whitman are reprinted from the copyrighted 1891 edition of his poems, with the permission of his literary executors, Messrs. H. L. Traubel and T. B. Harned, and of his publisher, Mitchell Kennerley] FROM SONG OF MYSELF I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, I For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul; I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, the same, I, now thirty-seven years old, in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death. Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are but never forgotten, 21 I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul. 5 1Ο The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me; 15 The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a new tongue. 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 chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development. 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. I am he that walks with the tender and growing night; 20 25 I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night. |