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.

Starting from Paumanok.

The greater the reform needed, the greater the Personality you need to accomplish it.

Produce great Persons, the rest follows.

He or she is greatest who contributes the greatest original practical example.

To a Pupil.

By Blue Ontario's Shore.

AS AT THY PORTALS ALSO DEATH.

As at thy portals also death,

Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds,

To memories of my mother, to the divine blending, maternity,
To her, buried and gone, yet buried not, gone not from me,

(I see again the calm benignant face fresh and beautiful still,

I sit by the form in the coffin,

I kiss and kiss convulsively again the sweet old lips, the cheeks, the closed eyes in the coffin ;)

To her, the ideal woman, practical, spiritual, of all of earth, life, love, to me the best,
I grave a monumental line, before I go, amid these songs,

And set a tombstone here.

Nothing is sinful to us outside of ourselves,

Whatever appears, whatever does not appear, we are beautiful or sinful in ourselves only.

A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow-but first I note,
The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim outline,

The darkness lit by spots of kindled fire, the silence,

Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving,

The shrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily watching me,)

While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wondrous thoughts,

Of life and death, of home and the past and loved, and of those that are far away;
A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground,

By the bivouac's fitful flame.

And over all the sky-the sky! far, far out of reach, studded, breaking cut, the eternal stars. Bivouac on a Mountain Side.

RECONCILIATION.

Word over all, beautiful as the sky,

Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time be utterly lost,

That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again, and ever again,

this soil'd world;

For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead,

I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin-I draw near,

Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.

What best I see in thee,

WHAT BEST I SEE IN THEE.

To U. S. G. return'd from his World's Tour.

Is not that where thou mov'st down history's great highways,

Ever undimm'd by time shoots warlike victory's dazzle,

Or that thou sat'st where Washington sat, ruling the land in peace,
Or thou the man whom feudal Europe feted, venerable Asia swarm'd upon,
Who walk'd with kings with even pace the round world's promenade;

But that in foreign lands, in all thy walks with kings,

Those prairie sovereigns of the West, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois,

Ohio's, Indiana's millions, comrades, farmers, soldiers, all to the front,

Invisibly with thee walking with kings with even pace the round world's promenade, Were all so justified.

OVER THE CARNAGE ROSE PROPHETIC A VOICE.

Over the carnage rose prophetic a voice,

Be not dishearten'd, affection shall solve the problems of freedom yet,
Those who love each other shall become invincible,

They shall yet make Columbia victorious.

The dependence of Liberty shall be lovers,

The continuance of Equity shall be comrades.

TO THE MAN-OF-WAR-BIRD.

Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm,
Waking renew'd on thy prodigious pinions,

Thou born to match the gale, (thou art all wings,)

To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane,

Thou ship of air that never furl'st thy sails,

Days, even weeks untired and onward, through spaces, realms gyrating,

At dusk that look'st on Senegal, at morn America,

That sport'st amid the lightning-flash and thunder-cloud,

In them, in thy experiences, had'st thou my soul,

What joys! what joys were thine!

As a strong bird on pinions free,

Joycus, the amplest spaces heavenward cleaving,
Such be the thought I'd think of thee America,
Such be the recitative I'd bring for thee.

The Present holds thee not-for such vast growth as thine,
For such unparallel'd flight as thine, such brood as thine,
The Future only holds thee and can hold thee.

Thou Mother with thy Equal Brood.