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passed
Recess
passed
passed
Or rather He passed us
The Dews drew quivering and chill
For only Gossamer, my Gown
My Tippet only Tulle
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground
The Roof was scarcely visible
The Cornice in the Ground
Since then tis Centuries and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses Heads
Were toward Eternity
Much Madness is divinest Sense To a discerning Eye Much Sense - the starkest Madness Tis the Majority
In this, as all, prevail Assent - and you are sane Demur - youre straightway dangerous And handled with a Chain -
An April Day
Trust no Future, howeer pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God oerhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing oer lifes solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
A Shadow
I said unto myself, if I were dead,
What would befall these children? What would
be
Their fate, who now are looking up to me
For help and furtherance? Their lives, I said,
Would be a volume wherein I have read
But the first chapters, and no longer see
To read the rest of their dear history,
So full of beauty and so full of dread.
Be comforted; the world is very old,
And generations pass, as they have passed,
A troop of shadows moving with the sun;
Thousands of times has the old tale been told;
The world belongs to those who come the last,
They will find hope and strength as we have
done.
The arrow and the song
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Moods
Oh that a Song would sing itself to me
Out of the heart of Nature, or the heart
Of man, the child of Nature, not of Art,
Fresh as the morning, salt as the salt sea,
With just enough of bitterness to be
A medicine to this sluggish mood, and start
The life-blood in my veins, and so impart
Healing and help in this dull lethargy!
Alas! not always doth the breath of song
Breathe on us. It is like the wind that
bloweth
At its own will, not ours, nor tarrieth long;
We hear the sound thereof, but no man knoweth
From whence it comes, so sudden and swift and
strong,
Nor whither in its wayward course it goeth.
Flaxman
We deemed the secret lost, the spirit gone,
Which spake in Greek simplicity of thought,
And in the forms of gods and heroes wrought
Eternal beauty from the sculptured stone,
A higher charm than modern culture won
With all the wealth of metaphysic lore,
Gifted to analyze, dissect, explore.
A many-colored light flows from one sun;
Art, neath its beams, a motley thread has
spun;
The prism modifies the perfect day;
But thou hast known such mediums to shun,
And cast once more on life a pure, white
ray.
Absorbed in the creations of thy mind,
Forgetting daily self, my truest self I find.
21
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 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,
I call to the earth and sea half-held by the
night.
Press close bare-bosomd nightpress close
magnetic nourishing night!
Night of south windsnight of the large few
stars!
Still nodding nightmad naked summer night.
Smile O voluptuous cool-breathd earth!
Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!
O Captain! My Captain!
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is
done,
The ship has weatherd every rack, the prize
we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people
all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel
grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the
bells;
Rise upfor you the flag is flungfor you the
bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbond wreathsfor you
the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their
eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
Youve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale
and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no
pulse nor will,
The ship is anchord safe and sound, its
voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in
with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
America
Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endeard, grown, ungrown, young
or old,
Strong, ample,
Perennial with
and Love,
A grand, sane,
Chaird in the
Kosmos
Who includes diversity and is Nature,
Who is the amplitude of the earth, and the
coarseness and sexuality of the earth, and the
great charity of the earth and the equilibrium
also,
Who has not lookd forth from the windows the
eyes for nothing, or whose brain held audience
with messengers for nothing,
Who contains believers and disbelievers, who
is the most majestic lover,
Who holds duly his or her triune proportion of
realism, spiritualism, and of the sthetic or
intellectual,
Who having considerd the body finds all its
organs and parts good,
Who, out of the theory of the earth and of his
or her body understands by subtle analogies
all other theories,
The theory of a city, a poem, and of the large
politics of these States;
Who believes not only in our globe with its
sun and moon, but in other globes with their
suns and moons,
Who, constructing the house of himself or
herself, not for a day but for all time, sees
races, eras, dates, generations,
The past, the future, dwelling there, like
space, inseparable together.
O Me! O Life!
Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these
recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of
cities filld with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who
more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the
objects mean, of the struggle ever renewd,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding
and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest,
with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurringWhat
good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.