MetaStock Grafico Pattern Recognition Scanner Questo è il video di un semplice dati MetaStock scansione video reale del Pattern Recognition Program Scan Rampa Esecuzione di un semplice supporto Linea Toccare Scansione su MetaStock dati. Ricerca di qualsiasi combinazione di questi importanti di pattern grafico. Ad esempio, fondi quotDouble sul sostegno Linesquot. Line Support Support Line tocco di resistenza Interruzione Linea di tocco di resistenza di linea Unita Prezzo livello Breakout Prezzo Livello guasti Fibonacci ritracciamenti di Fibonacci estensioni doppi fondi Doppia Tops testa e spalle Qualsiasi Retracement Rialzista Cup e Maniglia ribassista Cup e Maniglia 5 Highs Anno Sentimentum T ha Rampa mercato pattern recognition MetaStock scanner è un programma sorprendente che esegue la scansione per qualsiasi motivo compreso combinazioni rialzista o ribassista dei prezzi rottura fuori o che rimbalzano di linee di tendenza dritto. Con lo scanner il riconoscimento di forme di rampa è possibile definire il modello che si desidera o scegliere tra le impostazioni di default. Scansione migliaia di simboli in pochi minuti per trovare qualsiasi modello grafico che ti piace, tra tocchi di linea di tendenza o sblocchi. (Versione di prova gratuita, scaricare ora) ci sono tre moduli integrati nel programma di rampa. Sono Trend-Line Scanner, il Fibonacci-Market-scanner e le nuove forme-Pattern-Recognition-scanner. Essi sono tutti inclusi nello stesso programma in modo che sia possibile eseguire la scansione dual. Ad esempio, la scansione di tutti i grafici sulle linee di supporto rette, quindi eseguire la scansione i simboli appena trovati per W Bottoms o ritracciamenti di Fibonacci standard. Le combinazioni sono illimitate. Rampa corre molto veloce su i propri file di dati storici TC2000. Scegliere tra TC2000, TCNet, MetaStock o formato di file di testo semplice in un semplice menu a discesa. Oggi Descrizione Rampa Pattern Recognition Charts. Link Equis MetaStock: Carrello Il mio conto Ricerca il log in.. MetaStock Professional 9.0. MetaStock 9.0 (End of Day). Plug-in. Add-Ons. Materiali di formazione. Dati. Poi MetaStock è la risposta alla tua ricerca. equis MetaStock ChartServer. MetaStock ChartServer. Informazioni aggiuntive. Per richiedere ulteriori informazioni su MetaStock ChartServer, e-mail Eduardo da Silva a edasilvaequis. equisproductsinstitutionalchartserver Indice Formula Metastock. A3.gif (1018 byte). Nuove aggiunte al sito. Link. Metastock formule. I commercianti di lettura. I mercati ASEAN. Introduzione a Indice Metastock Metastock Formula. guppytraders metastock20formulasformula20index. htm formato MetaStock richiesto software Equis MetaStock International39s è stato progettato per leggere ed elaborare i file nella quotMetaStock proprietaria Format. quot La struttura di questo. csidatacustserv onlinehelponlinemanualmetastock. htm MetaStock: mercato azionario giorno di negoziazione software MetaStock da Equis International è il giorno di negoziazione software leader del mercato azionario per investire, l'analisi tecnica, e la creazione di grafici. metastock. ca quotazioni storiche scaricare Metastock. Elliott Wave Analyzer II EWA, Metastock Downloader, Advanced Get Aget, ElWave, Neuroshell commerciante, Winwaves32, SierraChart, Tradestation Prosuite 2000i. hquotes Metastock scaricare i dati d'archivio esenti. magazzino storico cita aggiornare i prezzi delle azioni storiche formato di database metastock. Borsa cronologia dei download dal 1970. scaricare quotazioni Metastock. hquotesquotelfmetastock. html MetaStock Download - DownSeek casa gtgt Azioni gtgt commerciali e Azioni MetaStock Download - 9.0. MetaStock da Equis 80 20 Il tuo voto Questo download MetaStock è concesso in licenza come prodotto al dettaglio. downseekdownload21282.asp Metastock Pro 8.0 RT - DownSeek casa. Ricerca di Metastock Pro 8.0 RT. MetaStock 9.0 Analisi tecnica non è mai stato più facile MetaStock39s incredibilmente intuitivo. downseeksearchformetastock20pro208.020rt groups. yahoogroupequismetastock Formato file: non riconosciuta - Visualizza come HTML Pagine simili MetaStock distributori, software tecnico MetaStock, fondamentale. Paritech fornisce investitori di tutto il mondo con i pacchetti Trading amp investimenti software grafici, come MetaStock, Stockmarket Dati, tecnico ed. paritech. auauproductssoftwaremetastock. asp Citazione: QCharts MetaStock. QCharts MetaStock utilizza abbonamento dati QCharts Intermediate39s per consentire i dati in tempo reale e una maggiore flessibilità nella MetaStock. A proposito di MetaStock. finance. lycosqcsubsqmetastock. aspx Citazione: QCharts MetaStock. MetaStock Professional 7.0 di preventivo è l'unico programma di creazione di grafici e analisi in tempo reale che offre agli utenti nove diversi stili grafici tra cui scegliere. finance. lycosqcsubsqmetastock. aspxpage2 Bande di Bollinger: Prodotti. Durante lo sviluppo del plug-in Bollinger Band per MetaStock da Equis internazionale abbiamo speso un sacco di tempo usando il loro software e siamo molto colpiti. bollingerbandsproductstypemetastock Bande di Bollinger: Prodotti. MetaStock Professional 9.0 permette di commercianti di implementare le loro strategie di trading ideale per tutti i tipi di securitiesstocks, obbligazioni, materie prime, futures, reciproci. bollingerbandsproductstypemetastockpro Debry - MetaStock plug-in Money Management, MetaStock plug-in e più prodotti di supporto. Benvenuti a Debry. Vendiamo il mercato Toolbox SpyGlass per MetaStock. Debry MetaStock dati da parte degli investitori FastTrack MetaStock Dividendo-Adjusted Fondo comune amplificatore di borsa. Fai questo. Prendi questo. 16 anni gratis MetaStock dati di fondi comuni e dati di stock. fasttrackmetastock. asp MetaStock Product Review - Pagina 2. MetaStock 7.2. Visualizzare siti Web. 6. Il Web Browser MetaStock permette di visualizzare i siti web Internet dall'interno MetaStock. Stabilità. daytrading. aboutcs productreviewsfrmetastock2.htm Scarica i dati di stock storici per MetaStock. Premio di prova gratuita. . 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Condizioni di utilizzo Informativa sulla privacy, Copyright 2004, Elite Trader. elitetradersoactionviewampsrproductid27 Top: Software: Ricerca di 39metastock39. Partecipa Leave. Top: Software: Ricerca di 39metastock39. Visualizzazione 1-20 da 23. Metastock e formato ASCII supportato. Split regolata dati storici. freewareseeksearch. php3qmetastock Caricamento dei dati Metastock in Insider TA Caricamento Metastock dati in Insider TA. Caricamento di file di dati Metastock. Come caricare i dati Metastock. Per caricare i file Metastock in. stockblockssupportmetastock Metastock End Of Day (EOD) 7.2 Un Software Review. Metastock End Of Day (EOD) 7.2 è un creazione di grafici e strumento di analisi tecnica per le azioni del mercato azionario, obbligazioni e indici (verranno utilizzate le scorte termine windowatch2002januarymetastock81.html Trade2Win Store -... Metastock Plugin T2W Conservare gt Metastock Metastock Plugin Plugin Performance. Strumenti dinamica commerciale, strumenti di dinamica commerciale Espandi MetaStock39s Supporto potere analisi trade2win. co. ukstorecustomerhome. phpcat249 Trade2Win Store -. MetaStock 9.0 T2W Conservare gt software grafici MetaStock 9.0 prodotti correlati 16143, CD di formazione avanzata MetaStock Multimedia 16142, scoprendo il potere di... .. Metastock trade2win. co. ukstore customerproduct. phpproductid16147 ORDINE tutti i numeri arretrati su CD per solo fare mestieri più affidabili utilizzando MetaStock 7.239s 26 nuovi sistemi di Performance Scegli MetaStock per ad alta potenza di back-test e analisi di esplorazione tradersworldsoftwaremetastock Sharework -.. Trading e software grafici sconto per MetaStock.. MetaStock 9.0 Professional eSignal (in tempo reale), MetaStock 9.0 Professional eSignal (in tempo reale) MetaStock 9.0 è il pacchetto completo per le vostre esigenze di trading. sharework. deindex. phpcpath4841 Sharework - Trading e software grafici Sconto per MetaStock. . MetaStock 9,0 End-of-Day, MetaStock 9,0 End-of-Day MetaStock 9.0 è il pacchetto completo per il tuo trading ha bisogno di MetaStock 9.0 è premiato grafici e. sharework. deindex. phpcpath4838 Metastock Metastock Stati Uniti d'America, Ultimo aggiornamento: Venerdì 10 Dicembre, 2004. Applegate Tutto Industria, selezionare da una sezione di seguito. Tutto Industry. Metastock - Stati Uniti d'America. Le aziende. applegate. co. ukprincipalspra1122538.htm I TextToMS per il formato MetaStock CompuTrac dati Page. Torna alla Home Page. TextToMS TextToMS consente una rapida e facile l'aggiornamento, la gestione e la modifica dei dati finanziari memorizzati in formato MetaStock o CompuTrac. worldlynxpgerhartttms. html Il MetaFix per formato MetaStock CompuTrac dati Page. Torna alla Home Page. 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Impostare MetaStock per leggere i dati da dati Premium. premiumdatasupportmetastock. php della, Futures e Forex Fine della Scheda Day in MetaStock dati e. Norgate Investor Services offre agli investitori azionari pulito e preciso, futures e fine mercato forex dei dati nel formato di dati MetaStock. premiumdata eSignal con MetaStock esignalequis - 1k - Copia cache - Pagine simili MetaStock 2.0MetaStock cliente 2.0 (Java) Equis internazionale, 28 agosto 1998 44171. MetaStock per Java visualizza tabelle grafiche di azioni, fondi comuni di investimento e indici di mercato. esignalequis client MetaStock 2.0 MetaStock 2.0 (Java) Equis internazionale, 28 agosto 1998 44171. MetaStock per Java visualizza tabelle grafiche di azioni, fondi comuni di investimento e indici di mercato. developer. novellyes44171.htm MetaStock 1.0 MetaStock 1.0 client (Java) Equis internazionale, 28 Agosto 1998 44170. MetaStock per Java visualizza tabelle grafiche di azioni, fondi comuni di investimento e indici di mercato. Strumento di mercato developer. novellyes44170.htm (MetaStock) Metastock Professional 8.0. Ordine MetaStock Professional ver 9.0 ora MetaStock Professional 9.0. Il vostro successo commerciale Dipende gli strumenti giusti Trading. sgmarketmarket20tool20 (metastock20pro).htm strumento di mercato (MetaStock EOD) Metastock 8.0. Per prendere decisioni di trading di successo, si deve semplicemente utilizzare il diritto strumenti di trading e di analisi. ORDINE METASTOCK 8.0 OGGI. sgmarketmarket20tool20 (metastock20eod).htm TradeWorks Software - Formato MetaStock dati domestica gt formato MetaStock dati. Il formato dei dati MetaStock è un modo ampiamente riconosciuto per memorizzare i dati di prezzo dei titoli. Anche se spesso. mechtradingqcollectormsformat. htm TrendMedium - Official Equis Metastock Add-on - Download. TrendMedium - Official Equis Metastock Add-on - TrendMedium è un add-on ufficiale per Equis MetaStock. TrendMedium - Official Equis Metastock Add-on v1.55. sharewareriverproducts7313.htm MetaStock MetaStock. Migliora le probabilità di successo. Per oltre un decennio, MetaStock è stato il campione in software di analisi tecnica. shares. vianet. aumetastock. htm WinSite: TrendMedium - Official Equis Metastock A. TrendMedium è un add-on per Equis MetaStock che consente di: Selezionare i tickers che mostrano la prevedibilità futuro Stima ticker risultati Identificare girando. winsitebininfo19500000037037 Forbes Best of the Web. MetaStock metastock MetaStock eccelle nella sua ampiezza di grafico display, che offre il base al estremamente esoterico. forbesbowb2creview. jhtmlid5480 Sharelink più MetaStock. Per oltre un decennio, MetaStock è stato il campione in software di analisi tecnica. Questa eredità della leadership continua. parklane. ausharelinkv2softwaremetastock. htm Wotsit39s Format ricerca. Partite per MetaStock Pagina 1 di 1. Si prega fatemi sapere se trovate qualunque collegamenti difettosi. METASTOCK, Download (1K), formato Metastock dati. wotsit. orgsearch. aspsmetastock Metastock Indicatori Stoploss. ch offre sistemi di trading su misura e gli indicatori per Metastock software di analisi tecnica. Metastock indicatori. Qui. stoploss. chmetastockindicators. htm software Metastock - Official distributore svizzero Metastock 7.2. It39s più. di sistemi di trading. Straiton amp Partner è il distributore ufficiale in Svizzera per il software Metastock. Quotidiano stoploss. chmetastock. htm StockWiz quotazioni di borsa Servizio StockWiz - Domande frequenti. 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Tradestation 8.0 b1779 trading Alchemy Indicatori completa Wave59 Package 1.48 MB Risk Management 9.0 OmniTrader 2004 RT Metastock Pro v9.0 RT per l'e-Signal MT. bradynetbbsbulgaria100046-0.html InvestorWeb Guida introduttiva. MetaStock per Java è un applet creazione di grafici di facile utilizzo, in grado di tracciare molti dei più popolari indicatori di analisi tecnica. investorweb. aumbhlpmetamain. asp Cerca archivi Metastock. Cerca l'Archivio Metastock. Cerca: mela o pera (mela verde) o (rosso mela) Substring Ricerca. In Messaggi Dove: Il soggetto. listserv. uv. escgi-binwas1metastockampx - partecipare o abbandonare la lista METASTOCK. Iscriviti o Lasciare la lista METASTOCK. Questa schermata consente di unire o lasciare la lista METASTOCK. Per confermare la tua identità e prevenire. listserv. uv. escgi-binwasubed1metastockampa1 MetaStock - Scarica il software dal nostro categoria Utilità. MetaStock, Valutazione: 5 Valutazione mucca. 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Tutti è scritto in linguaggio MetaStock e possono essere utilizzati nei propri script o utilizzare i modelli. f. webringhubringtechnicalanalys2ampid2ampgo WebLink - stampabile Modulo di domanda. Dati Storici (Metastock), 165.00, dati storici ASX dal 1987 nel formato Metastock (non include il software Metastock). weblink. auhtmlappform. htmlClick di presentare poesie DayPoems, commentare DayPoems o una poesia all'interno, commentare su altri siti di poesia, i collegamenti di aggiornamento, o semplicemente entrare in contatto. Forum DayPoems. Progetto Gutenberg. una vasta collezione di libri come testo, prodotto come impresa volontario a partire dal 1990. Questa è la fonte della prima poesia immessi sul DayPoems. Tina Blues Guida per principianti Prosody. esattamente quello che dice il titolo, e vale la pena leggere. Fold epicanthic. Se un ragazzo da qualche parte in Asia fa un blog e nessuno lo legge, lo fa davvero esiste popomo. in miniatura, sculture minimaliste di ispirazione creati da cereamics industriali, un progetto artistico a Lewis e Clark College di Portland, Oregon. pink. popomo. Più progetti da Portland oarena. Furby, Eliza, MrFriss e MissFriss. Save Point 0.8.1. un Portland, Oregon, mostra, 13 agosto-settembre 5, 2004, presso Disjecta. Song of Myself di Walt Whitman mi festeggiare, e canto me stesso, e ciò che io presumo che si assume, per ogni atomo che mi appartiene come bene appartiene a voi. I Loafe e invito la mia anima, mi appoggio e Loafe a mio agio osservando una lancia di erba estiva. La mia lingua, ogni atomo del mio sangue, formd da questo suolo, quest'aria, nato qui da genitori nati qui da genitori stessi, e ai loro genitori la stessa, io, ormai trentasette anni in perfetta salute comincio, sperando di cessare non fino alla morte. Credo e scuole in sospeso, ritirandosi di nuovo un po 'bastarono a quello che sono, ma mai dimenticato, io porto nel bene e nel male, mi permetto di parlare ad ogni pericolo, la natura senza controllo con l'energia originale. Case e stanze sono piene di profumi, gli scaffali sono affollati di profumi, mi respirare il profumo io e lo sanno e come esso, la distillazione mi avrebbe inebriare anche, ma non devono lasciarlo. L'atmosfera non è un profumo, non ha gusto della distillazione, è inodore, E 'per la mia bocca per sempre, io sono innamorato con esso, andrò alla banca dal legno e diventare palese e nudo, io sono pazza per essere in contatto con me. Il fumo del mio respiro, Echi, increspature, sussurri buzzd, amore-radice, seta-thread, cavallo e di vite, la mia respirazione e ispirazione, il battito del mio cuore, il passaggio di sangue e di aria attraverso i polmoni, la sniffata di foglie e foglie secche verde, e del litorale e dark-colord mare rocce, e di fieno nella stalla, il suono delle parole belchd della mia loosd voce ai vortici del vento, qualche bacio di luce, un paio di abbracci , un raggiungendo circa di armi, il gioco di lucentezza e ombre sugli alberi come la wag rami morbida, il piacere da soli o in fretta delle strade, o lungo i campi e le colline-sides, la sensazione di salute, il pieno mezzogiorno trillo, il canto di me alzati dal letto e incontrare il sole. Hai reckond mille acri molto Hai reckond la terra tanto Avete practisd così a lungo per imparare a leggere si è sentito così orgoglioso di arrivare al significato di poesie Fermare questo giorno e notte con me e voi possedere l'origine di tutte le poesie , Si deve possedere il bene della terra e del sole, (ci sono ancora milioni di soli,) Lei è più prendere le cose di seconda o terza mano, né guardare attraverso gli occhi dei morti, né nutrirsi di spettri nei libri, Tu non guardare attraverso i miei occhi uno, né prendere le cose da me, si deve ascoltare tutte le parti e filtrare dal vostro sé. Ho sentito quello che stavano parlando i parlatori, il discorso di inizio e la fine, Ma io non parlare del all'inizio o alla fine. Non ci fu mai più inizio di quanto vi è ora, né più giovani o di età che vi è ora, e non sarà mai più la perfezione di quanto vi è ora, né qualsiasi altro cielo o l'inferno che c'è ora. Urge e impulso e stimolo, sempre la voglia procreant del mondo. Fuori dalla penombra uguale contrario anticipo, sempre sostanza e aumento, sempre sesso, sempre una maglia di identità, sempre distinzione, sempre una razza di vita. Elaborare è senza alcun risultato, learnd e unlearnd sentono che è così. Certo come il più certo certo, piombo nei montanti, ben entretied, rinforzato nelle travi, Stout come un cavallo, affettuoso, altezzoso, elettrici, io e questo mistero qui ci troviamo. Chiaro e dolce è la mia anima, e chiaro e dolce è tutto ciò che non è la mia anima. una mancanza manca sia, e l'invisibile è dimostrato dal visto, Fino a che diventa invisibile e fornita la prova a sua volta. Mostrando il migliore e dividendolo dal peggio età irrita età, Conoscendo la perfetta forma fisica e l'equanimità delle cose, mentre si discute taccio, e andare fare il bagno e mi ammirano. Benvenuto è ogni organo e l'attributo di me, e di ogni uomo abbondante e pulita, non un pollice né una particella di un pollice è vile, e nessuno sarà meno familiare rispetto al resto. Sono soddisfatto - vedo, ballo, ridere, cantare come il abbracciare e amare letto collega dorme al mio fianco per tutta la notte, e si ritira al Peep della giornata con passo furtivo, Lasciandomi cesti coperti di asciugamani bianchi gonfiore del casa con la loro abbondanza, Devo posticipare la mia accettazione e realizzazione e urlare i miei occhi, che risultano da guardare dopo e giù per la strada, e immediatamente cifra e mi mostra ad un centesimo, esattamente il valore di uno ed esattamente il valore di due , e che è avanti escursionisti e askers mi circondano, persone che incontro, l'effetto su di me della mia vita in anticipo o reparto e città in cui vivo, o della nazione, le date più recenti, scoperte, invenzioni, società, autori vecchi e nuovi , La mia cena, vestito, soci, sembra, i complimenti, le quote, il reale o immaginaria indifferenza di qualche uomo o donna che amo, La malattia di uno dei miei ragazzi e di me stesso, o mal di fare o la perdita o la mancanza di denaro, o depressioni o esaltazioni, le battaglie, gli orrori della guerra fratricida, la febbre di notizie dubbia, gli eventi convulsi Questi vengono da me giorno e notte e andare da me di nuovo, ma non sono la me myself. Oltre alla trazione e alaggio si erge quello che sono, Stand divertito, compiacente, compatendo, inattivo, unitario, Abbassa lo sguardo, è eretto, o piega un braccio su un certo riposo impalpabili, Guardare con testa laterale ricurva curioso di ciò che verrà dopo, sia dentro che fuori dal gioco e guardare e si chiede a questo. Backward vedo nei miei giorni in cui ho sudato attraverso nebbia con linguisti e contendenti, non ho scherni o argomenti, ho testimoni e aspettare. Io credo in te la mia anima, l'altro io non sono per sé deve abbassarsi a te, e non dovete essere povero all'altro. Loafe con me sull'erba, perdere la fermata dalla gola, non parole, non musica o rima voglio, non la consuetudine o conferenza, neanche il migliore, solo la calma che mi piace, il ronzio della tua voce valvolato. Mi dispiace che una volta che poniamo una simile mattina d'estate trasparente, come si stabilì la testa di traverso miei fianchi e delicatamente turnd sopra di me, e si separarono la camicia dal mio seno-ossa, e immersi la lingua al mio cuore nudo stript, e reachd finchè si sentiva la mia barba, e reachd finché avete tenuto i miei piedi. Rapidamente nacque e si diffuse intorno a me la pace e la conoscenza che passano tutto l'argomento della terra, E so che la mano di Dio è la promessa della mia, e io so che lo spirito di Dio è il fratello di mio, e che tutti gli uomini mai nati sono anche i miei fratelli, e le donne le mie sorelle e amanti, e che un Kelson della creazione è l'amore, e senza limiti sono le foglie rigide o pendenti nei campi, e le formiche marroni in piccoli pozzi sotto di loro, e croste muschio della recinzione verme, pietre heapd, sambuco, verbasco e poke-infestanti. Un bambino ha detto Qual è l'erba recupero a me a piene mani Come potrei rispondere che il bambino non so cosa sia più di quanto lui. Credo che deve essere la bandiera della mia disposizione, di roba verde speranza tessuto. O Credo che sia il fazzoletto del Signore, Un regalo profumato e Remembrancer designedly dropt, recanti i proprietari nome in qualche modo negli angoli, che possiamo vedere e osservazione, e dire chi o Credo che l'erba è di per sé un bambino, il prodotto bambino della vegetazione. O Credo che sia un geroglifico uniforme, e significa, che germoglia simili in ampie zone e zone strette, crescendo tra gente nera come fra bianco, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, membro del Congresso, Cuff, io do loro la stessa, ricevo loro lo stesso. E ora mi sembra la bella capelli tagliata di tombe. Teneramente userò te di curling erba, Può essere voi trasparire dai seni di giovani uomini, Può essere se io li avessi saputo li avrei amati, Può essere sei da persone anziane, o dalla progenie preso subito fuori le loro madri giri, e qui si sono le madri giri. Questa erba è molto scura per essere dalle teste bianche delle vecchie madri, più scuro rispetto alle barbe incolori di vecchi, scura per venire da sotto i tetti rossi deboli delle bocche. O che percepisco, dopo tutto tante lingue emettendo, e percepisco che non provengono da tetti delle bocche per niente. Vorrei poter tradurre i suggerimenti circa i giovani uomini e donne morti e la suggerimenti circa uomini anziani e madri, e la prole preso presto dai loro giri. Cosa ne pensi è diventato dei giovani e vecchi E voi cosa ne pensate è diventato parte delle donne e dei bambini sono vivi e ben da qualche parte, il germoglio più piccola mostra non c'è davvero la morte, e se mai ci fosse lo hanno portato la vita in avanti , e non aspetta alla fine per arrestarla, e ceasd la vita momento appeard. Tutto va avanti e verso l'esterno, non crolla, e morire è diverso da quello che qualcuno suppone, e più fortunato. uno ha supposto che la fortuna di nascere Mi affretto a informare lui o lei è altrettanto fortunato a morire, e lo so. Passo la morte con la morte e la nascita con il bambino nuovo-washd, e non sto containd tra il mio cappello e stivali, e sfogliare molteplici oggetti, non esistono due uguali e tutti bene, la terra buona e le stelle buone, e le loro appendici tutto bene. Io non sono una terra né un complemento di una terra, io sono il compagno e compagno di persone, tutte altrettanto immortali e insondabili come me, (non sanno come immortale, ma so.) Ogni genere per se stesso e la propria , per me il mio maschio e femmina, per me quelli che sono stati i ragazzi e che le donne amano, per me l'uomo che è fiero e sente come punge essere disprezzato, per me il dolce-cuore e la vecchia zitella, per me le madri e le madri delle madri, per me labbra che hanno sorriso, occhi che hanno versato lacrime per me i bambini e procreatori dei bambini. Undrape non sei colpevole di me, né viziata né scartati, vedo attraverso il panno e percalle se o no, e sono in giro, tenace, acquisitive, instancabile, e non può essere scosso via. Il piccolo dorme nella sua culla, alzo la garza e guardo a lungo, in silenzio e spazzare via le mosche con la mano. Il ragazzo e la ragazza dalla faccia rossa si allontanano su per la collina folta, io li peeringly vista dall'alto. Il suicidio si estende sul pavimento insanguinato della camera da letto, assisto il cadavere con la sua capelli dilettato, rilevo in cui la pistola è caduta. Il blab della Pave, gomme di carri, sluff di boot-suole, parlare delle passeggio, l'omnibus pesante, il conducente con il pollice interrogare, il rumore metallico dei cavalli ferrati sul pavimento in granito, la neve-slitte, tintinnio, gridò scherzi, pelli di palle di neve, i evviva per favoriti popolari, la furia della folla rousd, il lembo della cucciolata curtaind, un uomo malato all'interno portato in ospedale, l'incontro di nemici, il giuramento improvviso, i colpi e la caduta , la folla eccitata, il poliziotto con la sua stella a lavorare rapidamente il suo passaggio al centro della folla, le pietre impassibili che ricevono e restituiscono tanti echi, cosa gemiti di oltre-fed o mezza starvd che cadono colpo di sole o di convulsioni, cosa esclamazioni di donne prese improvvisamente che correre a casa e danno vita ai piccoli, che vita e discorso sepolto è sempre vibrano qui, quello che urla restraind da decoro, arresti di criminali, offese, offerte adultere fatti, accettazioni, rifiuti con le labbra convessi, li importa o lo spettacolo o la risonanza di loro - io vengo e mi partono. Le grandi porte della stalla Paese stanno aperti e pronti, L'erba secca del raccolto a tempo carica il carro trainato da lento, i giochi di luce chiare sul intertinged grigio e verde marrone, Il bracciate sono packd al MOW cedimenti. Sono lì, io aiuto, mi sono stretchd cima del carico, ho sentito le sue scosse morbide, una gamba reclinato dall'altra, io salto dalle traverse e cogliere il trifoglio e Timoteo e testa rotolare sopra i talloni e groviglio mia capelli pieni di ciocche. Solo di gran lunga nella caccia selvaggia e le montagne che, vagando stupito la mia leggerezza e gioia, Nel tardo pomeriggio la scelta di un posto sicuro per passare la notte, accendere un fuoco e cocente il gioco fresco-killd, Addormentarsi sul gatherd lascia con il mio cane e pistola al mio fianco. Il tagliatore di Yankee è sotto le sue cielo-vele, si taglia la scintilla e Scud, I miei occhi si depositano la terra, mi piego alla sua prua o gridare con gioia dal mazzo. I barcaioli e clam-cercatori sorsero presto e stopt per me, i miei tuckd trowser-end nei miei stivali e se ne andò e aveva un buon momento Avresti dovuto essere con noi quel giorno intorno alla zuppa-bollitore. Ho visto il matrimonio del cacciatore all'aria aperta nel Far West, la sposa era una ragazza rossa, suo padre ei suoi amici si sedette vicino a gambe incrociate e in silenzio fumatori, avevano mocassini ai loro piedi e grandi spesse coperte appese loro spalle, su una banca lounged il cacciatore, era Drest per lo più in pelli, la sua barba rigogliosa e riccioli protetti al collo, ha tenuto la sua sposa per mano, aveva lunghe ciglia, la testa era nuda, con le ciocche lisce grossolani sceso su di lei voluptuous limbs and reachd to 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 filld a tub for his sweated body and bruisd feet, And gave him a room that enterd 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 passd north, I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock leand in the corner. 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. She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank, She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window. Which of the young men does she like the best Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her. Where are you off to, lady for I see you, You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room. Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them. The beards of the young men glistend with wet, it ran from their long hair, Little streams passd all over their bodies. An unseen hand also passd over their bodies, It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs. 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. 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. 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. From the cinder-strewd 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. 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 poisd 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 polishd and perfect limbs. I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there, I go with the team also. 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. 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. My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around. I believe in those wingd 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. 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. The sharp-hoofd 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. The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them. I am enamourd 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. 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. 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 ordaind with crossd 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 confirmd case, (He will never sleep any more as he did in the cot in his mothers bed-room) The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case, He turns his quid of tobacco while his eyes blurr with the manuscript The malformd limbs are tied to the surgeons 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, levels his piece The groups of newly-come immigrants cover the wharf or levee, As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer views them from his saddle, The bugle calls in the ball-room, the gentlemen run for their partners, the dancers bow to each other, The youth lies awake in the cedar-roofd garret and harks to the musical rain, The Wolverine sets traps on the creek that helps fill the Huron, The squaw wrapt in her yellow-hemmd cloth is offering moccasins and bead-bags for sale, The connoisseur peers along the exhibition-gallery with half-shut eyes bent sideways, As the deck-hands make fast the steamboat the plank is thrown for the shore-going passengers, The young sister holds out the skein while the elder sister winds it off in a ball, and stops now and then for the knots, The one-year wife is recovering and happy having a week ago borne her first child, The clean-haird Yankee girl works with her sewing-machine or in the factory or mill, The paving-man leans on his two-handed rammer, the reporters lead flies swiftly over the note-book, the sign-painter is lettering with blue and gold, The canal boy trots on the tow-path, the book-keeper counts at his desk, the shoemaker waxes his thread, The conductor beats time for the band and all the performers follow him, The child is baptized, the convert is making his first professions, The regatta is spread on the bay, the race is begun, (how the white sails sparkle) The drover watching his drove sings out to them that would stray, The pedler sweats with his pack on his back, (the purchaser higgling about the odd cent) The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock moves slowly, The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-opend lips, The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and pimpled neck, The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to each other, (Miserable I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you) The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great Secretaries, On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms, The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the hold, The Missourian crosses the plains toting his wares and his cattle, As the fare-collector goes through the train he gives notice by the jingling of loose change, The floor-men are laying the floor, the tinners are tinning the roof, the masons are calling for mortar, In single file each shouldering his hod pass onward the laborers Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gatherd, it is the fourth of Seventh-month, (what salutes of cannon and small arms) Seasons pursuing each other the plougher ploughs, the mower mows, and the winter-grain falls in the ground Off on the lakes the pike-fisher watches and waits by the hole in the frozen surface, The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter strikes deep with his axe, Flatboatmen make fast towards dusk near the cotton-wood or pecan-trees, Coon-seekers go through the regions of the Red river or through those draind by the Tennessee, or through those of the Arkansas, Torches shine in the dark that hangs on the Chattahooche or Altamahaw, Patriarchs sit at supper with sons and grandsons and great-grandsons around them, In walls of adobie, in canvas tents, rest hunters and trappers after their days sport, The city sleeps and the country sleeps, The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time, The old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, And such as it is to be of these more or less I am, And of these one and all I weave the song of myself. 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, Stuffd with the stuff that is coarse and stuffd 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 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. (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.) 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. This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe. With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums, I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquerd and slain persons. 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. I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them. Vivas to those who have faild 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 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-lippd slave is invited, the venerealee is invited There shall be no difference between them and the 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. 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 you take it I would astonish Does the daylight astonish does the early redstart twittering through the woods Do I astonish more than they This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you. Who goes there hankering, gross, mystical, nude How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat What is a man anyhow what am I what are you All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me. I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth. Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity goes to the fourth-removd, I wear my hat as I please indoors or out. Why should I pray why should I venerate and be ceremonious Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counseld with doctors and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones. 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. 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 know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenters compass, I know I shall not pass like a childs carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night. 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 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. 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. My foothold is tenond and mortisd in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time. 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 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 night--press close magnetic nourishing night Night of south winds--night of the large few stars Still nodding night--mad naked summer night. Smile O voluptuous cool-breathd 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 elbowd earth--rich apple-blossomd earth Smile, for your lover comes. Prodigal, you have given me love--therefore I to you give love O unspeakable passionate love. 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. Sea of stretchd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovelld 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. Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others arms. I am he attesting sympathy, (Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them) I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also. 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-finders or rejecters gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown. Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be workd over and rectified 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. This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now. 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. Endless unfolding of words of ages And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely. It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing. 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. 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. 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. 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. Unscrew the locks from the doors Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me. Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. 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. Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseasd 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 father-stuff, And of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the deformd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung. Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veild and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigurd. 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 believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touchd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. 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 washd sweet-flag timorous pond-snipe nest of guarded duplicate eggs it shall be you Mixd 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 kissd, mortal I have ever touchd, it shall be you. 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. 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. To behold the day-break The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low. Something I cannot see puts upward libidinous prongs, Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven. The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heavd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me, If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of 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. My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds. 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 dont you 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.) 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. 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. Now I will do nothing but listen, To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward 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 heaveeyo 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 colord lights, The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars, The slow march playd 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 hear the violoncello, (tis the young mans hearts complaint,) I hear the keyd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music--this suits me. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full. I hear the traind 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 possessd them, It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lickd by the indolent waves, I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath, Steepd amid honeyd morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death, At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, And that we call Being. 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 developd the quahaug in its callous shell were enough. 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. I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one elses is about as much as I can stand. 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. 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. 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. You villain touch what are you doing my breath is tight in its throat, Unclench your floodgates, you are too much for me. Blind loving wrestling touch, sheathd hooded sharp-toothd touch Did it make you ache so, leaving me Parting trackd 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. 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. 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-doeuvre 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 depressd 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 stuccod 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 powderd 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-billd auk sails far north to Labrador, I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff. I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-containd, 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. Space and Time now I see it is true, what I guessd at, What I guessd when I loafd on the grass, What I guessd while I lay alone in my bed, And again as I walkd 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 citys 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, Scorchd 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-flowerd cotton plant, over the rice in its low moist field, Over the sharp-peakd farm house, with its scallopd scum and slender shoots from the gutters, Over the western persimmon, over the long-leavd 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 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-burnd brig is riding on unknown currents, Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupting below Where the dense-starrd 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 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 scatterd, 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-neckd partridges roost in a ring on the ground with their heads out, Where burial coaches enter the archd gates of a cemetery, Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees, Where the yellow-crownd 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 curtaind saloon, through the office or public hall Pleasd with the native and pleasd with the foreign, pleasd with the new and old, Pleasd with the homely woman as well as the handsome, Pleasd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks melodiously, Pleasd with the tune of the choir of the whitewashd church, Pleasd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preacher, impressd 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 turnd 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-cheekd 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 coffind 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, 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 taild 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. I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripend and look at quintillions green. I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, My course runs below the soundings of plummets. I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me. I anchor my ship for a little while only, My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me. I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue. I ascend to the foretruck, I take my place late at night in the crows-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 ruind city, The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe. 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. My voice is the wifes voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my mans body up dripping and drownd. 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 chalkd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will not desert you How he followd with them and tackd with them three days and would not give it up, How he saved the drifting company at last, How the lank loose-gownd women lookd when boated from the side of their prepared graves, How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharp-lippd unshaved men All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine, I am the man, I sufferd, I was there. The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemnd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, coverd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am. 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, thinnd 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. 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. I am the mashd 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 cleard the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth. 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. Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself. I am an old artillerist, I tell of my forts bombardment, I am there again. Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive. I take part, I see and hear the whole, The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aimd 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. 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. 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. Retreating they had formd 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, receivd writing and seal, gave up their arms and marchd back prisoners of war. 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. The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer, The work commenced about five oclock and was over by eight. None obeyd 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 maimd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw them there, Some half-killd attempted to crawl away, These were despatchd with bayonets or batterd with the blunts of muskets, A youth not seventeen years old seizd his assassin till two more came to release him, The three were all torn and coverd with the boys blood. At eleven oclock began the burning of the bodies That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young 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 grandmothers father the sailor told it to 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 lowerd eve he came horribly raking us. We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touchd, My captain lashd fast with his own hands. We had receivd 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. Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten oclock 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. 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. Our frigate takes fire, The other asks if we demand quarter If our colors are struck and the fighting done 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. Only three guns are in use, One is directed by the captain himself against the enemys main-mast, Two well servd with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks. The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top, They hold out bravely during the whole of the action. Not a moments cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine. One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking. 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. Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us. Stretchd 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 conquerd, 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 servd in the cabin, The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully curld 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 surgeons 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. You laggards there on guard look to your arms In at the conquerd doors they crowd I am possessd Embody all presences outlawd or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain. For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, It is I let out in the morning and barrd at night. Not a mutineer walks handcuffd to jail but I am handcuffd 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 youngster is taken for larceny but I go up too, and am tried and sentenced. Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp, My face is ash-colord, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat. Askers embody themselves in me and I am embodied in them, I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg. Enough enough enough Somehow I have been stunnd. Stand back Give me a little time beyond my cuffd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake. 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. 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 troop forth replenishd 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. Eleves, I salute you come forward Continue your annotations, continue your questionings. The friendly and flowing savage, who is he Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it Is he some Southwesterner raisd 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 Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him, They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them. Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncombd 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 wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of the glance of his eyes. Flaunt of the sunshine I need not your bask--lie over You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also. Earth you seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want 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. Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself. You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarfd 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. 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. 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. On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes. (This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.) 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. 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 dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an armd force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves. 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. 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 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 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 unfledgd 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 rolld-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, Their brawny limbs passing safe over charrd laths, their white foreheads whole and unhurt out of the flames By the mechanics 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 baggd out at their waists, The snag-toothd 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 worshippd half enough, Dung and dirt more admirable than was dreamd, 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 ambushd womb of the shadows. A call in the midst of the crowd, My own voice, orotund sweeping and final. Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, Now the performer launches his nerve, he has passd his prelude on the reeds within. Easily written loose-fingerd chords--I feel the thrum of your climax and close. 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. 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 thornd thumb, that breath of itches and thirsts, Ever the vexers 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. 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. 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. The little plentiful manikins skipping around in collars and taild 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. 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. 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 maild 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 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 puritans 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. One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like man leaving charges before a journey. Down-hearted doubters dull and excluded, Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, disheartend, atheistical, I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair and unbelief. How the flukes splash How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood 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. I do not know what is untried and afterward, But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail. Each who passes is considerd, each who stops is considerd, not single one can it fall. It cannot fall 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 peepd 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 slaughterd and wreckd, nor the brutish koboo calld 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 is time to explain myself--let us stand up. What is known I strip away, I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown. The clock indicates the moment--but what does eternity indicate We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them. Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety. I do not call one greater and one smaller, That which fills its period and place is equal to any. 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) I am an acme of things accomplishd, and I an encloser of things to 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 traveld, and still I mount and 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. Long I was huggd close--long and long. Immense have been the preparations for me, Faithful and friendly the arms that have helpd 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. Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me, My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay 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. All forces have been steadily employd to complete and delight me, Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul. O span of youth ever-pushd elasticity O manhood, balanced, florid and full. 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. Old age superbly rising O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows after and out of itself, And the dark hush promulges as much as any. 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. Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, Outward and outward and forever outward. 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. 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. 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. See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that, Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that. 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. I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured and never will be measured. 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. Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself. 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. 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. 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. This day before dawn I ascended a hill and lookd 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 filld and satisfied then And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond. You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself. 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. Long enough have you dreamd 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. 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. 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. 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 bulls 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-tannd to those that keep out of the 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 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 loosend.) 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. 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. No shutterd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little children better than they. 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. The soldier campd 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 hunters 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. 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 ones 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 wheeld universe, And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes. 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.) 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. 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 signd by Gods name, And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoeer I go, Others will punctually come for ever and ever. And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm 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. 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 polishd breasts of melons. And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) 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 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. 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. There is that in me--I do not know what it is--but I know it is in me. Wrenchd and sweaty--calm and cool then my body becomes, I sleep--I sleep long. I do not know it--it is without name--it is a word unsaid, It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol. Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on, To it the creation is the friend whose embracing awakes me. Perhaps I might tell more. Outlines I plead for my brothers and sisters. 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. The past and present wilt--I have filld them, emptied them. And proceed to fill my next fold of the future. 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.) Do I contradict myself Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab. Who has done his days work who will soonest be through with his supper Who wishes to walk with me Will you speak before I am gone will you prove already too late The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadowd wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the 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 bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. 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. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you. DayPoems Poem No. 1900 Comment on DayPoems If you are like us, you have strong feelings about poetry, and about each poem you read. Let it all out Comment on this poem, any poem, DayPoems, other poetry places or the art of poetry at DayPoems Feedback . Wont you help support DayPoems Click here to learn more about how you can keep DayPoems on the Web. The DayPoems web site, daypoems, is copyright 2001-2005 by Timothy K. Bovee. Tutti i diritti riservati. The authors of poetry and other material appearing on DayPoems retain full rights to their work. Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors. The editor of DayPoems will gladly assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors. Support DayPoems. Buy your books here Latest Chapbooks from Powells. 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