From the myriad thence-arous'd words, From the word stronger and more delicious than any,

From such as now they start the scene revisiting,

As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,

1 First published in the New York Saturday Press, December 24, 1859, with the title A Child's Reminis cence.' In 1860 it appears with the new title, 'A Word Out of the Sea,' for the whole poem, and with the subtitle, Reminiscences,' for the part beginning with the second paragraph.

In the earlier versions, up to 1871, the first line read:

Out of the rocked cradle.

When the lilac-scent was in the air 2 and Fifth-month grass was growing,

Up this seashore in some briers,

Two feather'd guests from Alabama, two together,

And their nest, and four light-green eggs spotted with brown,

And every day the he-bird to and fro near at hand,

And every day the she-bird crouch'd on her nest, silent, with bright eyes,

And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing them, Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.

30

40

May-be kill'd, unknown to her mate, One forenoon the she-bird crouch'd not on the nest,

Nor return'd that afternoon, nor the next, Nor ever appear'd again.

Listen'd long and long.

Solitary here, the night's carols!

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Carols of lonesome love! death's carols! Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon!

O under that moon where she droops almost down into the sea!

O reckless despairing carols.

cessantly moaning,

On the sands of Paumanok's shore gray and rustling,

The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost touching,

The boy ecstatic, with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the atmosphere dallying,

The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting, The aria's meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly depositing,

The strange tears down the cheeks coursing,

The colloquy there, the trio, each uttering, The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying,

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To the boy's soul's questions sullenly timing, some drown'd secret hissing, To the outsetting bard.

Demon or bird (said the boy's soul)!

Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it really to me?

For I, that was a child, my tongue's use sleeping, now I have heard you,

Now in a moment I know what I am for, I awake,

And already a thousand singers, a thousand

FACING west from California's shores, Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,

I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of migrations, look afar,

Look off the shores of my Western sea, the circle almost circled;

For starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kashmere,

From Asia, from the north, from the God, the sage, and the hero,

From the south, from the flowery peninsulas and the spice islands,

Long having wander'd since, round the earth having wander'd,

Now I face home again, very pleas'd and joyous.

(But where is what I started for so long ago?

And why is it yet unfound?)

1860.

I HEAR AMERICA SINGING

I HEAR America singing, the varied carols I hear,

Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

1 For Whitman the date of publication in book form is the most important. This has therefore been added, in parentheses, when the poem was published earlier in a periodical.

2 In the 1860 edition, without separate sub-title, as No. 10 of the section entitled Enjans d'Adam. In this edition the poem began with what is now the second line. The first line was added in 1867.

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

The day what belongs to the day -af night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

COME, I will make the continent indissoluble,

I will make the most splendid race the sun ever shone upon,

1 This and the eight following poems belong to the section of Whitman's work devoted to the celebration of the dear love of comrades,' and entitled Calamus.' 'The Sweet Flag or Calamus,' says W. S. Kennedy, in explaining Whitman's use of this title, 'belongs among the grasses, and like them suggests equality and brotherhood. It is found in vast masses in marshy grond, growing in fascicles of three, four, or five blades, which cling together for support, shoulder to shoulder and back to back, the delicate "pink-tinged" roots exhaling a faint fragrance, not only when freshly gathered, but after having been kept many years.'

With these poems should be read the volume entitled Calamus, a Séries of Letters written during the Years 1868-1880 by Walt Whitman to a Young Friend.

For you O Democracy' is a revised and improved version of the last lines of a much longer poem with the title 'States, in the 1860 edition, the whole of which is worth preserving:

STATES!

Were you looking to be held together by the lawyers? By an agreement on a paper? Or by arms?

Away!

I arrive, bringing these, beyond all the forces of courts and

arme

These to hold you together as firmly as the earth itself is held together.

The old breath of life, ever new,

Here! I pass it by contact to you, America.

O mother have you done much for me?

Behold, there shall from me be much done for you.

There shall from me be a new friendship-It shall be called after my name,

It shall circulate through The States, indifferent of place. It shall twist and intertwist them through and around each other Compact shall they be, showing new signs, Affection shall solve every one of the problems of freedom, Those who love each other shall be invincible, They shall finally make America completely victorious, in my name.

One from Massachusetts shall be comrade to a Missourian, One from Maine or Vermont, and a Carolinian and an Oregonese, shall be friends triune, more precious to each other then all the riches of the earth.

To Michigan shall be wafted perfume from Florida,
To the Mannahatta from Cuba or Mexico,

Not the perfume of flowers, but sweeter, and wafted beyond death.

No danger shall balk Columbia's lovers,

If need be, a thousand shall sternly immolate themselves

for one,

I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the rivers of America, and along the shores of the great lakes, and all over the prairies,

I will make inseparable cities, with their arms about each other's necks.

For you these, from me, O Democracy, to serve you ma femme!

For you for you, I am trilling these songs.

2 Instead of this line, the edition of 1860 reads:

You bards of ages hence when you refer to me, mind not so much my poems,,

Nor speak of me that I prophesied of The States, and led them the way of their glories.