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He is one of those who are beautiful and happy-he is
one of those that to look upon and be with is enough.
Thę law of the past cannot be eluded,
eluded, The law of heroes and good-doers cannot be eluded, The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons-not one
iota thereof can be eluded.
8. Slow-moving and black lines go ceaselessly over the
earth, Northerner goes carried, and Southerner goes carried,
and they on the Atlantic side, and they on the Pacific, and they between, and all through the Mississippi country, and all over the earth.
The great masters and kosmos are well as they go-the
heroes and good-doers are well, The known leaders and inventors, and the rich owners
and pious and distinguished, may be well, But there is more account than that there is strict
account of all.
The interminable hordes of the ignorant and wicked are
not nothing, The barbarians of Africa and Asia are not nothing, The common people of Europe are not nothing—the
American aborigines are not nothing, The infected in the immigrant hospital are not nothing
-the murderer or mean person is not nothing, The perpetual successions of shallow people are not
nothing as they go, The lowest prostitute is not nothing—the mocker of re
ligion is not nothing as he goes.
9. Of and in all these things, I have dreamed that we are not to be changed so much,
nor the law of us changed, I have dreamed that heroes and good-doers shall be
under the present and past law, And that murderers, drunkards, liars, shall be under the
present and past law, For I have dreamed that the law they are under now is
enough If otherwise all came but to ashes of dung, If maggots and rats ended us, then Alarum ! for we are
betrayed Then indeed suspicion of death. Do you suspect death? If I were to suspect death, I
should die now; Do you think I could walk pleasantly and well-suited
toward annihilation ?
Pleasantly and well-suited I walk;
just as perfect, The vegetables and minerals are all perfect, and the
imponderable fluids are perfect; Slowly and surely they have passed on to this, and
slowly and surely they yet pass on.
I swear I think now that everything without exception
has an eternal Soul ! The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the
sea have! the animals !
I swear I think there is nothing but immortality!
float is for it, and the cohering is for it; And all preparation is for it! and identity is for it! and
life and materials are altogether for it!
OF him I love day and night, I dreamed I heard he was
dead; And I dreamed I went where they had buried him I
love—but he was not in that place; And I dreamed I wandered, searching among burial
places, to find him ; And I found that every place was a burial-place; The houses full of life were equally full of death (this
house is now); The streets, the shipping, the places of amusement, the
Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, the Mannahatta,
were as full of the dead as of the living, And fuller, O vastly fuller, of the dead than of the living; -And what I dreamed I will henceforth tell to every
person and age, And I stand henceforth bound to what I dreamed ; And now I am willing to disregard burial-places, and
dispense with them; And if the memorials of the dead were put up indiffer
ently everywhere, even in the room where I eat
or sleep, I should be satisfied ; And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my own corpse,
be duly rendered to powder, and poured in the
sea, I shall be satisfied ; Or if it be distributed to the winds, I shall be satisfied.
THE LAST INVOCATION
At the last, tenderly,
the well-closed doors, Let me be wasted.
Let me glide noiselessly forth;
3. Tenderly! be not impatient! (Strong is your hold, O mortal flesh! Strong is your hold, O love !)
Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,
child, leaving his bed, wandered alone, bare
headed, barefoot, Down from the showered halo, Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twist
ing as if they were alive, Out from the patches of briars and blackberries, From the memories of the bird that chanted to me, From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful
risings and fallings I heard, From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and
swollen as if with tears,
From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there
in the transparent mist, From the thousand responses of my heart, never to
cease, From the myriad thence-aroused 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, Borne hither-ere all eludes me, hurriedly, A man—yet by these tears a little boy again, Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves, I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter, Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping be
yond them, A reminiscence sing.
in the air, and the Fifth-month grass was
growing, Up this sea-shore, in some briars, Two 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, crouched on her nest,
silent, with bright eyes; And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never
disturbing them, Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.
3 "Shine! shine! shine! Pour down your warmth, great Sun! While we bask--we two together.