Out of its hill rises the yellow maize-stalk-the lilacs bloom in the door-yards; The summer growth is innocent and disdainful above all those strata of sour dead. What chemistry! That the winds are really not infectious, That this is no cheat, this transparent green-wash of the sea, which is so amorous after me, That it is safe to allow it to lick my naked body all over with its tongues, That it will not endanger me with the fevers that have deposited themselves in it, That all is clean forever and forever. That the cool drink from the well tastes so good, That blackberries are so flavorous and juicy, That the fruits of the apple-orchard, and of the orange-orchardthat melons, grapes, peaches, plums, will none of them poison me, That when I recline on the grass I do not catch any disease, Though probably every spear of grass rises out of what was once a catching disease. 4 Now I am terrified at the Earth! it is that calm and patient, It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions, It turns harmless and stainless on its axis, with such endless successions of diseas'd corpses, It distils such exquisite winds out of such infused fetor, It renews with such unwitting looks, its prodigal, annual, sumptuous crops, It gives such divine materials to men, and accepts such leavings from them at last. THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH (From "Leaves of Grass ") By Walt Whitman HERE was a child went forth every day; And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became ; And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years. The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phobebird, And the Third-month lambs, and the sow's pinkfaint litter, and the mare's foal, and the cow's calf, And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-side, And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there and the beautiful curious liquid, And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads - all became part of him. The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifthmonth became part of him; Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow corn, and the esculent roots of the garden, And the apple-trees cover'd with blossoms, and the fruit afterward, and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road; And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-house of the tavern, whence he had lately risen, And the school-mistress that pass'd on her way to the school, And the friendly boys that pass'd and the quarrelsome boys, And the tidy and fresh-cheek'd girls and the barefoot negro boy and girl, And all the changes of city and country, wherever he went. His own parents, He that had father'd him, and she that had conceiv'd him in her womb, and birth'd him, They gave this child more of themselves than that; They gave him afterward every day they became part of him. The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table; The mother with mild words clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks by; The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger'd, unjust; The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure, - The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture the yearning and swelling heart, Affection that will not be gainsay'd-the sense of what is real - the thought if, after all, it should prove unreal, The doubts of day-time and the doubts of nighttime the curious whether and how, Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks? Men and women crowding fast in the streets if they are not flashes and specks, what are they? The streets themselves, and the façades of houses, and goods in the windows, Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank'd wharves-the huge crossing at the ferries, The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset the river between, Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white or brown, two miles off, The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide the little boat slack-tow'd astern, The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping, The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away solitary by itself the spread of purity it lies motionless in, The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud; These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day. THE CLOSING SCENE By Thomas Buchanan Read ITHIN the sober realm of leaf less trees The russet year inhaled the dreamy air; Like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease, When all the fields are lying brown and bare. The gray barns, looking from their hazy hills, All sights were mellowed, and all sounds subdued, |