Song of Myself. Stanza 6.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,

And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,

Growing among black folks as among white.

Press close bare bosom'd 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-breath'd earth!

Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!

Earth of departed sunset-earth of the mountains misty-topt!

Earth of the virtreous 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 elbow'd earth-rich apple-blossom'd earth!

Smile, for your lover comes.

Prodigal, you have given me love-therefore I to you give love!
O unspeakable passionate love.

PIONEERS! O PIONEERS!

Come my tan-faced children,

Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,

Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes?
Pioneers! O pioneers!

For we cannot tarry here,

We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you youths, Western youths,

So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship,
Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Have the elder races halted?

Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas? We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

See my children, resolute children,

By those swarms upon our rear we must never yield or falter,
Ages back in ghostly millions frowning there behind us urging,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the pulses of the world,

Falling in they beat for us, with the Western movement beat, Holding single or together, steady moving to the front, all for us, Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you daughters of the West!

O you younger and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives!
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united,
Pioneers! O pioneers!

Not for delectations sweet,

Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the studious, Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

THE CITY DEAD-HOUSE.

By the city dead-house by the gate,

As idly sauntering wending my way from the clangor,

I curious pause, for lo, an outcast form, a poor dead prostitute brought,
Her corpse they deposit unclaim'd, it lies on the damp brick pavement,
The divine woman, her body, I see the body, I look on it alone,

That house once full of passion and beauty, all else I notice not,

Nor stillness so cold, nor running water from faucet, nor odors morbific impress me,

But the house alone-that wondrous house-that delicate fair house-that ruin!

That immortal house more than all the rows of dwellings ever built!

Or white-domed capitol with majestic figure surmounted, or all the old high-spired cathedrals, That little house alone more than them all-poor, desperate house!

Fair, fearful wreck-tenement of a soul—itself a soul,

Unclaim'd, avoided house-take one breath from my tremulous lips,

Take one tear dropt aside as I go for thought of you,

Dead house of love-house of madness and sin, crumbled, crush'd,

House of life, erewhile talking and laughing-but ah, poor house, dead even then,
Months, years, an echoing, garnish'd house--but dead, dead, dead.

I accept Reality and dare not question it,
Materialism first and last imbuing.

Song of Myself. Stanza 23.