Biographical Note of Walt Whitmane

W

INSCRIPTIONS.

ONE'S-SELF I SING.

First published in 1870.

ONE'S-SELF I sing-a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.

Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;

Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse -I say the Form complete is worthier far;

The Female equally with the male I sing.

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,

Cheerful-for freest action form'd, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.

AS I PONDER'D IN SILENCE.

First published in 1870.

As I ponder'd in silence,

I.

Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long,
A Phantom arose before me, with distrustful aspect,
Terrible in beauty, age, and power,

The genius of poets of old lands,

As to me directing like flame its eyes,

With finger pointing to many immortal songs,

And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said;

Know'st thou not, there is but one theme for ever-enduring

bards?

And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles,

The making of perfect soldiers?

Be it so, then I answer'd,

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ΙΟ

I too, haughty Shade, also sing war—and a longer and greater

one than any,

( II )

Waged in my book with varying fortune-with flight, advance. and retreat-Victory deferr' d and wavering,

(Yet, methinks, certain, or as good as certain, at the last,)—The field the world;

For life and death-for the Body, and for the eternal Soul,
Lo! I too am come, chanting the chant of battles,

I, above all, promote brave soldiers.

IN CABIN'D SHIPS AT SEA.

IN cabin'd ships, at sea,

First published in 1870.

I

The boundless blue on every side expanding,

With whistling winds and music of the waves-the large imperious waves-In such,

Or some lone bark, buoy'd on the dense marine,

Where, joyous, full of faith, spreading white sails,

She cleaves the ether, mid the sparkle and the foam of day, or under many a star at night,

By sailors young and old, haply will I, a reminiscence of the land, be read,

In full rapport at last.

Here are our thoughts-voyagers' thoughts,

Here not the land, firm land, alone appears, may then by them

be said;

ΙΟ

The sky o'erarches here-we feel the undulating deck beneath our

feet,

We feel the long pulsation—ebb and flow of endless motion; The tones of unseen mystery-the vague and vast suggestions of the briny world-the liquid-flowing syllables,

The perfume, the faint creaking of the cordage, the melancholy rhythm,

The boundless vista, and the horizon far and dim, are all here, And this is Ocean's poem.

3

Then falter not, O book! fulfil your destiny!

You, not a reminiscence of the land alone,

You too, as a lone bark, cleaving the ether-purpos'd I know

not whither yet ever full of faith,

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