The grass covers the prairies, The bean bursts noiselessly through the mould in the garden, The delicate spear of the onion pierces upward, The apple-buds cluster together on the apple-branches, The resurrection of the wheat appears with pale visage out of its graves, The tinge awakes over the willow-tree and the mulberry tree, The he-birds carol mornings and evenings, while the shebirds sit on their nests, The young of poultry break through the hatched eggs, The new-born of animals appear—the call is dropped from the colt from the mare, the cow, Out of its little hill faithfully rise the potato's dark green leaves, Out of its hill rises the yellow maize-stalk; 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 the fruits of the apple-orchard, and of the orangeorchard—that 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 diseased corpses, It distils such exquisite winds out of such infused fetor, sumptuous crops, It gives such divine materials to men, and accepts such leavings from them at last. B B DESPAIRING CRIES. I. D ESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night, The sad voice of Death—the call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarmed, uncertain, The Sea I am quickly to sail: come tell me, Come tell me where I am speeding—tell me my destination. 2. I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you, Whither I go from the bed I recline on, come tell me : appealing to me for comfort; A young man's voice, Shall I not escape? THE CITY DEAD-HOUSE. Y the City Dead-House, by the gate, BY As idly sauntering, wending my way from the clangour, I curious pause—for lo! an outcast form, a poor dead prostitute brought; Her corpse they deposit unclaimed, 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 odours 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 itself, with majestic figure sur mounted—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! Unclaimed, avoided house! take one breath from my tremulous lips; Take one tear, dropped aside as I go, for thought of you, Dead house of love! house of madness and sin, crumbled! crushed! House of life—erewhile talking and laughing—but ah, poor house! dead, even then; Months, years, an echoing, garnished house-but dead, dead, dead. TO ONE SHORTLY TO DIE. I. FROM all the rest I single out you, having a message for you: You are to die—Let others tell you what they please, I cannot prevaricate, I am exact and merciless, but I love you—There is no escape for you. 2. Softly I lay my right hand upon you—you just feel it, velop it, I sit quietly by—I remain faithful, I am more than nurse, more than parent or neighbour, I absolve you from all except yourself, spiritual, bodily— that is eternal,— The corpse you will leave will be but excrementitious. The sun bursts through in unlooked-for directions! |