We walk silent among disputes and assertions, but reject not the disputers, nor any thing that is asserted; We hear the bawling and din-we are reach'd at by divisions, jealousies, recriminations on every side, ΙΟ They close peremptorily upon us, to surround us, my comrade, Yet we walk unheld, free, the whole earth over, journeying up and down, till we make our ineffaceable mark upon time and the diverse eras, Till we saturate time and eras, that the men and women of races, ages to come, may prove brethren and lovers, as we are. PERFECTIONS. First published in 1860. ONLY themselves understand themselves, and the like of themselves, As Souls only understand Souls. CALAMUS. IN paths untrodden, IN PATHS UNTRODDEN. First published in 1860. In the growth by margins of pond-waters, From all the standards hitherto publish'd-from the pleasures, profits, eruditions,' conformities, Which too long I was offering to feed my soul; Clear to me, now, standards not yet publish'd-clear to me that my Soul, That the Soul of the man I speak for, feeds, rejoices most in comrades ;2 Here, by myself, away from the clank of the world, 1 "eruditions" added in 1870. * 1860 reads "only in comrades." 1867 reads "in comrades." No longer abashed-for in this secluded spot I can respond as I would not dare elsewhere, ΙΟ Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself, yet contains all the rest, Resolv'd to sing no songs to-day but those of manly attach ment, Projecting them along that substantial life, Bequeathing, hence, types of athletic love, Afternoon, this delicious Ninth-month, in my forty-first year, To celebrate the need of comrades. SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST. First published in 1860. SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves, body-leaves, growing up above me, above death, Perennial roots, tall leaves-O the winter shall not freeze you, delicate leaves, Every year shall you bloom again-out from where you retired, you shall emerge again; OI do not know whether many, passing by, will discover you, or inhale your faint odor-but I believe a few will; O slender leaves! O blossoms of my blood! I permit you to tell, in your own way, of the heart that is under you; O burning and throbbing-surely all will one day be accomplish'd ; O I do not know what you mean, there underneath yourselves— you are not happiness, You are often more bitter than I can bear-you burn and sting me, ΙΟ Yet you are very beautiful to me, you faint-tinged roots-you make me think of Death, Death is beautiful from you-(what indeed is finally' beautiful, except Death and Love?) -O I think it is not for life I am chanting here my chant of lovers-I think it must be for Death, 1 “finally” added in 1870. For how calm, how solemn it grows, to ascend to the atmosphere of lovers, Death or life I am then indifferent-my Soul declines to I am prefer, not sure but the high Soul of lovers welcomes death most; Indeed, O Death, I think now these leaves mean precisely the same as you mean; Grow up taller, sweet leaves, that I may see! grow up out of my breast! Spring away from the conceal'd heart there! Do not fold yourself so in your pink-tinged roots, timid leaves ! 20 Do not remain down there so ashamed, herbage of my breast! Come, I am determin'd to unbare this broad breast of mine-I have long enough stifled and choked: -Emblematic and capricious blade, I leave you-now you serve me not; Away! I will say what I have to say, by itself, I will escape from the sham that was proposed to me, I will sound myself and comrades only—I will never again utter a call, only their call, I will raise, with it, immortal reverberations through The States, I will give an example to lovers, to take permanent shape and will through The States; Through me shall the words be said to make death exhilarating; Give me your tone therefore, O Death, that I may accord with it, 30 Give me yourself for I see that you belong to me now above all, and are folded inseparably1 together--you Love and Death are; Nor will I allow you to balk me any more with what I was calling life, For now it is convey'd to me that you are the purports essential, That you hide in these shifting forms of life, for reasons-and that they are mainly for you, That you, beyond them, come forth, to remain, the real reality, That behind the mask of materials you patiently wait, no matter how long, That you will one day, perhaps, take control of all, That you will perhaps dissipate this entire show of appearance, That may-be you are what it is all for-but it does not last so very long ; But you will last very long. 40 WHOEVER YOU ARE, HOLDING ME NOW IN HAND. WHOEVER you are, holding me now in hand, Without one thing, all will be useless, I give you fair warning, before you attempt me further, I am not what you supposed, but far different. Who is he that would become my follower? Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections ?1 The way is suspicious-the result' uncertain, perhaps destructive; You would have to give up all else I alone would expect to be your God, sole and exclusive, Your novitiate would even then be long and exhausting, Put me down, and depart on your way. 3 Or else, by stealth, in some wood, for trial, ΙΟ (For in any roof'd room of a house I emerge not—nor in com pany, And in libraries I lie as one dumb, a gawk, or unborn, or dead,) But just possibly with you on a high hill-first watching lest any person, for miles around, approach unawares, Or possibly with you sailing at sea, or on the beach of the sea, or some quiet island, Here to put your lips upon mine I permit you, With the comrade's long-dwelling kiss, or the new husband's kiss, For I am the new husband, and I am the comrade. Or, if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing, 1 1860 reads "Are you he?" 2 1860 reads "the result slow, uncertain." 20 |