WALT WHITMAN Ultimate Collection: 500+ Works in Poetry & Prose. Walt Whitman

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       And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.

      8

       The little one sleeps in its cradle,

       I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies

       with my hand.

      The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,

       I peeringly view them from the top.

      The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom,

       I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol

       has fallen.

      The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of

       the promenaders,

       The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the

       clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,

       The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls,

       The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous’d mobs,

       The flap of the curtain’d litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital,

       The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,

       The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his

       passage to the centre of the crowd,

       The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,

       What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in fits,

       What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and

       give birth to babes,

       What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls

       restrain’d by decorum,

       Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances,

       rejections with convex lips,

       I mind them or the show or resonance of them — I come and I depart.

      9

       The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,

       The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,

       The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,

       The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.

      I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load,

       I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,

       I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,

       And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

      10

       Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,

       Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,

       In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,

       Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill’d game,

       Falling asleep on the gather’d leaves with my dog and gun by my side.

      The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud,

       My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck.

      The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me,

       I tuck’d my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time;

       You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.

      I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west,

       the bride was a red girl,

       Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking,

       they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets

       hanging from their shoulders,

       On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant

       beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand,

       She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks

       descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her feet.

      The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside,

       I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile,

       Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak,

       And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him,

       And brought water and fill’d a tub for his sweated body and bruis’d feet,

       And gave him a room that enter’d from my own, and gave him some

       coarse clean clothes,

       And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,

       And remember putting plasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;

       He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass’d north,

       I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean’d in the corner.

      11

       Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,

       Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;

       Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.

      She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,

       She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.

      Which of the young men does she like the best?

       Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

      Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,

       You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

      Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather,

       The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

      The СКАЧАТЬ