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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them,

       And such as it is to be of these more or less I am,

       And of these one and all I weave the song of myself.

      16

       I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,

       Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,

       Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,

       Stuff’d with the stuff that is coarse and stuff’d with the stuff

       that is fine,

       One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the

       largest the same,

       A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and

       hospitable down by the Oconee I live,

       A Yankee bound my own way ready for trade, my joints the limberest

       joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth,

       A Kentuckian walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin

       leggings, a Louisianian or Georgian,

       A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye;

       At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen

       off Newfoundland,

       At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tacking,

       At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine, or the

       Texan ranch,

       Comrade of Californians, comrade of free North-Westerners, (loving

       their big proportions,)

       Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen, comrade of all who shake hands

       and welcome to drink and meat,

       A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest,

       A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons,

       Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion,

       A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker,

       Prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest.

      I resist any thing better than my own diversity,

       Breathe the air but leave plenty after me,

       And am not stuck up, and am in my place.

      (The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place,

       The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place,

       The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.)

      17

       These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they

       are not original with me,

       If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing,

       If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing,

       If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.

      This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is,

       This the common air that bathes the globe.

      18

       With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums,

       I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for

       conquer’d and slain persons.

      Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?

       I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit

       in which they are won.

      I beat and pound for the dead,

       I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.

      Vivas to those who have fail’d!

       And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!

       And to those themselves who sank in the sea!

       And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!

       And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!

      19

       This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger,

       It is for the wicked just same as the righteous, I make appointments

       with all,

       I will not have a single person slighted or left away,

       The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited,

       The heavy-lipp’d slave is invited, the venerealee is invited;

       There shall be no difference between them and the rest.

      This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair,

       This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning,

       This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face,

       This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.

      Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?

       Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the

       side of a rock has.

      Do you take it I would astonish?

       Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering

       through the woods?

       Do I astonish more than they?

      This hour I tell things in confidence,

       I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

      20

       Who goes there? hankering, gross, mystical, nude;

       How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?

      What is a man anyhow? what am I? what are you?

      All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own,

СКАЧАТЬ