The Complete Works of Walt Whitman. Walt Whitman. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Walt Whitman
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Жанр произведения: Языкознание
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ownership — as if one fit to own things could not at pleasure enter

       upon all, and incorporate them into himself or herself;

       Of vista — suppose some sight in arriere through the formative chaos,

       presuming the growth, fulness, life, now attain’d on the journey,

       (But I see the road continued, and the journey ever continued;)

       Of what was once lacking on earth, and in due time has become

       supplied — and of what will yet be supplied,

       Because all I see and know I believe to have its main purport in

       what will yet be supplied.

       When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer

       When I heard the learn’d astronomer,

       When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,

       When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,

       When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much

       applause in the lecture-room,

       How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,

       Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,

       In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,

       Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

       Table of Contents

      Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves,

       As souls only understand souls.

       Table of Contents

      O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,

       Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,

       Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I,

       and who more faithless?)

       Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the

       struggle ever renew’d,

       Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see

       around me,

       Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

       The question, O me! so sad, recurring — What good amid these, O me, O life?

      Answer.

       That you are here — that life exists and identity,

       That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

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      All you are doing and saying is to America dangled mirages,

       You have not learn’d of Nature — of the politics of Nature you have

       not learn’d the great amplitude, rectitude, impartiality,

       You have not seen that only such as they are for these States,

       And that what is less than they must sooner or later lift off from

       these States.

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      I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all

       oppression and shame,

       I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men at anguish with

       themselves, remorseful after deeds done,

       I see in low life the mother misused by her children, dying,

       neglected, gaunt, desperate,

       I see the wife misused by her husband, I see the treacherous seducer

       of young women,

       I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love attempted to be

       hid, I see these sights on the earth,

       I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny, I see martyrs and

       prisoners,

       I observe a famine at sea, I observe the sailors casting lots who

       shall be kill’d to preserve the lives of the rest,

       I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon

       laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;

       All these — all the meanness and agony without end I sitting look out upon,

       See, hear, and am silent.

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      What you give me I cheerfully accept,

       A little sustenance, a hut and garden, a little money, as I

       rendezvous with my poems,

       A traveler’s lodging and breakfast as journey through the States, —

       why should I be ashamed to own such gifts? why to advertise for them?

       For I myself am not one who bestows nothing upon man and woman,

       For I bestow upon any man or woman the entrance to all the gifts of

       the universe.

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      Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,)

       Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles,

       The rushing amorous contact high in space together,

       The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel,

       Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,

       In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,

       Till o’er the river pois’d, the twain yet one, a moment’s lull,

       A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing,

       Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse flight,

       She hers, he his, pursuing.

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      Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is Good

       steadily hastening towards immortality,

       And the vast all that is call’d Evil I saw hastening to merge itself

       and become lost and dead.