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1. BOOK XXVIII
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1.1. The Sleepers
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1.1.1. 1
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0
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I wander all night in my vision,
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1
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Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noiselessly stepping and stopping,
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2
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Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers,
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3
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Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill-assorted, contradictory,
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4
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Pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping.
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5
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How solemn they look there, stretch'd and still,
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6
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How quiet they breathe, the little children in their cradles.
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7
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The wretched features of ennuyes, the white features of corpses, the
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8
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livid faces of drunkards, the sick-gray faces of onanists,
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9
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The gash'd bodies on battle-fields, the insane in their
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10
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strong-door'd rooms, the sacred idiots, the new-born emerging
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11
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from gates, and the dying emerging from gates,
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12
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The night pervades them and infolds them.
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13
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The married couple sleep calmly in their bed, he with his palm on
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the hip of the wife, and she with her palm on the hip of the husband,
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15
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The sisters sleep lovingly side by side in their bed,
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16
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The men sleep lovingly side by side in theirs,
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17
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And the mother sleeps with her little child carefully wrapt.
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18
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The blind sleep, and the deaf and dumb sleep,
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The prisoner sleeps well in the prison, the runaway son sleeps,
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20
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The murderer that is to be hung next day, how does he sleep?
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21
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And the murder'd person, how does he sleep?
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22
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The female that loves unrequited sleeps,
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23
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And the male that loves unrequited sleeps,
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24
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The head of the money-maker that plotted all day sleeps,
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25
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And the enraged and treacherous dispositions, all, all sleep.
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26
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I stand in the dark with drooping eyes by the worst-suffering and
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27
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the most restless,
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28
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I pass my hands soothingly to and fro a few inches from them,
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29
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The restless sink in their beds, they fitfully sleep.
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30
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Now I pierce the darkness, new beings appear,
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31
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The earth recedes from me into the night,
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32
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I saw that it was beautiful, and I see that what is not the earth is
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beautiful.
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34
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I go from bedside to bedside, I sleep close with the other sleepers
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each in turn,
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I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers,
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37
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And I become the other dreamers.
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38
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I am a dance—play up there! the fit is whirling me fast!
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39
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I am the ever-laughing—it is new moon and twilight,
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40
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I see the hiding of douceurs, I see nimble ghosts whichever way look,
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Cache and cache again deep in the ground and sea, and where it is
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neither ground nor sea.
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Well do they do their jobs those journeymen divine,
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Only from me can they hide nothing, and would not if they could,
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45
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I reckon I am their boss and they make me a pet besides,
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And surround me and lead me and run ahead when I walk,
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To lift their cunning covers to signify me with stretch'd arms, and
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resume the way;
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Onward we move, a gay gang of blackguards! with mirth-shouting
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music and wild-flapping pennants of joy!
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51
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I am the actor, the actress, the voter, the politician,
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The emigrant and the exile, the criminal that stood in the box,
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He who has been famous and he who shall be famous after to-day,
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The stammerer, the well-form'd person, the wasted or feeble person.
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I am she who adorn'd herself and folded her hair expectantly,
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My truant lover has come, and it is dark.
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57
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Double yourself and receive me darkness,
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Receive me and my lover too, he will not let me go without him.
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59
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I roll myself upon you as upon a bed, I resign myself to the dusk.
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60
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He whom I call answers me and takes the place of my lover,
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He rises with me silently from the bed.
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62
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Darkness, you are gentler than my lover, his flesh was sweaty and panting,
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I feel the hot moisture yet that he left me.
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64
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My hands are spread forth, I pass them in all directions,
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65
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I would sound up the shadowy shore to which you are journeying.
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66
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Be careful darkness! already what was it touch'd me?
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I thought my lover had gone, else darkness and he are one,
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68
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I hear the heart-beat, I follow, I fade away.
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1.1.2. 2
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0
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I descend my western course, my sinews are flaccid,
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1
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Perfume and youth course through me and I am their wake.
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2
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It is my face yellow and wrinkled instead of the old woman's,
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3
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I sit low in a straw-bottom chair and carefully darn my grandson's
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4
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stockings.
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5
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It is I too, the sleepless widow looking out on the winter midnight,
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6
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I see the sparkles of starshine on the icy and pallid earth.
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7
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A shroud I see and I am the shroud, I wrap a body and lie in the coffin,
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8
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It is dark here under ground, it is not evil or pain here, it is
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9
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blank here, for reasons.
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10
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(It seems to me that every thing in the light and air ought to be happy,
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Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave let him know he has enough.)
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1.1.3. 3
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0
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I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer swimming naked through the eddies
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of the sea,
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His brown hair lies close and even to his head, he strikes out with
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courageous arms, he urges himself with his legs,
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4
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I see his white body, I see his undaunted eyes,
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I hate the swift-running eddies that would dash him head-foremost on
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the rocks.
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7
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What are you doing you ruffianly red-trickled waves?
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8
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Will you kill the courageous giant? will you kill him in the prime
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of his middle age?
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Steady and long he struggles,
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He is baffled, bang'd, bruis'd, he holds out while his strength
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holds out,
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The slapping eddies are spotted with his blood, they bear him away,
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they roll him, swing him, turn him,
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His beautiful body is borne in the circling eddies, it is
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continually bruis'd on rocks,
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Swiftly and ought of sight is borne the brave corpse.
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1.1.4. 4
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I turn but do not extricate myself,
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1
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Confused, a past-reading, another, but with darkness yet.
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2
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The beach is cut by the razory ice-wind, the wreck-guns sound,
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3
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The tempest lulls, the moon comes floundering through the drifts.
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4
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I look where the ship helplessly heads end on, I hear the burst as
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she strikes, I hear the howls of dismay, they grow fainter and fainter.
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6
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I cannot aid with my wringing fingers,
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7
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I can but rush to the surf and let it drench me and freeze upon me.
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8
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I search with the crowd, not one of the company is wash'd to us alive,
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9
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In the morning I help pick up the dead and lay them in rows in a barn.
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1.1.5. 5
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0
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Now of the older war-days, the defeat at Brooklyn,
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1
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Washington stands inside the lines, he stands on the intrench'd
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hills amid a crowd of officers.
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3
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His face is cold and damp, he cannot repress the weeping drops,
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4
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He lifts the glass perpetually to his eyes, the color is blanch'd
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from his cheeks,
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He sees the slaughter of the southern braves confided to him by
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their parents.
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The same at last and at last when peace is declared,
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He stands in the room of the old tavern, the well-belov'd soldiers
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all pass through,
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The officers speechless and slow draw near in their turns,
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The chief encircles their necks with his arm and kisses them on the cheek,
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He kisses lightly the wet cheeks one after another, he shakes hands
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and bids good-by to the army.
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1.1.6. 6
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0
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Now what my mother told me one day as we sat at dinner together,
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1
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Of when she was a nearly grown girl living home with her parents on
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the old homestead.
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A red squaw came one breakfast-time to the old homestead,
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On her back she carried a bundle of rushes for rush-bottoming chairs,
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Her hair, straight, shiny, coarse, black, profuse, half-envelop'd
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her face,
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Her step was free and elastic, and her voice sounded exquisitely as
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she spoke.
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My mother look'd in delight and amazement at the stranger,
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She look'd at the freshness of her tall-borne face and full and
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pliant limbs,
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The more she look'd upon her she loved her,
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Never before had she seen such wonderful beauty and purity,
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She made her sit on a bench by the jamb of the fireplace, she cook'd
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food for her,
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She had no work to give her, but she gave her remembrance and fondness.
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The red squaw staid all the forenoon, and toward the middle of the
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afternoon she went away,
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O my mother was loth to have her go away,
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All the week she thought of her, she watch'd for her many a month,
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She remember'd her many a winter and many a summer,
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But the red squaw never came nor was heard of there again.
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1.1.7. 7
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A show of the summer softness—a contact of something unseen—an
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amour of the light and air,
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I am jealous and overwhelm'd with friendliness,
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And will go gallivant with the light and air myself.
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O love and summer, you are in the dreams and in me,
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Autumn and winter are in the dreams, the farmer goes with his thrift,
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The droves and crops increase, the barns are well-fill'd.
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Elements merge in the night, ships make tacks in the dreams,
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The sailor sails, the exile returns home,
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The fugitive returns unharm'd, the immigrant is back beyond months
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and years,
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The poor Irishman lives in the simple house of his childhood with
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the well known neighbors and faces,
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They warmly welcome him, he is barefoot again, he forgets he is well off,
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The Dutchman voyages home, and the Scotchman and Welshman voyage
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home, and the native of the Mediterranean voyages home,
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To every port of England, France, Spain, enter well-fill'd ships,
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The Swiss foots it toward his hills, the Prussian goes his way, the
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Hungarian his way, and the Pole his way,
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The Swede returns, and the Dane and Norwegian return.
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The homeward bound and the outward bound,
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The beautiful lost swimmer, the ennuye, the onanist, the female that
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loves unrequited, the money-maker,
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The actor and actress, those through with their parts and those
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waiting to commence,
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The affectionate boy, the husband and wife, the voter, the nominee
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that is chosen and the nominee that has fail'd,
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The great already known and the great any time after to-day,
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The stammerer, the sick, the perfect-form'd, the homely,
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The criminal that stood in the box, the judge that sat and sentenced
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him, the fluent lawyers, the jury, the audience,
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The laugher and weeper, the dancer, the midnight widow, the red squaw,
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The consumptive, the erysipalite, the idiot, he that is wrong'd,
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The antipodes, and every one between this and them in the dark,
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I swear they are averaged now—one is no better than the other,
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The night and sleep have liken'd them and restored them.
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I swear they are all beautiful,
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Every one that sleeps is beautiful, every thing in the dim light is
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beautiful,
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The wildest and bloodiest is over, and all is peace.
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Peace is always beautiful,
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The myth of heaven indicates peace and night.
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The myth of heaven indicates the soul,
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The soul is always beautiful, it appears more or it appears less, it
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comes or it lags behind,
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It comes from its embower'd garden and looks pleasantly on itself
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and encloses the world,
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Perfect and clean the genitals previously jetting,and perfect and
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clean the womb cohering,
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The head well-grown proportion'd and plumb, and the bowels and
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joints proportion'd and plumb.
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51
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The soul is always beautiful,
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52
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The universe is duly in order, every thing is in its place,
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What has arrived is in its place and what waits shall be in its place,
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The twisted skull waits, the watery or rotten blood waits,
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The child of the glutton or venerealee waits long, and the child of
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the drunkard waits long, and the drunkard himself waits long,
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The sleepers that lived and died wait, the far advanced are to go on
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in their turns, and the far behind are to come on in their turns,
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The diverse shall be no less diverse, but they shall flow and unite—
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they unite now.
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1.1.8. 8
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0
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The sleepers are very beautiful as they lie unclothed,
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1
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They flow hand in hand over the whole earth from east to west as
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they lie unclothed,
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The Asiatic and African are hand in hand, the European and American
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are hand in hand,
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Learn'd and unlearn'd are hand in hand, and male and female are hand
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in hand,
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The bare arm of the girl crosses the bare breast of her lover, they
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press close without lust, his lips press her neck,
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9
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The father holds his grown or ungrown son in his arms with
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measureless love, and the son holds the father in his arms with
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measureless love,
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The white hair of the mother shines on the white wrist of the daughter,
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The breath of the boy goes with the breath of the man, friend is
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inarm'd by friend,
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The scholar kisses the teacher and the teacher kisses the scholar,
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the wrong 'd made right,
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The call of the slave is one with the master's call, and the master
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salutes the slave,
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The felon steps forth from the prison, the insane becomes sane, the
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suffering of sick persons is reliev'd,
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The sweatings and fevers stop, the throat that was unsound is sound,
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the lungs of the consumptive are resumed, the poor distress'd
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head is free,
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The joints of the rheumatic move as smoothly as ever, and smoother
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than ever,
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Stiflings and passages open, the paralyzed become supple,
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The swell'd and convuls'd and congested awake to themselves in condition,
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They pass the invigoration of the night and the chemistry of the
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night, and awake.
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30
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I too pass from the night,
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31
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I stay a while away O night, but I return to you again and love you.
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32
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Why should I be afraid to trust myself to you?
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33
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I am not afraid, I have been well brought forward by you,
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34
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I love the rich running day, but I do not desert her in whom I lay so long,
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35
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I know not how I came of you and I know not where I go with you, but
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36
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I know I came well and shall go well.
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37
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I will stop only a time with the night, and rise betimes,
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38
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I will duly pass the day O my mother, and duly return to you.
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1.2. Transpositions
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0
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Let the reformers descend from the stands where they are forever
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1
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bawling—let an idiot or insane person appear on each of the stands;
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2
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Let judges and criminals be transposed—let the prison-keepers be
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3
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put in prison—let those that were prisoners take the keys;
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