|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
1. BOOK VIII
|
| |
|
|
1.1. Crossing Brooklyn Ferry
|
| |
|
|
|
1.1.1. 1
|
|
0
|
|
|
Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face!
|
|
1
|
|
|
Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you also face
|
|
2
|
|
|
to face.
|
| |
|
3
|
|
|
Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious
|
|
4
|
|
|
you are to me!
|
|
5
|
|
|
On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning
|
|
6
|
|
|
home, are more curious to me than you suppose,
|
|
7
|
|
|
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more
|
|
8
|
|
|
to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.
|
| |
| |
|
|
|
1.1.2. 2
|
|
0
|
|
|
The impalpable sustenance of me from all things at all hours of the day,
|
|
1
|
|
|
The simple, compact, well-join'd scheme, myself disintegrated, every
|
|
2
|
|
|
one disintegrated yet part of the scheme,
|
|
3
|
|
|
The similitudes of the past and those of the future,
|
|
4
|
|
|
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings, on
|
|
5
|
|
|
the walk in the street and the passage over the river,
|
|
6
|
|
|
The current rushing so swiftly and swimming with me far away,
|
|
7
|
|
|
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them,
|
|
8
|
|
|
The certainty of others, the life, love, sight, hearing of others.
|
| |
|
9
|
|
|
Others will enter the gates of the ferry and cross from shore to shore,
|
|
10
|
|
|
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide,
|
|
11
|
|
|
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the
|
|
12
|
|
|
heights of Brooklyn to the south and east,
|
|
13
|
|
|
Others will see the islands large and small;
|
|
14
|
|
|
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half
|
|
15
|
|
|
an hour high,
|
|
16
|
|
|
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others
|
|
17
|
|
|
will see them,
|
|
18
|
|
|
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring-in of the flood-tide, the
|
|
19
|
|
|
falling-back to the sea of the ebb-tide.
|
| |
| |
|
|
|
1.1.3. 3
|
|
0
|
|
|
It avails not, time nor place—distance avails not,
|
|
1
|
|
|
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many
|
|
2
|
|
|
generations hence,
|
|
3
|
|
|
Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt,
|
|
4
|
|
|
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd,
|
|
5
|
|
|
Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the
|
|
6
|
|
|
bright flow, I was refresh'd,
|
|
7
|
|
|
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift
|
|
8
|
|
|
current, I stood yet was hurried,
|
|
9
|
|
|
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships and the
|
|
10
|
|
|
thick-stemm'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd.
|
| |
|
11
|
|
|
I too many and many a time cross'd the river of old,
|
|
12
|
|
|
Watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls, saw them high in the air
|
|
13
|
|
|
floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
|
|
14
|
|
|
Saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies and left
|
|
15
|
|
|
the rest in strong shadow,
|
|
16
|
|
|
Saw the slow-wheeling circles and the gradual edging toward the south,
|
|
17
|
|
|
Saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,
|
|
18
|
|
|
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams,
|
|
19
|
|
|
Look'd at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the shape of my
|
|
20
|
|
|
head in the sunlit water,
|
|
21
|
|
|
Look'd on the haze on the hills southward and south-westward,
|
|
22
|
|
|
Look'd on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet,
|
|
23
|
|
|
Look'd toward the lower bay to notice the vessels arriving,
|
|
24
|
|
|
Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me,
|
|
25
|
|
|
Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, saw the ships at anchor,
|
|
26
|
|
|
The sailors at work in the rigging or out astride the spars,
|
|
27
|
|
|
The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender
|
|
28
|
|
|
serpentine pennants,
|
|
29
|
|
|
The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilothouses,
|
|
30
|
|
|
The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels,
|
|
31
|
|
|
The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset,
|
|
32
|
|
|
The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the
|
|
33
|
|
|
frolic-some crests and glistening,
|
|
34
|
|
|
The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the
|
|
35
|
|
|
granite storehouses by the docks,
|
|
36
|
|
|
On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank'd on
|
|
37
|
|
|
each side by the barges, the hay-boat, the belated lighter,
|
|
38
|
|
|
On the neighboring shore the fires from the foundry chimneys burning
|
|
39
|
|
|
high and glaringly into the night,
|
|
40
|
|
|
Casting their flicker of black contrasted with wild red and yellow
|
|
41
|
|
|
light over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of streets.
|
| |
| |
|
|
|
1.1.4. 4
|
|
0
|
|
|
These and all else were to me the same as they are to you,
|
|
1
|
|
|
I loved well those cities, loved well the stately and rapid river,
|
|
2
|
|
|
The men and women I saw were all near to me,
|
|
3
|
|
|
Others the same—others who look back on me because I look'd forward
|
|
4
|
|
|
to them,
|
|
5
|
|
|
(The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.)
|
| |
| |
|
|
|
1.1.5. 5
|
|
0
|
|
|
What is it then between us?
|
|
1
|
|
|
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?
|
| |
|
2
|
|
|
Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not,
|
|
3
|
|
|
I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine,
|
|
4
|
|
|
I too walk'd the streets of Manhattan island, and bathed in the
|
|
5
|
|
|
waters around it,
|
|
6
|
|
|
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,
|
|
7
|
|
|
In the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me,
|
|
8
|
|
|
In my walks home late at night or as I lay in my bed they came upon me,
|
|
9
|
|
|
I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution,
|
|
10
|
|
|
I too had receiv'd identity by my body,
|
|
11
|
|
|
That I was I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew I
|
|
12
|
|
|
should be of my body.
|
| |
| |
|
|
|
1.1.6. 6
|
|
0
|
|
|
It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall,
|
|
1
|
|
|
The dark threw its patches down upon me also,
|
|
2
|
|
|
The best I had done seem'd to me blank and suspicious,
|
|
3
|
|
|
My great thoughts as I supposed them, were they not in reality meagre?
|
|
4
|
|
|
Nor is it you alone who know what it is to be evil,
|
|
5
|
|
|
I am he who knew what it was to be evil,
|
|
6
|
|
|
I too knitted the old knot of contrariety,
|
|
7
|
|
|
Blabb'd, blush'd, resented, lied, stole, grudg'd,
|
|
8
|
|
|
Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak,
|
|
9
|
|
|
Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant,
|
|
10
|
|
|
The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me.
|
|
11
|
|
|
The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not wanting,
|
| |
|
12
|
|
|
Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these wanting,
|
|
13
|
|
|
Was one with the rest, the days and haps of the rest,
|
|
14
|
|
|
Was call'd by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men as
|
|
15
|
|
|
they saw me approaching or passing,
|
|
16
|
|
|
Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of
|
|
17
|
|
|
their flesh against me as I sat,
|
|
18
|
|
|
Saw many I loved in the street or ferry-boat or public assembly, yet
|
|
19
|
|
|
never told them a word,
|
|
20
|
|
|
Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing, sleeping,
|
|
21
|
|
|
Play'd the part that still looks back on the actor or actress,
|
|
22
|
|
|
The same old role, the role that is what we make it, as great as we like,
|
|
23
|
|
|
Or as small as we like, or both great and small.
|
| |
| |
|
|
|
1.1.7. 7
|
|
0
|
|
|
Closer yet I approach you,
|
|
1
|
|
|
What thought you have of me now, I had as much of you—I laid in my
|
|
2
|
|
|
stores in advance,
|
|
3
|
|
|
I consider'd long and seriously of you before you were born.
|
| |
|
4
|
|
|
Who was to know what should come home to me?
|
|
5
|
|
|
Who knows but I am enjoying this?
|
|
6
|
|
|
Who knows, for all the distance, but I am as good as looking at you
|
|
7
|
|
|
now, for all you cannot see me?
|
| |
| |
|
|
|
1.1.8. 8
|
|
0
|
|
|
Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than
|
|
1
|
|
|
mast-hemm'd Manhattan?
|
|
2
|
|
|
River and sunset and scallop-edg'd waves of flood-tide?
|
|
3
|
|
|
The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the
|
|
4
|
|
|
twilight, and the belated lighter?
|
|
5
|
|
|
What gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I
|
|
6
|
|
|
love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as approach?
|
|
7
|
|
|
What is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that
|
|
8
|
|
|
looks in my face?
|
|
9
|
|
|
Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you?
|
| |
|
10
|
|
|
We understand then do we not?
|
|
11
|
|
|
What I promis'd without mentioning it, have you not accepted?
|
|
12
|
|
|
What the study could not teach—what the preaching could not
|
|
13
|
|
|
accomplish is accomplish'd, is it not?
|
| |
| |
|
|
|
1.1.9. 9
|
|
0
|
|
|
Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide!
|
|
1
|
|
|
Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg'd waves!
|
|
2
|
|
|
Gorgeous clouds of the sunset! drench with your splendor me, or the
|
|
3
|
|
|
men and women generations after me!
|
|
4
|
|
|
Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers!
|
|
5
|
|
|
Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta! stand up, beautiful hills of Brooklyn!
|
|
6
|
|
|
Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers!
|
|
7
|
|
|
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution!
|
|
8
|
|
|
Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house or street or public assembly!
|
|
9
|
|
|
Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically call me by my
|
|
10
|
|
|
nighest name!
|
|
11
|
|
|
Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress!
|
|
12
|
|
|
Play the old role, the role that is great or small according as one
|
|
13
|
|
|
makes it!
|
|
14
|
|
|
Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be
|
|
15
|
|
|
looking upon you;
|
|
16
|
|
|
Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet
|
|
17
|
|
|
haste with the hasting current;
|
|
18
|
|
|
Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in the air;
|
|
19
|
|
|
Receive the summer sky, you water, and faithfully hold it till all
|
|
20
|
|
|
downcast eyes have time to take it from you!
|
|
21
|
|
|
Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any
|
|
22
|
|
|
one's head, in the sunlit water!
|
|
23
|
|
|
Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down, white-sail'd
|
|
24
|
|
|
schooners, sloops, lighters!
|
|
25
|
|
|
Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower'd at sunset!
|
|
26
|
|
|
Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at
|
|
27
|
|
|
nightfall! cast red and yellow light over the tops of the houses!
|
|
28
|
|
|
Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are,
|
|
29
|
|
|
You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul,
|
|
30
|
|
|
About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung our divinest aromas,
|
|
31
|
|
|
Thrive, cities—bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and
|
|
32
|
|
|
sufficient rivers,
|
|
33
|
|
|
Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual,
|
|
34
|
|
|
Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting.
|
| |
|
35
|
|
|
You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers,
|
|
36
|
|
|
We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate henceforward,
|
|
37
|
|
|
Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves from us,
|
|
38
|
|
|
We use you, and do not cast you aside—we plant you permanently within us,
|
|
39
|
|
|
We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also,
|
|
40
|
|
|
You furnish your parts toward eternity,
|
