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