And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels．

　　I find I incorporate gneiss, 31coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots,

　　And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over,

　　And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons,

　　But call any thing back again when I desire it．

　　In vain the speeding or shyness,

　　In vain the plutonic rocks32 send their old heat against myapproach,

　　In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones,

　　In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes,

　　In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the at monsterslying low,

　　In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky,

　　In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs,

　　In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods,

　　In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador, 33

　　I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff．

　　33

　　Space and Time！ now I see it is true what I guessed at,

　　What I guess'd when I loaf'd on the grass,

　　What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed,

　　And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of themorning．

　　My ties and ballasts leave me my elbows rest in sea-gaps, 34

　　I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents,

　　I am afoot with my vision．

　　By the city's quadrangular houses-in log huts, camping withlumbermen,

　　Along the ruts of the turnpike, along the dry gulch and rivuletbed,

　　Weeding my onion-patch or hoeing rows of carrots and parsnips, crossing savannas, 35 trailing in forests,

　　Prospecting, gold-digging, girdling the trees of a new purchase,

　　Scorch'd ankle-deep by the hot sand, hauling my boat downthe shallow river,

　　Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead, wherethe buck turns furiously at the hunter,

　　Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock, wherethe otter is feeding on fish,

　　Where the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou,

　　Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, wherethe beaver pats the mud with his paddle-shaped tail；

　　Over the growing sugar, over the yellow-flower'd cotton plant, over the rice in its low moist field,

　　Over the sharp-peak'd farm house, with its scallop'd scum36and slender shoots from the gutters,

　　Over the western persimmon, over the long-leav'd corn, overthe delicate blue-flower flax,

　　Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzerthere with the rest,

　　Over the dusky en of the rye as it ripples and shades inthe breeze；

　　Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on bylow scragged limbs,

　　Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leavesof the brush,

　　Where the quail is whisting betwixt the woods and the wheat-lot,

　　Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve, where the atgoldbug drops through the dark,

　　Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree andflows to the meadow,

　　Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulousshuddering of their hides,

　　Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen, where andironsstraddle the hearth-slab, where cobwebs fall in festoonsfrom the rafters；

　　Where trip-hammers crash, where the press is whirling itscylinders,

　　Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes underits ribs,

　　Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, （floating in itmyself and looking composedly down, ）

　　Where the life-car37 is drawn on the slip-noose, where the heathatches pale-en eggs in the dented sand,

　　Where the she-whale swims withher calf and never forsakes it,

　　Where the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant ofsmoke,

　　Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of thewater,

　　Where the half-burn'd brig is riding on unknown currents,

　　Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are cor-rupting below；

　　Where the dense-starr'd flag is borne at the head of the regi-ments,

　　Approaching Manhattan up by the long-stretching island,

　　Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my coun-tenance,

　　Upon a door-step, upon the horse-block of hard wood outside,

　　Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs or a goodgame of base-ball,

　　At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances, 38 drinking, laughter,

　　At the cider-mill tasting the sweets of the brown mash, suckingthe juice through a straw,

　　At apple-peelings wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find,

　　At musters, 39 beach-parties, friendly bees, 40 huskings, house-raisings；

　　Where the mocking-bird sounds his delicious gurgles, cackles, screams, weeps,

　　Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard, where the dry-stalks are scatter'd, where the brood-cow waits in the hovel,

　　Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where thestud to the mare, where the cock is treading the hen,

　　Where the heifers browse, where geese nip their food with shortjerks,

　　Where sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lone-some prairie,

　　Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the squaremiles far and near,

　　Where the humming-bird shimmers, where the neck of the long-lived swan is curving and winding,

　　Where the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughsher near-human laugh,

　　Where bee-hives range on a gray bench in the garden half hidby the high weeds,

　　Where band-neck'd partridges roost in a ring on the groundwith their heads out,

　　Where burial coaches enter the arch'd gates of a cemetery,

　　Where winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees,

　　Where the yellow-crown'd heron comes to the edge of themarsh at night and feeds upon small crabs,

　　Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon,

　　Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the walnut-tree over the well,

　　Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver-wiredleaves,

　　Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs,

　　Through the gymnasium, throughthe curtain'd saloon, throughthe office or public hall；

　　Pleas'd with the native and pleas'd with the foreign, pleas'dwith the new and old,

　　Pleas'd with the homely woman as well as the handsome,

　　Pleas'd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talksmelodiously,

　　Pleas'd with the tune of the choir of the whitewash'd church,

　　Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodistpreacher, impress'd seriously at the camp-meeting；

　　Looking in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole fore-noon, flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate-glass,

　　Wandering the same atternoon with my face turn'd up to theclouds, or down a lane or along the beach,

　　My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and Iin the middle；

　　Coming home with the silent and dark-cheek'd bush-boy, （be-hind me he rides at the drape of the day, ）

　　Far from the settlements studying the print of animals' feet, or the moccasin print,

　　By the cot in the hospital reaching lemonade to a feverishpatient,

　　Nigh the coffin'd corpse when all is still, examining with acandle；

　　Voyaging to every port to dicker and adventure,

　　Hurrying with the modern crowd as eager and fickle as any,

　　Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him,

　　Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone fromme a long while,

　　Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle Godby my side,

　　Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars,

　　Speeding amid the seven satellites41 and the broad ring, andthe diameter of eighty thousand miles,

　　Speeding with tail'd meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest,

　　Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother inits belly,

　　Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning,

　　Backing and filling, appearing and disappearing,

　　I tread day and night such roads．

　　I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product,

　　And look at quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions en．

　　I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul,

　　My course runs below the soundings of plummets．

　　I help myself to material and immaterial,

　　No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me．

　　I anchor my ship for a little while only,

　　My messengers continuallycruise away or bring their returnsto me．

　　I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with apike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue．

　　I ascend to the foretruck, 42

　　I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest,

　　We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough,

　　Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonder-ful beauty,

　　The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, thescenery is plain in all directions,

　　The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out myfancies toward them,

　　We are approaching some at battle-field in which we aresoon to be engaged,

　　We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass withstill feet and caution,

　　Or we areentering by the suburbs some vast and ruin'd city,

　　The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living citiesof the globe．

　　I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires,

　　I turn the bridegroom out of bed and stay with the bride my-self,

　　I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips．

　　My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of thestairs,

　　They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd．

　　I understand the large hearts of heroes,

　　The courage of present times and all times,

　　How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of thesteamship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm,

　　How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and wasfaithful of days and faithful of nights,

　　And chalk'd inlargeletters ona board, Be of goodcheer, wewill not desert you；

　　How he follow'd with them and tack'd with them three daysand would not give it up,

　　How he saved the drifting company at last,

　　How the lank loose-gown'd women look'd when boated fromthe side of their prepared graves,

　　How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and thesharp-lipp'd unshaved men；

　　All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it omesmine,

　　I am the man, I suffer'd, I was there．

　　The disdain and calmness of martyrs,

　　The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with drywood her children gazing on,

　　The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat,

　　The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the mur-derous buckshot and the bullets,

　　All these I feel or am．

　　I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of thedogs,

　　Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marks-men,

　　I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with theooze of my skin,

　　I fall on the weeds and stones,

　　The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close,

　　Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head withwhipstocks．

　　Agonies are one of my changes of garments,

　　I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself be-come the wounded person,

　　My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe．

　　I am the mash'd fireman with breast-bone broken,

　　Tumbling walls buried me in their debris,

　　Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of mycomrades,

　　I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels,

　　They have clear'd the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth．

　　I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush isfor my sake,

　　Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy,

　　White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads arebared of their fire-caps,

　　The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches．

　　Distant and dead resuscitate,

　　They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am theclock myself．

　　I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort's bombardment,

　　I am there again．

　　Again the long roll of the drummers,

　　Again the attacking cannon, mortars,

　　Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive．

　　I take part, I see and hear the whole,

　　The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits of well-aim'd shots,

　　The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip,

　　Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs,

　　The fall of nades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped ex-plosion,

　　The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air．

　　Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiouslywaves with his hand,

　　He gasps through the clot Mind not me-mind-the entrench-ments．

　　48

　　I have said that the soul is not more than the body,

　　And I have said that the body is not more than the soul,

　　And nothing not God, is ater to one than one's self is,

　　And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to hisown funeral drest in his shroud,

　　And I or you pocketless of a dime may purchase the pick ofthe earth,

　　And to lance with an eye or show a bean in its pod con-founds the learning of all times,

　　And there is no trade or employment but the young man fol-lowing it may ome a hero,

　　And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for thewheel'd universc,

　　And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool andcomposed before a million universes．

　　And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God,

　　For I who am curious about each am not curious about God,

　　（No array of terms can say how much I am at peace aboutGod and about death．）

　　I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand Godnot in the least,

　　Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful thanmyself．

　　Why should I wish to see God better than this day？

　　I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and eachmoment then,

　　In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my ownface in the glass,

　　I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one issign'd by God's name,

　　And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'erI go,

　　Others will punctually come for ever and ever．

　　52

　　The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains ofmy gab and my loitering．

　　I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,

　　I sound my barbaric yawp43 over the roofs of the world．

　　The last scud of day44 holds back for me,

　　It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shad-ow'd wilds,

　　It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk．

　　I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,

　　I effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it in lacy jags．

　　I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,

　　If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles．

　　You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,

　　But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,

　　And filter and fibre your blood．

　　Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,

　　Missing me one place search another

　　I stop somewhere waiting for you．