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The Indications by Walt Whitman
The indications, and tally of time;
Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs;
Time, always without flaw, indicates itself in parts;
What always indicates the poet, is the crowd of the pleasant company
of singers, and their words;
The words of the singers are the hours or minutes of the light or
dark--but the words of the maker of poems are the general light
and dark;
The maker of poems settles justice, reality, immortality,
His insight and power encircle things and the human race,
He is the glory and extract thus far, of things, and of the human
race.
The singers do not beget--only the POET begets;
The singers are welcom'd, understood, appear often enough--but rare
has the day been, likewise the spot, of the birth of the maker
of poems, the Answerer,
(Not every century, or every five centuries, has contain'd such a
day, for all its names.)
The singers of successive hours of centuries may have ostensible
names, but the name of each of them is one of the singers,
The name of each is, eye-singer, ear-singer, head-singer, sweet-
singer, echo-singer, parlor-singer, love-singer, or something
else.
All this time, and at all times, wait the words of true poems;
The words of true poems do not merely please,
The true poets are not followers of beauty, but the august masters of
beauty;
The greatness of sons is the exuding of the greatness of mothers and
fathers,
The words of poems are the tuft and final applause of science.
Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of reason, health,
rudeness of body, withdrawnness,
Gayety, sun-tan, air-sweetness--such are some of the words of
poems.
The sailor and traveler underlie the maker of poems, the answerer;
The builder, geometer, chemist, anatomist, phrenologist, artist--all
these underlie the maker of poems, the answerer.
The words of the true poems give you more than poems,
They give you to form for yourself, poems, religions, politics, war,
peace, behavior, histories, essays, romances, and everything
else,
They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes,
They do not seek beauty--they are sought,
Forever touching them, or close upon them, follows beauty, longing,
fain, love-sick.
They prepare for death--yet are they not the finish, but rather the
outset,
They bring none to his or her terminus, or to be content and full;
Whom they take, they take into space, to behold the birth of stars,
to learn one of the meanings,
To launch off with absolute faith--to sweep through the ceaseless
rings, and never be quiet again.
= = = = = = = = = =
Assurances by Walt Whitman
I need no assurances--I am a man who is preoccupied, of his own Soul;
I do not doubt that from under the feet, and beside the hands and
face I am cognizant of, are now looking faces I am not
cognizant of--calm and actual faces;
I do not doubt but the majesty and beauty of the world are latent in
any iota of the world;
I do not doubt I am limitless, and that the universes are limitless--
in vain I try to think how limitless;
I do not doubt that the orbs, and the systems of orbs, play their
swift sports through the air on purpose--and that I shall one
day be eligible to do as much as they, and more than they;
I do not doubt that temporary affairs keep on and on, millions of
years;
I do not doubt interiors have their interiors, and exteriors have
their exteriors--and that the eye-sight has another eye-sight,
and the hearing another hearing, and the voice another voice;
I do not doubt that the passionately-wept deaths of young men are
provided for--and that the deaths of young women, and the
deaths of little children, are provided for;
(Did you think Life was so well provided for--and Death, the purport
of all Life, is not well provided for?)
I do not doubt that wrecks at sea, no matter what the horrors of
them--no matter whose wife, child, husband, father, lover, has
gone down, are provided for, to the minutest points;
I do not doubt that whatever can possibly happen, any where, at any
time, is provided for, in the inherences of things;
I do not think Life provides for all, and for Time and Space--but I
believe Heavenly Death provides for all.
= = = = = = = = = =
A Farm-Picture by Walt Whitman
Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn,
A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding;
And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.
= = = = = = = = = =
Spirit That Form'd Theis Scene by Walt Whitman
Spirit that form'd this scene,
These tumbled rock-piles grim and red,
These reckless heaven-ambitious peaks,
These gorges, turbulent-clear streams, this naked freshness,
These formless wild arrays, for reasons of their own,
I know thee, savage spirit--we have communed together,
Mine too such wild arrays, for reasons of their own;
Was't charged against my chants they had forgotten art?
To fuse within themselves its rules precise and delicatesse?
The lyrist's measur'd beat, the wrought-out temple's grace--column
and polish'd arch forgot?
But thou that revelest here--spirit that form'd this scene,
They have remember'd thee.
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