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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
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CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY.
1
FLOOD-TIDE below me! I see you face to face! |
Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you
also face to face.
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Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how
curious you are to me!
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On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, return-
ing 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 to me, and more in my meditations, than you might
suppose.
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2
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 one disintegrated yet part of the scheme,
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The similitudes of the past and those of the future, |
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings,
on 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, |
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them, |
The certainty of others, the life, love, sight, hearing of others. |
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, |
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and
the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east,
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Others will see the islands large and small; |
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half
an hour high,
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A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence,
others will see them,
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Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring-in of the flood-
tide, the falling-
back to the sea of the ebb-tide.
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3
It avails not, time nor place—distance avails not, |
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so
many generations hence,
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Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt, |
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd, |
Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the
bright flow, I was refresh'd,
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Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift
current, I stood yet was hurried,
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Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships and the 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, |
Watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls, saw them high in the air
floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
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Saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies and left
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, |
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams, |
Look'd at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the shape of
my head in the sunlit water,
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Look'd on the haze on the hills southward and south-westward, |
Look'd on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet, |
Look'd toward the lower bay to notice the vessels arriving, |
Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me, |
Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, saw the ships at anchor, |
The sailors at work in the rigging or out astride the spars, |
The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender
serpentine pennants,
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The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-
houses,
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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, |
The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the
frolicsome crests and glistening,
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The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of
the granite storehouses by the docks,
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On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank'd
on 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 high and glaringly into the night,
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Casting their flicker of black contrasted with wild red and yellow
light over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of
streets.
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4
These and all else were to me the same as they are to you, |
I loved well those cities, loved well the stately and rapid river, |
The men and women I saw were all near to me, |
Others the same—others who look back on me because I look'd
forward to them,
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(The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.) |
5
What is it then between us? |
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us? |
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, |
I too walk'd the streets of Manhattan island, and bathed in the
waters around it,
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I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me, |
In the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me, |
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, |
I too had receiv'd identity by my body, |
That I was I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew
I should be of my body.
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6
It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall, |
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, |
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, |
I am he who knew what it was to be evil, |
I too knotted the old knot of contrariety, |
Blabb'd, blush'd, resented, lied, stole, grudg'd, |
Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak, |
Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant, |
The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me, |
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, |
Was call'd by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men
as they saw me approaching or passing,
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Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of
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 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, |
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. |
7
Closer yet I approach you, |
What thought you have of me now, I had as much of you—I laid
in my stores in advance,
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I consider'd long and seriously of you before you were born. |
Who was to know what should come home to me? |
Who knows but I am enjoying this? |
Who knows, for all the distance, but I am as good as looking at
you now, for all you cannot see me?
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8
Ah, what can ever be more stately and admirable to me than mast-
hemm'd Manhattan?
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River and sunset and scallop-edg'd waves of flood-tide? |
The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight,
and the belated lighter?
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What gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with
voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest
name as I approach?
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What is more subtle than thiswhich ties me to the woman or man
that looks in my face?
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Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you? |
We understand then do we not? |
What I promis'd without mentioning it, have you not accepted? |
What the study could not teach—what the preaching could not
accomplish is accomplish'd, is it not?
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9
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! |
Gorgeous clouds of the sunset! drench with your splendor me, or
the men and women generations after me!
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Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers! |
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! |
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution! |
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 nighest name!
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Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress! |
Play the old role, the role that is great or small according as one
makes it!
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Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown
ways be looking upon you;
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Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet
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
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
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
schooners, sloops, lighters!
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Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower'd at sunset! |
Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at
nightfall! cast red and yellow light over the tops of the
houses!
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Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are, |
You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul, |
About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung out
divinest aromas,
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Thrive, cities—bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and
sufficient rivers,
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Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual, |
Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting. |
You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers, |
We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate hence-
forward,
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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 perma-
nently within us,
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We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also, |
You furnish your parts toward eternity, |
Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul. |
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