Down in the fields all prospers well;
But now from the fields come, father—come at the daughter's call;


Liberty! let others despair of you! I never despair of you.

Is the house shut? Is the master away?

A great year and place; A harsh, discordant, natal scream out-sounding, to touch the mother's heart closer than any yet.


All the menacing might of the globe uprisen around me;
Yet there with my soul I fed—I fed content, supercilious.

'Twas well, O soul! 'twas a good preparation you gave me!
Now we advance our latent and ampler hunger to fill;
Now we go forth to receive what the earth and the sea never gave us;
Not through the mighty woods we go, but through the mightier cities;

Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic,
And the soldiers suppose him to be a soldier, and the sailors that he has
followed the sea,
And the authors take him for an author, and the artists for an artist,
And the labourers perceive he could labour with them and love them;

There is something that comes home to one now and perpetually;
It is not what is printed, preached, discussed—it eludes discussion and
It is not to be put in a book—it is not in this book;
It is for you, whoever you are—it is no farther from you than your hearing
and sight are from you;
It is hinted by nearest, commonest, readiest—it is ever provoked by them.

And that night, while all was still, I heard the waters roll slowly
continually up the shores,

The words of the true poems give you more than poems,
They give you, to form for yourself, poems, religions, politics, war,
peace, behaviour, histories, essays, romances, and everything else,


I am the credulous man of qualities, ages, races;

O singer bashful and tender! I hear your notes—I hear your call;
I hear—I come presently—I understand you;
But a moment I linger—for the lustrous star has detained me;
The star, my comrade departing, holds and detains me.

O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?

Grown, half-grown, and babe, of this country and every country, indoors and outdoors, one just as much as the other, I see, And all else behind or through them.

The wife—and she is not one jot less than the husband;
The daughter—and she is just as good as the son;
The mother—and she is every bit as much as the father.
Offspring of ignorant and poor, boys apprenticed to trades,

He is decently put away—is there anything more?
He was a good fellow, free-mouthed, quick-tempered, not bad-looking, able to take his own part, witty, sensitive to a slight, ready with life or death for a friend, fond of women, gambled, ate hearty, drank hearty, had known what it was to be flush, grew low-spirited toward the last, sickened, was helped by a contribution, died, aged forty- one years—and that was his funeral.

And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand,
And every day the she-bird, crouched on her nest, silent,
with bright eyes;
And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never
disturbing them,

its orbit for ever and ever, without one jolt, or the untruth of a
single second;
I do not think it was made in six days, nor in ten thousand years, nor ten
billions of years,
Nor planned and built one thing after another, as an architect plans and
builds a house.
I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman,
Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman,

awake, South, North, East, West, inland and seaboard, we will
surely awake.

Tears! tears! tears!

I see the swarms of Pekin, Canton, Benares, Delhi, Calcutta, Yedo;
I see the Kruman in his hut, and the Dahoman and Ashantee-man in their

Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.
Air, soil, water, fire—these are words; I myself am a word with them—my qualities interpenetrate with theirs—my name is nothing to them; Though it were told in the three thousand languages, what would air, soil, water, fire, know of my name?

A healthy presence, a friendly or commanding gesture, are words, sayings,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

I see the place of the idea of the Deity incarnated by avatars in human
I see the spots of the successions of priests on the earth—oracles,
sacrificers, brahmins, sabians, lamas, monks, muftis, exhorters;
I see where druids walked the groves of Mona—I see the mistletoe and
I see the temples of the deaths of the bodies of Gods—I see the old

I see this day the People beginning their landmarks, all others give way;
Never were such sharp questions asked as this day;
Never was average man, his soul, more energetic, more like a God.
Lo! how he urges and urges, leaving the masses no rest;

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