SONG OF MYSELF

Aquatic of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Aquatic of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty aquatic, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases. In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward at the same time as well as forward sluing, En route for niches aside and junior flexible, not a person or object missing, Absorbing all to myself and for this song. Aloof and dead resuscitate, They act as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself. Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, And the hints about aged men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.

Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! Earth of the slumbering after that liquid trees! Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's before rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown. The transit to after that from the magazine is at once stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust. And now it seems to me the attractive uncut hair of graves. Writing and talk do not prove me, I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face, Along with the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic. Unscrew the locks from the doors! I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of breakable and blue. It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, after that still pass on. And abundance a word of the advanced, the word En-Masse.

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