I think he loved the spring: not that he cared for flowers-most men
Think such things foolishness-but we were first acquainted then,
One spring; the next he spoke his mind; the third I was his wife;
And in the spring (it happened so) our children entered life.

He was but seventy-five: I did not think to lay him yet
In Kennett graveyard, where at Monthly Meeting first we met.
The Father's mercy shows in this: 't is better I should be
Picked out to bear the heavy cross-alone in age-than he.

We 've lived together fifty years: it seems but one long day,
One quiet Sabbath of the heart, till he was called away;
And as we bring from Meeting-time a sweet contentment home,
So, Hannah, I have store of peace for all the days to come.

I mind (for I can tell thee now) how hard it was to know
If I had heard the spirit right, that told me I should go;
For father had a deep concern upon his mind that day,
But mother spoke for Benjamin-she knew what best to say.

ΙΟ

15

20

Then she was still. They sat awhile; at last she spoke again: "The Lord incline thee to the right!" And "Thou shalt have him, Jane!"

25

My father said. I cried. Indeed, 't was not the least of shocks,
For Benjamin was Hicksite, and father Orthodox.

I thought of this ten years ago, when daughter Ruth we lost:
Her husband 's of the world, and yet I could not see her crossed.
She wears, thee knows, the gayest gowns, she hears a hireling
priest-

30

Ah, dear! the cross was ours: her life's a happy one, at least.

Perhaps she 'll wear a plainer dress when she 's as old as I—
Would thee believe it, Hannah? once I felt temptation nigh!
My wedding-gown was ashen silk, too simple for my taste:
I wanted lace around the neck, and a ribbon at the waist.

35

How strange it seemed to sit with him upon the women's side!
I did not dare to lift my eyes: I felt more fear than pride,
Till "In the presence of the Lord," he said, and then there came
A holy strength upon my heart and I could say the same.

44

I used to blush when he came near, but then I showed no sign;
With all the meeting looking on, I held his hand in mine.
It seemed my bashfulness was gone, now I was his for life:
Thee knows the feeling, Hannah-thee, too, hast been a wife.

As home we rode, I saw no fields look half so green as ours;
The woods were coming into leaf, the meadows full of flowers;
The neighbors met us in the lane, and every face was kind-
'T is strange how lively everything comes back upon my mind.

45

I see, as plain as thee sits there, the wedding-dinner spread:
At our own table we were guests, with father at the head;
And Dinah Passmore helped us both-'t was she stood up with me,
And Abner Jones with Benjamin, and now they 're gone, all three!

50

It is not right to wish for death; the Lord disposes best.

His Spirit comes to quiet hearts, and fits them for His rest;
And that He halved our little flock was merciful, I see:
For Benjamin has two in heaven, and two are left with me.

55

Eusebius never cared to farm-'t was not his call, in truth:
And I must rent the dear old place, and go to daughter Ruth.
Thee 'll say her ways are not like mine-young people now-a-days
Have fallen sadly off, I think, from all the good old ways.

60

But Ruth is still a Friend at heart: she keeps the simple tongue,
The cheerful, kindly nature we loved when she was young;
And it was brought upon my mind, remembering her, of late,
That we on dress and outward things perhaps lay too much weight.

65

I once heard Jesse Kersey say a spirit clothed with grace,
And pure almost as angels are, may have a homely face.
And dress may be of less account; the Lord will look within:
The soul it is that testifies of righteousness or sin.

Thee mustn't be too hard on Ruth: she 's anxious I should go,
And she will do her duty as a daughter should, I know.
"T is hard to change so late in life, but we must be resigned:
The Lord looks down contentedly upon a willing mind.

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WALT WHITMAN

[The selections from Whitman are reprinted from the copyrighted 1891 edition of his poems, with the permission of his literary executors, Messrs. H. L. Traubel and T. B. Harned, and of his publisher, Mitchell Kennerley]

FROM

SONG OF MYSELF

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

I

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul;

I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents

the same,

I, now thirty-seven years old, in perfect health begin,

Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,

Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check, with original energy.

21

I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul.

1

5

ΙΟ

The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me; 15) The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a

new tongue.

I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,

And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,

And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

I chant the chant of dilation or pride,

We have had ducking and deprecating about enough,

I show that size is only development.

Have you outstript the rest? are you the President?

It is a trifle; they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on.

I am he that walks with the tender and growing night;

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25

I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.

Press close, bare-bosom'd night-press close, magnetic nourishing night!

Night of south winds-night of the large few stars!

Still, nodding night-mad naked summer night!
Smile, O voluptuous cool-breath'd earth!

Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!

Earth of departed sunset-earth of the mountains misty-topt!

Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!
Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!

Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!
Far-swooping elbow'd earth-rich apple-blossom'd earth!

Smile, for your lover comes.

Prodigal, you have given me love-therefore I to you give love!
O unspeakable passionate love.

32

I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self

contain'd;

I stand and look at them long and long.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition,

They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,

Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,

Not one kneels to another nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,

Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.

33

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 the steam

ship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm,

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

And chalk'd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will not

desert you;

How he follow'd with them and tack'd with them three days and would

not give it up,

How he saved the drifting company at last,

50

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

55

How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharplipp'd unshaved men.

All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine,

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

I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become 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 my comrades,
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 is for my sake;
Painless after all I lie, exhausted but not so unhappy;

White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of

their fire-caps;

The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.

45

Old age superbly rising! O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days!

Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows after and out of itself,

And the dark hush promulges as much as any.

I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems;

of the farther systems.

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65

70

And all I see, multiplied as high as I can cipher, edge but the rim

75

Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding,
Outward and outward and forever outward.

My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels,

He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit,

And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them.

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