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To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts,

To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave

them behind you,

To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls.

All parts away for the progress of souls,

All religion, all solid things, arts, governments-all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches

and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe.

Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance.

Forever alive, forever forward,

Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied,

Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men, They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they

go,

But I know that they go toward the best - toward something great.

Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth! You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you.

Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen!

It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it.

Behold through you as bad as the rest,

Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people,

Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those washed and trimmed faces,

Behold a secret silent loathing and despair.

No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession,
Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes,
Formless and worldless through the streets of the cities, polite and
bland in the parlors,

In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly,
Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bed-

room, everywhere.

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Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones,

Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial

flowers,

Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself,
Speaking of anything else but never of itself.

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Allons! through struggles and wars!

The goal that was named cannot be countermanded.

Have the past struggles succeeded?

What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature?

Now understand me well-it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle neces

sary.

My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion,

He going with me must go well armed,

He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions.

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Allons! the road is before us!

It is safe-I have tried it-my own feet have tried it well be not detained!

Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopened!

Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearned!

Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher!

Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law.

Camerado, I give you my hand!

I give you my love more precious than money,

I give you myself before preaching or law:

Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?

Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

T

DIRGE FOR TWO VETERANS

HE last sunbeam

Lightly falls from the finished Sabbath,

On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking,
Down a new-made double grave.

Lo, the moon ascending,

Up from the east the silvery round moon,
Beautiful over the housetops, ghastly, phantom moon,
Immense and silent moon.

I see a sad procession,

And I hear the sound of coming full-keyed bugles,
All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,
As with voices and with tears.

I hear the great drums pounding,

And the small drums steady whirring,

And every blow of the great convulsive drums
Strikes me through and through.

For the son is brought with the father,

(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell,
Two veterans son and father drop together,
And the double grave awaits them.)

Now nearer blow the bugles,

And the drums strike more convulsive,

And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded,
And the strong dead-march enwraps me.

In the eastern sky up-buoying,

The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumined.
('Tis some mother's large transparent face,
In heaven brighter growing.)

O strong dead-march you please me!

O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me!
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial!
What I have I also give you.

The moon gives you light,

And the bugles and the drums give you music,
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My heart gives you love.

WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOOR-YARD BLOOMED

I

HEN lilacs last in the door-yard bloomed,

WH

And the great star early drooped in the western sky in the night,

I mourned, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,

Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.

O powerful western fallen star!

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O shades of night-O moody, tearful night!

O great star disappeared -O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless-O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul!

3

In the door-yard fronting an old farm-house, near the whitewashed

palings,

Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich

green,

With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong

I love,

With every leaf a miracle; - and from this bush in the door-yard, With delicate-colored blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, A sprig with its flower I break.

4

In the swamp in secluded recesses,

A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

Solitary the thrush,

The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.-

Song of the bleeding throat,

Death's outlet song of life (for well, dear brother, I know,
If thou wast not granted to sing thou wouldst surely die).

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Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,

Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peeped from the ground, spotting the gray débris,

Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass,

Passing the yellow-speared wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen,

Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards,
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,

Night and day journeys a coffin.

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Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,

Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land, With the pomp of the inlooped flags with the cities draped in black, With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veiled women

standing,

With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night, With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads,

With the waiting dépôt, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces, With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn,

With all the mournful voices of the dirges poured around the coffin, The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—where amid these you journey,

With the tolling, tolling bells' perpetual clang,

Here, coffin that slowly passes,

I give you my sprig of lilac.

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(Nor for you, for one alone,—

Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring;

For, fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you, O sane and sacred death.

All over bouquets of roses,

O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies,

But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,
Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes,
With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,

For you and the coffins all of you, O death.)

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