SANDS AT SEVENTY
Mannahatta
My cityâs fit and noble name resumed,
Choice aboriginal name, with marvellous beauty, meaning,
A rocky founded islandâshores where ever gayly dash the coming, going, hurrying sea waves.
Paumanok
Sea-beauty! stretchâd and basking!
One side thy inland ocean laving, broad, with copious commerce, steamers, sails,
And one the Atlanticâs wind caressing, fierce or gentleâmighty hulls dark-gliding in the distance.
Isle of sweet brooks of drinking-waterâhealthy air and soil!
Isle of the salty shore and breeze and brine!
From Montauk Point
I stand as on some mighty eagleâs beak,
Eastward the sea absorbing, viewing, (nothing but sea and sky,)
The tossing waves, the foam, the ships in the distance, The wild unrest, the snowy, curling capsâthat inbound urge and urge of waves,
Seeking the shores forever.
To Those Whoâve Failâd
To those whoâve failâd, in aspiration vast,
To unnamâd soldiers fallen in front on the lead,
To calm, devoted engineersâto over-ardent travelersâto pilots on their ships,
To many a lofty song and picture without recognitionâIâd rear a laurel-coverâd monument,
High, high above the restâTo all cut off before their time,
Possessâd by some strange spirit of fire,
Quenchâd by an early death.
A Carol Closing Sixty-Nine
A carol closing sixty-nineâa rĂ©sumĂ©âa repetition,
My lines in joy and hope continuing on the same,
Of ye, O God, Life, Nature, Freedom, Poetry;
Of you, my Landâyour rivers, prairies, Statesâyou, mottled Flag I love,
Your aggregate retainâd entireâOf north, south, east and west, your items all;
Of me myselfâthe jocund heart yet beating in my breast,
The body wreckâd, old, poor and paralyzedâthe strange inertia falling pall-like round me,
The burning fires down in my sluggish blood not yet extinct,
The undiminishâd faithâthe groups of loving friends.
The Bravest Soldiers
Brave, brave were the soldiers (high named to-day) who lived through the fight;
But the bravest pressâd to the front and fell, unnamed, unknown.
A Font of Type
This latent mineâthese unlaunchâd voicesâpassionate powers,
Wrath, argument, or praise, or comic leer, or prayer devout,
(Not nonpareil, brevier, bourgeois, long primer merely,)
These ocean waves arousable to fury and to death,
Or soothâd to ease and sheeny sun and sleep,
Within the pallid slivers slumbering.
As I Sit Writing Here
As I sit writing here, sick and grown old,
Not my least burden is that dulness of the years, querilities,
Ungracious glooms, aches, lethargy, constipation, whimpering ennui,
May filter in my daily songs.
My Canary Bird
Did we count great, O soul, to penetrate the themes of mighty books,
Absorbing deep and full from thoughts, plays, speculations?
But now from thee to me, caged bird, to feel thy joyous warble,
Filling the air, the lonesome room, the long forenoon,
Is it not just as great, O soul?
Queries to My Seventieth Year
Approaching, nearing, curious,
Thou dim, uncertain spectreâbringest thou life or death?
Strength, weakness, blindness, more paralysis and heavier?
Or placid skies and sun? Wilt stir the waters yet?
Or haply cut me short for good? Or leave me here as now,
Dull, parrot-like and old, with crackâd voice harping, screeching?
The Wallabout Martyrs
[In Brooklyn, in an old vault, markâd by no special recognition, lie huddled at this moment the undoubtedly authentic remains of the stanchest and earliest revolutionary patriots from the British prison ships and prisons of the times of 1776â83, in and around New York, and from all over Long Island; originally buriedâmany thousands of themâin trenches in the Wallabout sands.]
Greater than memory of Achilles or Ulysses,
More, more by far to thee than tomb of Alexander,
Those cart loads of old charnel ashes, scales and splints of mouldy bones,
Once living menâonce resolute courage, aspiration, strength,
The stepping stones to thee to-day and here, America.
The First Dandelion
Simple and fresh and fair from winterâs close emerging,
As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,
Forth from its sunny nook of shelterâd grassâinnocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
The springâs first dandelion shows its trustful face.
America
Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endearâd, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love,
A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother,
Chairâd in the adamant of Time.
Memories
How sweet the silent backward tracings!
The wanderings as in dreamsâthe meditation of old times resumedâtheir loves, joys, persons, voyages.
To-day and Thee
The appointed winners in a long-stretchâd game;
The course of Time and nationsâEgypt, India, Greece and Rome;
The past entire, with all its heroes, histories, arts, experiments,
Its store of songs, inventions, voyages, teachers, books,
Garnerâd for now and theeâTo think of it!
The heirdom all converged in thee!
After the Dazzle of Day
After the dazzle of day is gone,
Only the dark, dark night shows to my eyes the stars;
After the clangor of organ majestic, or chorus, o...