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Love Poem Collection - 51
As A Strong Bird On Pinious Free by Walt Whitman
As a strong bird on pinions free, Joyous, the amplest spaces heavenward cleaving, Such be the thought I'd think to-day of thee, America, Such be the recitative I'd bring to-day for thee.
The conceits of the poets of other lands I bring thee not, Nor the compliments that have served their turn so long, Nor rhyme--nor the classics--nor perfume of foreign court, or indoor library; But an odor I'd bring to-day as from forests of pine in the north, in Maine--or breath of an Illinois prairie, With open airs of Virginia, or Georgia, or Tennessee--or from Texas uplands, or Florida's glades, With presentment of Yellowstone's scenes, or Yosemite; And murmuring under, pervading all, I'd bring the rustling sea-sound, That endlessly sounds from the two great seas of the world.
And for thy subtler sense, subtler refrains, O Union! Preludes of intellect tallying these and thee--mind-formulas fitted for thee--real, and sane, and large as these and thee; Thou, mounting higher, diving deeper than we knew--thou transcendental Union! By thee Fact to be justified--blended with Thought; Thought of Man justified--blended with God: Through thy Idea--lo! the immortal Reality! Through thy Reality--lo! the immortal Idea!
Brain of the New World! what a task is thine! To formulate the Modern.....Out of the peerless grandeur of the modern, Out of Thyself--comprising Science--to recast Poems, Churches, Art, (Recast--may-be discard them, end them--May-be their work is done-- who knows?) By vision, hand, conception, on the background of the mighty past, the dead, To limn, with absolute faith, the mighty living present.
(And yet, thou living, present brain! heir of the dead, the Old World brain! Thou that lay folded, like an unborn babe, within its folds so long! Thou carefully prepared by it so long!--haply thou but unfoldest it-- only maturest it; It to eventuate in thee--the essence of the by-gone time contain'd in thee; Its poems, churches, arts, unwitting to themselves, destined with reference to thee, The fruit of all the Old, ripening to-day in thee.)
Sail--sail thy best, ship of Democracy! Of value is thy freight--'tis not the Present only, The Past is also stored in thee! Thou holdest not the venture of thyself alone--not of thy western continent alone; Earth's résumé entire floats on thy keel, O ship--is steadied by thy spars; With thee Time voyages in trust--the antecedent nations sink or swim with thee; With all their ancient struggles, martyrs, heroes, epics, wars, thou bear'st the other continents; Theirs, theirs as much as thine, the destination-port triumphant: --Steer, steer with good strong hand and wary eye, O helmsman--thou carryest great companions,
Venerable, priestly Asia sails this day with thee, And royal, feudal Europe sails with thee.
Beautiful World of new, superber Birth, that rises to my eyes, Like a limitless golden cloud, filling the western sky; Emblem of general Maternity, lifted above all; Sacred shape of the bearer of daughters and sons; Out of thy teeming womb, thy giant babes in ceaseless procession issuing, Acceding from such gestation, taking and giving continual strength and life; World of the Real! world of the twain in one! World of the Soul--born by the world of the real alone--led to identity, body, by it alone; Yet in beginning only--incalculable masses of composite, precious materials, By history's cycles forwarded--by every nation, language, hither sent, Ready, collected here--a freer, vast, electric World, to be constructed here, (The true New World--the world of orbic Science, Morals, Literatures to come,) Thou Wonder World, yet undefined, unform'd--neither do I define thee; How can I pierce the impenetrable blank of the future? I feel thy ominous greatness, evil as well as good; I watch thee, advancing, absorbing the present, transcending the past; I see thy light lighting and thy shadow shadowing, as if the entire globe; But I do not undertake to define thee--hardly to comprehend thee; I but thee name--thee prophecy--as now! I merely thee ejaculate!
Thee in thy future; Thee in thy only permanent life, career--thy own unloosen'd mind--thy soaring spirit; Thee as another equally needed sun, America--radiant, ablaze, swift- moving, fructifying all; Thee! risen in thy potent cheerfulness and joy--thy endless, great hilarity! (Scattering for good the cloud that hung so long--that weigh'd so long upon the mind of man, The doubt, suspicion, dread, of gradual, certain decadence of man;) Thee in thy larger, saner breeds of Female, Male--thee in thy athletes, moral, spiritual, South, North, West, East, (To thy immortal breasts, Mother of All, thy every daughter, son, endear'd alike, forever equal;) Thee in thy own musicians, singers, artists, unborn yet, but certain; Thee in thy moral wealth and civilization (until which thy proudest material wealth and civilization must remain in vain;) Thee in thy all-supplying, all-enclosing Worship--thee in no single bible, saviour, merely, Thy saviours countless, latent within thyself--thy bibles incessant, within thyself, equal to any, divine as any; Thee in an education grown of thee--in teachers, studies, students, born of thee; Thee in thy democratic fetes, en masse--thy high original festivals, operas, lecturers, preachers; Thee in thy ultimata, (the preparations only now completed--the edifice on sure foundations tied,) Thee in thy pinnacles, intellect, thought--thy topmost rational joys--thy love, and godlike aspiration, In thy resplendent coming literati--thy full-lung'd orators--thy sacerdotal bards--kosmic savans, These! these in thee, (certain to come,) to-day I prophecy.
Land tolerating all--accepting all--not for the good alone--all good for thee; Land in the realms of God to be a realm unto thyself; Under the rule of God to be a rule unto thyself.
(Lo! where arise three peerless stars, To be thy natal stars, my country--Ensemble--Evolution--Freedom, Set in the sky of Law.)
Land of unprecedented faith--God's faith! Thy soil, thy very subsoil, all upheav'd; The general inner earth, so long, so sedulously draped over, now and hence for what it is, boldly laid bare, Open'd by thee to heaven's light, for benefit or bale.
Not for success alone; Not to fair-sail unintermitted always; The storm shall dash thy face--the murk of war, and worse than war, shall cover thee all over; (Wert capable of war--its tug and trials? Be capable of peace, its trials; For the tug and mortal strain of nations come at last in peace--not war;) In many a smiling mask death shall approach, beguiling thee--thou in disease shalt swelter; The livid cancer spread its hideous claws, clinging upon thy breasts, seeking to strike thee deep within; Consumption of the worst--moral consumption--shall rouge thy face with hectic: But thou shalt face thy fortunes, thy diseases, and surmount them all, Whatever they are to-day, and whatever through time they may be, They each and all shall lift, and pass away, and cease from thee; While thou, Time's spirals rounding--out of thyself, thyself still extricating, fusing, Equable, natural, mystical Union thou--(the mortal with immortal blent,) Shalt soar toward the fulfilment of the future--the spirit of the body and the mind, The Soul--its destinies.
The Soul, its destinies--the real real, (Purport of all these apparitions of the real;) In thee, America, the Soul, its destinies; Thou globe of globes! thou wonder nebulous! By many a throe of heat and cold convuls'd--(by these thyself solidifying;) Thou mental, moral orb! thou New, indeed new, Spiritual World! The Present holds thee not--for such vast growth as thine--for such unparallel'd flight as thine, The Future only holds thee, and can hold thee.
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Longing by Matthew Arnold
Come to me in my dreams, and then By day I shall be well again! For so the night will more than pay The hopeless longing of the day.
Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times, A messenger from radiant climes, And smile on thy new world, and be As kind to others as to me!
Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth, Come now, and let me dream it truth, And part my hair, and kiss my brow, And say, My love why sufferest thou?
Come to me in my dreams, and then By day I shall be well again! For so the night will more than pay The hopeless longing of the day.
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The Young that Died in Beauty by William Barnes
If souls should only sheen so bright In heaven as in e’thly light, An’ nothen better wer the cease, How comely still, in sheape an’ feace, Would many reach thik happy pleace, — The hopevul souls that in their prime Ha’ seem’d a—took avore their time, — The young that died in beauty.
But when woone’s lim’s ha’ lost their strangth A—tweilen drough a lifetime’s langth, An’ over cheaks a-growen wold The slowly-weasten years ha’ roll’d The deep’nen wrinkle’s hollow vwold; When life is ripe, then death do call Vor less ov thought, than when do vall On young vo’ks in their beauty.
But pinen souls, wi’ heads a-hung In heavy sorrow vor the young, The sister ov the brother dead, The father wi’ a child a—vled, The husband when his bride ha’ laid Her head at rest, noo mwore to turn, Have all a-vound the time to murn Vor youth that died in beauty.
An’ yeet the church, where prayer do rise Vrom thoughtvul souls, wi’ downcast eyes, An’ village greens, a—beat half beare By dancers that do meet, an’ wear Such merry looks at feast an’ feair, Do gather under leatest skies, Their bloomen cheaks an’ sparklen eyes, Though young ha’ died in beauty.
But still the dead shall mwore than keep The beauty ov their early sleep; Where comely looks shall never wear Uncomely, under tweil an' ceare. The feair at death be always feair, Still feair to livers’ thought an’ love, An’ feairer still to God above, Than when they died in beauty.
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Song by Edgar Allan Poe
I saw thee on thy bridal day- When a burning blush came o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee:
And in thine eye a kindling light (Whatever it might be) Was all on Earth my aching sight Of Loveliness could see.
That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame- As such it well may pass- Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame In the breast of him, alas!
Who saw thee on that bridal day, When that deep blush would come o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay; The world all love before thee.
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The Wife's Will by Charlotte Bronte
Sit still - a word - a breath may break (As light airs stir a sleeping lake) The glassy calm that soothes my woes - The sweet, the deep, the full repose. O leave me not! for ever be Thus, more than life itself to me!
Yes, close beside thee let me kneel - Give me thy hand, that I may feel The friend so true - so tried - so dear, My heart's own chosen - indeed is near; And check me not - this hour divine Belongs to me - is fully mine.
'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside, After long absence - wandering wide; 'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes A promise clear of stormless skies; For faith and true love light the rays Which shine responsive to her gaze.
Ay, - well that single tear may fall; Ten thousand might mine eyes recall, Which from their lids ran blinding fast, In hours of grief, yet scarcely past; Well mayst thou speak of love to me, For, oh! most truly - I love thee!
Yet smile - for we are happy now. Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow? What sayst thou? 'We muse once again, Ere long, be severed by the main!' I knew not this - I deemed no more Thy step would err from Britain's shore.
'Duty commands!' 'Tis true - 'tis just; Thy slightest word I wholly trust, Nor by request, nor faintest sigh, Would I to turn thy purpose try; But, William, hear my solemn vow - Hear and confirm! - with thee I go.
'Distance and suffering,' didst thou say? 'Danger by night, and toil by day?' Oh, idle words and vain are these; Hear me! I cross with thee the seas. Such risk as thou must meet and dare, I - thy true wife - will duly share.
Passive, at home, I will not pine; Thy toils, thy perils shall be mine; Grant this - and be hereafter paid By a warm heart's devoted aid: 'Tis granted - with that yielding kiss, Entered my soul unmingled bliss.
Thanks, William, thanks! thy love has joy, Pure, undefiled with base alloy; 'Tis not a passion, false and blind, Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind; Worthy, I feel, art thou to be Loved with my perfect energy.
This evening now shall sweetly flow, Lit by our clear fire's happy glow; And parting's peace-embittering fear, Is warned our hearts to come not near; For fate admits my soul's decree, In bliss or bale - to go with thee!
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