(Some parturition rather, some solemn immortal birth; On the frontiers to eyes impenetrable, Some soul is passing over.)
Chanting the Square Deific
Of Him I Love Day and Night
Of him I love day and night I dream’d I heard he was dead, And I dream’d I went where they had buried him I love, but he was not in that place, And I dream’d I wander’d searching among burial-places to find him, And I found that every place was a burial-place; The houses full of life were equally full of death, (this house is now,) The streets, the shipping, the places of amusement, the Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, the Mannahatta, were as full of the dead as of the living, And fuller, O vastly fuller of the dead than of the living; And what I dream’d I will henceforth tell to every person and age, And I stand henceforth bound to what I dream’d, And now I am willing to disregard burial-places and dispense with them, And if the memorials of the dead were put up indifferently everywhere, even in the room where I eat or sleep, I should be satisfied, And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my own corpse, be duly render’d to powder and pour’d in the sea, I shall be satisfied, Or if it be distributed to the winds I shall be satisfied.
Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours
Yet, yet, ye downcast hours, I know ye also, Weights of lead, how ye clog and cling at my ankles, Earth to a chamber of mourning turns—I hear the o’erweening, mocking voice, Matter is conqueror—matter, triumphant only, continues onward.
Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me, The call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarm’d, uncertain, The sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me, Come tell me where I am speeding, tell me my destination.