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Revised: 26 March 2010

 

 

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wandered off by myself,
In the mystical moist night air, and from time to time,
look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

 

 

 

Beat! Beat! Drums!

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation,
Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with his bride,
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his grain,
So fierce you whirr and pound you drums—so shrill you bugles blow.
Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!
Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets;
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers must sleep in those beds,
No bargainers' bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—would they continue?
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow.
Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley—stop for no expostulation,
Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer,
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,
Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties,
Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses,
So strong you thump O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.

1861
 
 

 

"I Hear America Singing"

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The woodcutter's song, the plowboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

 

 
"O Captain! My Captain!"
 

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
   

But O heart! heart! heart!
   

O the bleeding drops of red,
     

Where on the deck my Captain lies,
       

Fallen cold and dead.
     

 

2
 

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
 

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
 

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
 

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
   

Here Captain! dear father!
   

This arm beneath your head;
     

It is some dream that on the deck,

You’ve fallen cold and dead.

 

3
 

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
 

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
 

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
 

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
   

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
   

 

But I, with mournful tread,
     

 

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

 

 

"The Wound Dresser" | Questions | Highlight
 

1
 

 

An old man bending, I come, among new faces,
 

Years looking backward, resuming, in answer to children,
 

Come tell us, old man, as from young men and maidens that love me;
 

(Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war,

 

but soon my fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd and I resign'd myself,

 

To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead;)

 

Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances,
 

Of unsurpass’d heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was equally brave;)
 

Now be witness again—paint the mightiest armies of earth;
 

Of those armies so rapid, so wondrous, what saw you to tell us?
 

What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics,
 

Of hard-fought engagements, or sieges tremendous, what deepest remains?
 

2
 

O maidens and young men I love, and that love me,
 

What you ask of my days, those the strangest and sudden your talking recalls;
 

Soldier alert I arrive, after a long march, cover’d with sweat and dust;
 

In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush of successful charge;
 

Enter the captur’d works.... yet lo! like a swift-running river, they fade;
 

Pass and are gone, they fade—I dwell not on soldiers’ perils or soldiers’ joys;
 

(Both I remember well—many the hardships, few the joys, yet I was content.)
 

  
 

But in silence, in dreams’ projections,
 

While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on,
 

So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand,
 

With hinged knees returning, I enter the doors—(while for you up there,

Whoever you are, follow me without noise, and be of strong heart.)

3

Bearing the bandages, water and sponge,
 

Straight and swift to my wounded I go,
 

Where they lie on the ground, after the battle brought in;
 

Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground;
 

Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof’d hospital;
 

To the long rows of cots, up and down, each side, I return;
 

To each and all, one after another, I draw near—not one do I miss;
 

An attendant follows, holding a tray—he carries a refuse pail,
 

Soon to be fill’d with clotted rags and blood, emptied and fill’d again.
 

  
 

I onward go, I stop,
 

With hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds;
 

I am firm with each—the pangs are sharp, yet unavoidable;
 

One turns to me his appealing eyes—(poor boy! I never knew you,
 

Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you.)
 

  
 

On, on I go!—(open doors of time! open hospital doors!)
 

The crush’d head I dress, (poor crazed hand, tear not the bandage away;)
 

The neck of the cavalry-man, with the bullet through and through, I examine;
 

Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles hard;
 

(Come, sweet death! be persuaded, O beautiful death!
 

In mercy come quickly.)
 

  
 

From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand,
 

I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood;
 

Back on his pillow the soldier bends, with curv’d neck, and side-falling head;
 

His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the bloody stump,
 

And has not yet look’d on it.
 

  
 

I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep;
 

But a day or two more—for see, the frame all wasted already, and sinking,
 

And the yellow-blue countenance see.
 

  
 

I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet wound,
 

Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so offensive,
 

While the attendant stands behind aside me, holding the tray and pail.
 

  
 

I am faithful, I do not give out;
 

The fractur’d thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen,
 

These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my breast a fire, a burning flame.)
 

  
4
 

 

Thus in silence, in dreams’ projections,
 

Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals;
 

The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,
 

I sit by the restless all the dark night—some are so young;
 

Some suffer so much—I recall the experience sweet and sad;
 

(Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested,
 

Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)