OUT OF THE CRADLE ENDLESSLY ROCKING Walt Whitman p. 1860 =========================================== Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle, Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wander'd alone, bareheaded, barefoot, Down from the shower'd halo, Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were alive, Out from the patches of briers and blackberries, From the memories of the bird that chanted to me, From your memories, sad brother, from the fitful risings and fallings I heard, From under that yellow half-moon late-risen and swollen as if with tears, From those beginning notes of yearning and love there in the mist, From the thousand responses of my heart never to cease, From the myriad thence-arous'd words, From the word stronger and more delicious than any, From such as now they start the scene revisiting, As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing, Borne hither, ere all eludes me, hurriedly, A man, yet by these tears a little boy again, Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves, I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter, Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them, A reminiscence sing. Once, Paumanok, When the lilac-scent was in the air and the Fifth-month grass was growing, Up this sea-shore in some briers, Two guests from Alabama, two together, And their nest, and four light-green eggs spotted with brown, And every day the he-bird to and fro near at hand, And every day the she-bird crouch'd on her nest, silent, with bright eyes, And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing them, Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating. _Shine!_shine!_shine!_ _Pour_down_your_warmth,_great_sun!_ _While_we_bask--we_two_together._ _Two_together!_ _Winds_blow_south,_or_winds_blow_north,_ _Day_come_white,_or_night_come_black,_ _Home,_or_rivers_and_mountains_from_home,_ _Singing_all_time,_minding_no_time,_ _While_we_two_keep_together._ Till of a sudden, May-be kill'd, unknown to her mate, One forenoon the she-bird crouch'd not on the nest, Nor return'd that afternoon, nor the next, Nor ever appear'd again. And thenceforward all summer in the sound of the sea, And at night under the full of the moon in calmer weather, Over the hoarse surging of the sea, Or flitting from brier to brier by day, I saw, I heard at intervals the remaining one, the he-bird, The solitary guest from Alabama. _Blow!_blow!_blow!_ _Blow_up_sea-winds_along_Paumanok's_shore!_ _I_wait_and_I_wait,_till_you_blow_my_mate_to_me._ Yes, when the stars glisten'd, All night long on the prong of a moss-scallop'd stake, Down, almost amid the slapping waves, Sat the lone singer wonderful causing tears. He call'd on his mate, He pour'd forth the meanings which I of all men know. Yes my brother I know; The rest might not, but I have treasur'd every note, For more than once dimly down to the beach gliding, Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows, Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts, The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, Listen'd long and long. Listen'd, to keep, to sing, now translating the notes, Following you, my brother. _Soothe!_soothe!_soothe!_ _Close_on_its_wave_soothes_the_wave_behind,_ _And_again_another_behind_embracing_and_lapping,_every_one_ _close,_ _But_my_love_soothes_not_me,_not_me._ _Low_hangs_the_moon,_it_rose_late,_ _It_is_lagging--O_I_think_it_is_heavy_with_love,_with_love._ _O_madly_the_sea_pushes_upon_the_land,_ _With_love,_with_love._ _O_night!_do_I_not_see_my_love_fluttering_out_among_the_ _breakers?_ _What_is_that_little_black_thing_I_see_there_in_the_white?_ _Loud!_loud!_loud!_ _Loud_I_call_to_you,_my_love!_ _High_and_clear_I_shoot_my_voice_over_the_waves,_ _Surely_you_must_know_who_is_here,_is_here,_ _You_must_know_who_I_am,_my_love._ _Low-hanging_moon!_ _What_is_that_dusky_spot_in_your_brown_yellow?_ _O_it_is_the_shape,_the_shape_of_my_mate!_ _O_moon,_do_not_keep_her_from_me_any_longer._ _Land!_land!_O_land!_ _Whichever_way_I_turn,_O_I_think_you_could_give_me_my_mate_ _back_again_if_you_only_would,_ _For_I_am_almost_sure_I_see_her_dimly_whichever_way_I_look._ _O_rising_stars!_ _Perhaps_the_one_I_want_so_much_will_rise,_will_rise_with_ _some_of_you._ _O_throat!_O_trembling_throat!_ _Sound_clearer_through_the_atmosphere!_ _Pierce_the_woods,_the_earth,_ _Somewhere_listening_to_catch_you_must_be_the_one_I_want._ _Shake_out_carols!_ _Solitary_here,_the_night's_carols!_ _Carols_of_lonesome_love!_death's_carols!_ _Carols_under_that_lagging,_yellow,_waning_moon!_ _O_under_that_moon_where_she_droops_almost_down_into_the_sea!_ _O_reckless_despairing_carols._ _But_soft!_sink_low!_ _Soft!_let_me_just_murmur,_ _And_do_you_wait_a_moment_you_husky-nois'd_sea,_ _For_somewhere_I_believe_I_heard_my_mate_responding_to_me,_ _So_faint--I_must_be_still,_be_still_to_listen,_ _But_not_altogether_still,_for_then_she_might_not_come_ _immediately_to_me._ _Hither_my_love!_ _Here_I_am!_here!_ _With_this_just-sustain'd_note_I_announce_myself_to_you,_ _This_gentle_call_is_for_you_my_love,_for_you._ _Do_not_be_decoy'd_elsewhere,_ _That_is_the_whistle_of_the_wind, it_is_not_my_voice,_ _That_is_the_fluttering,_the_fluttering_of_the_spray,_ _Those_are_the_shadows_of_leaves._ _O_darkness!_O_in_vain!_ _O_I_am_very_sick_and_sorrowful._ _O_brown_halo_in_the_sky_near_the_moon,_drooping_upon_the_sea!_ _O_troubled_reflection_in_the_sea!_ _O_throat!_O_throbbing_heart!_ _And_I_singing_uselessly,_uselessly_all_the_night._ _O_past!_O_life!_O_songs_of_joy!_ _In_the_air,_in_the_woods,_over_fields,_ _Loved!_loved!_loved!_loved!_loved!_ _But_my_love_no_more,_no_more_with_me!_ _We_two_together_no_more._ The aria sinking, All else continuing, the stars shining, The winds blowing, the notes of the bird continuous echoing, With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning, On the sands of Paumanok's shore, gray and rustling, The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost touching, The boy extatic, with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the atmosphere dallying, The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting, The aria's meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly depositing, The strange tears down the cheeks coursing, The colloquy there, the trio, each uttering, The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying, To the boy's soul's questions sullenly timing, some drown'd secret hissing, To the outsetting bard. Demon or bird! (said the boy's soul,) Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it really to me? For I, that was a child, my tongue's use sleeping, now I have heard you, Now in a moment I know what I am for, I awake, And already a thousand singers, a thousand songs, clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours, A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me, never to die. O you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me, O solitary me, listening, nevermore shall I cease perpetuating you, Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations, Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me, Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there in the night, By the sea under the yellow and sagging moon, The messenger there arous'd, the fire, the sweet hell within, The unknown want, the destiny of me. O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here somewhere;) O if I am to have so much, let me have more! A word then, (for I will conquer it,) The word final, superior to all, Subtle, sent up--what is it?--I listen; Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves? Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands? Whereto answering, the sea, Delaying not, hurrying not, Whisper'd me through the night, and very plainly before day-break, Lisp'd to me the low and delicious word death, And again death, death, death, death, Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my arous'd child's heart, But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet, Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over, Death, death, death, death, death. Which I do not forget, But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother, That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok's gray beach, With the thousand responsive songs at random, My own songs, awaked from that hour, And with them the key, the word up from the waves, The word of the sweetest song and all songs, That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet, (Or like some old crone rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet garments, bending aside,) The sea whisper'd me. ======== ========