Where now the seamew pipes, or dives The happy birds, that change their sky From land to land; and in my breast And buds, and blossoms like the rest. THE SHELL (From "Maud ") By Alfred Tennyson I EE what a lovely shell, With delicate spire and whorl, II What is it? a learned man III The tiny cell is forlorn, That made it stir on the shore. IV Slight, to be crush'd with a tap Here on the Breton strand! "I AM AN ACME OF THINGS I ACCOMPLISHED" (From "Walt Whitman") By Walt Whitman AM an acme of things accomplished, and I an encloser of things to be. My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs; On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps; All below duly travell'd, and still I mount and mount. Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me; I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist, And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon. Long I was hugg'd close long and long. Immense have been the preparations for me, Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me. Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen ; For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings; They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. Before I was born out of my mother, generations guided me. My embryo has never been torpid — nothing could overlay it. For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths, and deposited it with care. All forces have been steadily employ'd to complete and delight me ; Now on this spot I stand with my robust Soul. BELIEVE a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars, And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, of the wren, and the egg And the tree-toad is a chefd'œuvre for the highest, And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven, And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery, And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue, And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels, And I could come every afternoon of my life to look at the farmer's girl boiling her iron teakettle and baking short-cake. I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stucco'd with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, And call anything close again, when I desire it. In vain the speeding or shyness; In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach; In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones ; In vain objects stand leagues off, and assume manifold shapes; In vain the ocean settling in hollows, and the great monsters lying low; In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky; In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs ; In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods; In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Lab rador; I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff. |