Page:Leaves of Grass (1860).djvu/168

Always these compact lands—lands tied at the hips
with the belt stringing the huge oval lakes;
Always the West, with strong native persons—the
increasing density there—the habitans, friendly,
threatening, ironical, scorning invaders;
All sights, South, North, East—all deeds, promiscuously
done at all times,
All characters, movements, growths—a few noticed,
myriads unnoticed,
Through Mannahatta's streets I walking, these things
gathering;
On interior rivers, by night, in the glare of pine
knots, steamboats wooding up;
Sunlight by day on the valley of the Susquehanna,
and on the valleys of the Potomac and Rappahannock,
and the valleys of the Roanoke and
Delaware;
In their northerly wilds beasts of prey haunting the
Adirondacks, the hills—or lapping the Saginaw
waters to drink;
In a lonesome inlet, a sheldrake, lost from the flock,
sitting on the water, rocking silently;
In farmers' barns, oxen in the stable, their harvest
labor done—they rest standing—they are too
tired;
Afar on arctic ice, the she-walrus lying drowsily,
while her cubs play around;
The hawk sailing where men have not yet sailed—
the farthest polar sea, ripply, crystalline, open,
beyond the floes;
White drift spooning ahead, where the ship in the
tempest dashes;
On solid land, what is done in cities, as the bells all
strike midnight together;