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Last Drops

       Good-Bye My Fancy

       On, on the Same, Ye Jocund Twain!

       MY 71st Year

       Apparitions

       The Pallid Wreath

       An Ended Day

       Old Age's Ship & Crafty Death's

       To the Pending Year

       Shakspere-Bacon's Cipher

       Long, Long Hence

       Bravo, Paris Exposition!

       Interpolation Sounds

       To the Sun-Set Breeze

       Old Chants

       A Christmas Greeting

       Sounds of the Winter

       A Twilight Song

       When the Full-Grown Poet Came

       Osceola

       A Voice from Death

       A Persian Lesson

       The Commonplace

       "The Rounded Catalogue Divine Complete"

       Mirages

       L. of G.'s Purport

       The Unexpress'd

       Grand Is the Seen

       Unseen Buds

       Good-Bye My Fancy!

       Table of Contents

       Table of Contents

      One's-self I sing, a simple separate person,

       Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-Masse.

       Of physiology from top to toe I sing,

       Not physiognomy alone nor brain alone is worthy for the Muse, I say

       the Form complete is worthier far,

       The Female equally with the Male I sing.

       Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,

       Cheerful, for freest action form'd under the laws divine,

       The Modern Man I sing.

       Table of Contents

      As I ponder'd in silence,

       Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long,

       A Phantom arose before me with distrustful aspect,

       Terrible in beauty, age, and power,

       The genius of poets of old lands,

       As to me directing like flame its eyes,

       With finger pointing to many immortal songs,

       And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said,

       Know'st thou not there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards?

       And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles,

       The making of perfect soldiers.

       Be it so, then I answer'd,

       I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one than any,

       Waged in my book with varying fortune, with flight, advance

       and retreat, victory deferr'd and wavering,

       (Yet methinks certain, or as good as certain, at the last,) the

       field the world,

       For life and death, for the Body and for the eternal Soul,

       Lo, I too am come, chanting the chant of battles,

       I above all promote brave soldiers.

       Table of Contents

      In cabin'd ships at sea,

       The boundless blue on every side expanding,

       With whistling winds and music of the waves, the large imperious waves,

       Or some lone bark buoy'd on the dense marine,

       Where joyous full of faith, spreading white sails,

       She cleaves the ether mid the sparkle and the foam of day, or under

       many a star at night,

       By sailors young and old haply will I, a reminiscence of the land, be read,

       In full rapport at last.

       Here are our thoughts, voyagers' thoughts,

       Here not the land, firm land, alone appears, may

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