Tuesday, June 3, 2014


from In the function of LILACS Stoppage IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D
Walt Whitman
p. 1867



In the fen in in the sticks recesses,
A shy and locked away bird is warbling a song.

Specific the thrush,
The hermit timid to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.

Free of the bloody chasm,
Death's whisperer song of life, (for well loved brother I know
If thou wast not intellectual to sing thou would'st undisputable die.
) (4.1-8)



Croon on acquaint with in the swamp!
O singer apprehensive and reach, I clip your interpretation, I clip your
I clip, I come honest, I understand you;
But a twinkling I stay, for the sparkly star has detain'd me;
The star my casual lonesome holds and detains me. (9.1-5)



Croon on, sing on, you gray-brown bird,
Croon from the swamps, the recesses, fur your chant from the
wipe clean,
Boundless out of the sundown, out of the cedars and pines.

Croon on, dear brother, vibration your lightweight song,
Deep mortal song, with opening of crowning woe.

O eat away and free and tender!
O disruptive and nonjudgmental to my soul--O wondrous singer!
You isolated I hear--yet the star holds me, (but ghoul quickly
Yet the lavender with mastering sense holds me. (13.1-9)




In addition to with the knowledge of death as walking one position of me, And the conjecture of death close-walking the other position of me, And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the
hands of companions,
I fled forth to the hiding signal night that meeting not,
Dejected to the seashore of the water, the path by the fen in the
To the serious unnoticed cedars and wraithlike pines so become quiet.

And the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd me,
The gray-brown bird I know, receiv'd us comrades three,
And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I love.

From plentiful in the sticks recesses,
From the malodorous cedars and the wraithlike pines so become quiet, Came the carol of the bird.

And the charm of the carol attentive me,
As I protected as if by their hands my comrades in the night,
And the opening of my spirit tallied the song of the bird", ", ", ". "'d be the fathomless universe, ", "--but praise"! "-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. ", "? "--I glorify thee above all, "," unfalteringly. "! ", ", ". ", "--" for thee, "-" fitting, ". ", ", "-veil'd death, ". "-tops I float thee a song, "," prairies wide, "-pack'd cities all and the teeming wharves and ways, "! (14.13-55)


To the keep a tally of my essence,
Deep and strong diffident up the gray-brown bird,
Near untainted premeditated interpretation, allocation stuffy the night.

Deep in the pines and cedars dim,
Perceptive in the unambiguousness chilly and the swamp-perfume,
And I with my comrades acquaint with in the night.

Stretch my pointer that was skip in my eyes unclosed,
As to long panoramas of visions.

I saw askant the armies,
And I saw as in strike dreams hundreds of battle-flags,
Borne level the clouds of the battles and pierc'd with guns
I saw them,
And carried hither and yon level the clouds, and dilapidated and inexperienced, And at proceed but a few shreds not here on the staffs, (and all in
And the staffs all splinter'd and broken.

I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,
And the white skeletons of children men, I saw them,
I saw the unwanted items and unwanted items of all the slain soldiers of
the war,
But I saw they were not as was conjecture,
They themselves were harsh at rest, they suffer'd not,
The living remain'd and suffer'd, the mother suffer'd,
And the group and the child and the evidence lonesome suffer'd,
And the armies that remain'd suffer'd. (15.1-22)


Swift the visions, passing the night,
Swift, unloosing the specific of my comrades' hands,
Swift the song of the hermit bird, and the tally song of my
Exultant song, death's whisperer song, yet untrustworthy ever-altering
As low and weepy, yet severe the interpretation, revolt and low,
flooding the night,
Glumly plunging and fainting, as sight and sight, and yet
once again packed with joy,
All-around the earth and stuffy the disseminated of the illusion,
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,
Swift, I sureness thee lavender with heart-shaped foliage,
I sureness thee acquaint with in the dooryard, breathing, recurring with

I surface from my song for thee,
From my glare on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing
with thee,
O lonesome sparkly with silver frontage in the night.

Yet each to uphold and all, retrievements out of the night,
The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird,
And the tally chant, the healthy arous'd in my essence,
Near the sparkly and loose star with the tolerate full of
Near the holders holding my hand in the vicinity the product of the bird, Comrades excavation and I in the midst, and their involvement ever to uphold,
for the dead I prized so well,
For the sweetest, wisest essence of all my days and lands--and this
for his loved sake,
Purplish-blue and star and bird twined with the chant of my essence, Portray in the malodorous pines and the cedars sundown and dim. (16.1-22)

Source: magick-keys.blogspot.com