Calamus

IN PATHS UNTRODDEN

IN paths untrodden，

In the growths by margins of pond-waters，

Escaped from the life that exhibits itself，

From all the standards hitherto publish'd， from the pleasures，

profits， conformities，

Which too long I was offering to feed my soul，

Clear to me now standards not yet publish'd， clear to me that

my soul，

That the soul of the man I speak for rejoices in comrades，

Here by myself away from the clank of the world，

Tallying and talk'd to here by tongues aromatic，

No longer abash'd， （for in this secluded spot I can respond as

I would not dare elsewhere，）

Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself， yet

contains all the rest，

Resolv'd to sing no songs to-day but those of manly attachment，

Projecting them along that substantial life，

Bequeathing hence types of athletic love，

Afternoon this delicious Ninth-month in my forty-first year，

I proceed for all who are or have been young men，

To tell the secret of my nights and days，

To celebrate the need of comrades.v请分开v

SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST

SCENTED herbage of my breast，

Leaves from you I glean， I write， to be perused best

afterwards，

Tomb- leaves， body-leaves growing up above me above death.

Perennial roots， tall leaves， O the winter shall not freeze you

delicate leaves，

Every year shall you bloom again， out from where you retired

you shall emerge again；

O I do not know whether many passing by will discover you

or inhale your faint odor， but I believe a few will；

O slender leaves！ O blossoms of my blood！ I permit you to

tell in your own way of the heart that is under you，

O I do not know what you mean there underneath yourselves，

you are not happiness，

You are often more bitter than I can bear， you burn and sting

me，

Yet you are beautiful to me you faint-tinged roots， you make

me think of death，

Death is beautiful from you， （what indeed is finally beautiful

except death and love？）

O I think it is not for life I am chanting here my chant of

lovers， I think it must be for death，

For how calm， how solemn it grows to ascend to the

atmosphere of lovers，

Death or life I am then indifferent， my soul declines to prefer，

（I am not sure but the high soul of lovers welcomes death

most，）

Indeed O death， I think now these leaves mean precisely the

same as you mean，

Grow up taller sweet leaves that I may see！ grow up out of

my breast！

Spring away from the conceal'd heart there！

Do not fold yourself so in your pink-tinged roots timid leaves！

Do not remain down there so ashamed， herbage of my breast！

Come I am determin'd to unbare this broad breast of mine， I

have long enough stifled and choked；

Emblematic and capricious blades I leave you， now you serve

me not，

I will say what I have to say by itself，

I will sound myself and comrades only， I will never again

utter a call only their call，

I will raise with it immortal reverberations through the States，

I will give an example to lovers to take permanent shape and

will through the States，

Through me shall the words be said to make death

exhilarating.

Give me your tone therefore O death， that I may accord with

it，

Give me yourself， for I see that you belong to me now above

all， and are folded inseparably together， you love and

death are，

Nor will I allow you to balk me any more with what I was

calling life，

For now it is convey'd to me that you are the purports

essential，

That you hide in these shifting forms of life， for reasons， and

that they are mainly for you，

That you beyond them come forth to remain， the real reality，

That behind the mask of materials you patiently wait， no

matter how long，

That you will one day perhaps take control of all，

That you will perhaps dissipate this entire show of appearance，

That may-be you are what it is all for， but it does not last so

very long，

But you will last very long.v请分开v

WHOEVER YOU ARE HOLDING ME NOW IN HAND

WHOEVER you are holding me now in hand，

Without one thing all will be useless，

I give you fair warning before you attempt me further，

I am not what you supposed， but far different.

Who is he that would become my follower？

Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections？