Name: 草葉--第一冊--沃爾特-惠特曼的詩--完整的有聲讀物--詩歌。 (Leaves of Grass - Book 1 - Poems of Walt Whitman - FULL Audio Book - Poetry)
Uploaded: 2021-01-14T05:07:43.000Z
Duration: 30 min
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Come, said my soul, Such verses for my Body let us write, (for

Or, long, long hence, in other spheres, There to some group of mates the chants resuming,

(Tallying Earth's soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,)

Ever with pleas'd smile I may keep on, Ever and ever yet the verses owning--as, first,

I here and now Signing for Soul and Body, set to them my

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,

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful, for freest action form'd under the

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,

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,

Here are our thoughts, voyagers' thoughts, Here not the land, firm land, alone appears,

may then by them be said, The sky o'erarches here, we feel the undulating

deck beneath our feet, We feel the long pulsation, ebb and flow of

endless motion, The tones of unseen mystery, the vague and

vast suggestions of the briny world, the liquid-flowing syllables,

The perfume, the faint creaking of the cordage, the melancholy rhythm,

The boundless vista and the horizon far and dim are all here,

Then falter not O book, fulfil your destiny, You not a reminiscence of the land alone,

You too as a lone bark cleaving the ether, purpos'd I know not

whither, yet ever full of faith, Consort to every ship that sails, sail you!

Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it

here in every leaf;) Speed on my book! spread your white sails

my little bark athwart the imperious waves,

Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the boundless blue from me to every sea,

This song for mariners and all their ships.

I heard that you ask'd for something to prove this puzzle the New World,

And to define America, her athletic Democracy, Therefore I send you my poems that you behold

You who celebrate bygones, Who have explored the outward, the surfaces

of the races, the life that has exhibited itself,

Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates,

rulers and priests, I, habitan of the Alleghanies, treating of

him as he is in himself in his own rights,

Pressing the pulse of the life that has seldom exhibited itself,

(the great pride of man in himself,) Chanter of Personality, outlining what is

yet to be, I project the history of the future.

To thee old cause! Thou peerless, passionate, good cause,

Thou stern, remorseless, sweet idea, Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands,

After a strange sad war, great war for thee, (I think all war through time was really fought,

and ever will be really fought, for thee,)

These chants for thee, the eternal march of thee.

(A war O soldiers not for itself alone, Far, far more stood silently waiting behind,

Thou orb of many orbs! Thou seething principle! thou well-kept, latent

germ! thou centre! Around the idea of thee the war revolving,

With all its angry and vehement play of causes, (With vast results to come for thrice a thousand

years,) These recitatives for thee,--my book and the

war are one, Merged in its spirit I and mine, as the contest

hinged on thee, As a wheel on its axis turns, this book unwitting

I met a seer, Passing the hues and objects of the world,

The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,

Put in thy chants said he, No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments,

parts, put in, Put first before the rest as light for all

and entrance-song of all, That of eidolons.

Ever the dim beginning, Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle,

Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,)

Ever the mutable, Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering,

Ever the ateliers, the factories divine, Issuing eidolons.

Lo, I or you, Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown,

We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build,