THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH

There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain
     part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.

The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white and
     red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,

And the Third-month lambs and the sow's pink-faint litter,
     and the mare's foal and the cow's calf,
And the noisy brood of the barnyard or by the mire of the
     pond-side,
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there,
     and the beautiful curious liquid,
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads, all became
     part of him.

The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became
     part of him,
Winter-grain sprouts and those of the light-yellow corn, and
     the esculent roots of the garden,
And the apple-trees cover'd with blossoms and the fruit afterward,
     and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road,
And the old drunkard staggering home from the outhouse of
     the tavern whence he had lately risen,
And the schoolmistress that pass'd on her way to the school,
And the friendly boys that pass'd, and the quarrelsome boys,
And the tidy and fresh-cheek'd girls, and the barefoot negro
     boy and girl,
And all the changes of city and country wherever he went.

His own parents, he that had father'd him and she that had
     conceiv'd him in her womb and birth'd him,
They gave this child more of themselves than that,
They gave him afterward every day, they became part of him,

The mother at home quietly placing the dishes on the supper-
    table,
The mother with mild words, clean her cap and gown,
     a wholesome odor falling off her person and clothes as she
     walks by,
The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger'd,
     unjust,
The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty
     lure,
The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture,
     the yearning and swelling heart,

Affection that will not be gainsay'd, the sense of what is real,
     the thought if after all it should prove unreal,
The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time, the
     curious whether and how,
Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and
     specks?
Men and women crowding fast in the streets, if they are not
     flashes and specks what are they?
The streets themselves and the fa\de\cades of houses, and goods
     in the windows,
Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank'd wharves, the huge crossing at
     the ferries,
The village on the highland seen from afar at sunset, the
     river between,
Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and
     gables of white or brown two miles off,
The schooner near by sleepily dropping down the tide, the
     little boat slack-tow'd astern,
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint
     away solitary by itself, the spread of purity it lies
    motionless in,
The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt
     marsh and shore mud,
These became part of that child who went forth every day,
     and who now goes, and will always go forth every
     day.

1855 1871

OLD IRELAND

Far hence amid an isle of wondrous beauty,
Crouching over a grave an ancient sorrowful mother,
Once a queen, now lean and tatter'd seated on the ground,
Her old white hair drooping dishevel'd round her shoulders,
At her feet fallen an unused royal harp,
Long silent, she too long silent, mourning her shrouded hope
     and heir,
Of all the earth her heart most full of sorrow because most
     full of love.

Yet a word ancient mother,
You need crouch there no longer on the cold ground with
     forehead between your knees,
O you need not sit there veil'd in your old white hair so
     dishevel'd,
For know you the one you mourn is not in that grave,
It was an illusion, the son you love was not really dead,
The Lord is not dead,