Song Of The Open Road / Song Of Myself

Allons! whoever you are, come travel with me
Travelling with me, you find what never tires

The earth never tires; the earth is rude
Silent, incomprehensible at first
Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first
Be not discouraged; keep on, there are divine things well enveloped
I swear to you there are divine things
More beautiful than words can tell

Allons! we must not stop here
However sweet these laid-up stores, however
Convenient this dwelling, we cannot remain here
However sheltered this port, and however
Calm these waters, we must not anchor here
However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us
We are permitted to receive it but a little while

I concentrate toward them that are nigh
I wait on the door-slab. Who has done his day's work?
Who will soonest be through with his supper?
Who wishes to walk with me?
Will you speak before I am gone?
Will you prove already too late?

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me
He complains of my gab and my loitering
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world

The last scud of day holds back for me
It flings my likeness after the rest
And true as any on the shadow'd wilds
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the run-away sun
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags
I bequeath myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love
If you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles
You will hardly know who I am, or what I mean
But I shall be good health to you, nevertheless
And filter and fibre your blood
Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged
Missing me one place, search another
I stop somewhere, waiting for you