Anniversary

wedding-anniversary

According to WordPress, this is the fifth anniversary of blogging.  I’ve been taking a bit of break the last couple months, but hope to get back to work soon.  Thanks to all of you who have been readers and visitors, and I wish a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and great holiday season to all!

 

Daily Whitman

charters_aboard_super_yacht_HANDEM_1

BOOKXXXV. GOOD-BYE MY FANCY

Sail out for Good, Eidolon Yacht!

  Heave the anchor short!
  Raise main-sail and jib—steer forth,
  O little white-hull'd sloop, now speed on really deep waters,
  (I will not call it our concluding voyage,
  But outset and sure entrance to the truest, best, maturest;)
  Depart, depart from solid earth—no more returning to these shores,
  Now on for aye our infinite free venture wending,
  Spurning all yet tried ports, seas, hawsers, densities, gravitation,
  Sail out for good, eidolon yacht of me!

 

Daily Whitman

after-dinner-entertainment

After the Supper and Talk

  After the supper and talk—after the day is done,
  As a friend from friends his final withdrawal prolonging,
  Good-bye and Good-bye with emotional lips repeating,
  (So hard for his hand to release those hands—no more will they meet,
  No more for communion of sorrow and joy, of old and young,
  A far-stretching journey awaits him, to return no more,)
  Shunning, postponing severance—seeking to ward off the last word
      ever so little,
  E'en at the exit-door turning—charges superfluous calling back—
      e'en as he descends the steps,
  Something to eke out a minute additional—shadows of nightfall deepening,
  Farewells, messages lessening—dimmer the forthgoer's visage and form,
  Soon to be lost for aye in the darkness—loth, O so loth to depart!
  Garrulous to the very last.

 

 

Daily Whitman

Old-Age

Old Age’s Lambent Peaks

  The touch of flame—the illuminating fire—the loftiest look at last,
  O'er city, passion, sea—o'er prairie, mountain, wood—the earth itself,
  The airy, different, changing hues of all, in failing twilight,
  Objects and groups, bearings, faces, reminiscences;
  The calmer sight—the golden setting, clear and broad:
  So much i' the atmosphere, the points of view, the situations whence
      we scan,
  Bro't out by them alone—so much (perhaps the best) unreck'd before;
  The lights indeed from them—old age's lambent peaks.

 

 

Daily Whitman

AA034249

An Evening Lull

  After a week of physical anguish,
  Unrest and pain, and feverish heat,
  Toward the ending day a calm and lull comes on,
  Three hours of peace and soothing rest of brain.

 

 

Daily Whitman

walking-away_2

Now Precedent Songs, Farewell

  Now precedent songs, farewell—by every name farewell,
  (Trains of a staggering line in many a strange procession, waggons,
  From ups and downs—with intervals—from elder years, mid-age, or youth,)
  "In Cabin'd Ships, or Thee Old Cause or Poets to Come
  Or Paumanok, Song of Myself, Calamus, or Adam,
  Or Beat! Beat! Drums! or To the Leaven'd Soil they Trod,
  Or Captain! My Captain! Kosmos, Quicksand Years, or Thoughts,
  Thou Mother with thy Equal Brood," and many, many more unspecified,
  From fibre heart of mine—from throat and tongue—(My life's hot
      pulsing blood,
  The personal urge and form for me—not merely paper, automatic type
      and ink,)
  Each song of mine—each utterance in the past—having its long, long
      history,
  Of life or death, or soldier's wound, of country's loss or safety,
  (O heaven! what flash and started endless train of all! compared
      indeed to that!
  What wretched shred e'en at the best of all!)

 

 

Daily Whitman

30-ships2-AYusuf

The Dismantled Ship

  In some unused lagoon, some nameless bay,
  On sluggish, lonesome waters, anchor'd near the shore,
  An old, dismasted, gray and batter'd ship, disabled, done,
  After free voyages to all the seas of earth, haul'd up at last and
      hawser'd tight,
  Lies rusting, mouldering.

 

 

Daily Whitman

lotr-rotk-beacons

As the Greek’s Signal Flame

  As the Greek's signal flame, by antique records told,
  Rose from the hill-top, like applause and glory,
  Welcoming in fame some special veteran, hero,
  With rosy tinge reddening the land he'd served,
  So I aloft from Mannahatta's ship-fringed shore,
  Lift high a kindled brand for thee, Old Poet.

 

 

Daily Whitman

Day-of-Mourn-01

The Dead Emperor

  To-day, with bending head and eyes, thou, too, Columbia,
  Less for the mighty crown laid low in sorrow—less for the Emperor,
  Thy true condolence breathest, sendest out o'er many a salt sea mile,
  Mourning a good old man—a faithful shepherd, patriot.

 

 

Daily Whitman

american-beech-trees-04012013-banshee-reeks-c-jim-clark_1

Not Meagre, Latent Boughs Alone

  Not meagre, latent boughs alone, O songs! (scaly and bare, like
      eagles' talons,)
  But haply for some sunny day (who knows?) some future spring, some
      summer—bursting forth,
  To verdant leaves, or sheltering shade—to nourishing fruit,
  Apples and grapes—the stalwart limbs of trees emerging—the fresh,
      free, open air,
  And love and faith, like scented roses blooming.

 

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