SONG OF MYSELF. ( Leaves of Grass ()) - The Walt Whitman Archive
Asleep in Jesus, happy sleep, To await her friends all to meet, With her savior to all she met, She was the darling family pet; Her life so full of joy and song, Her body has gone back To its mother dust, And her spirit to God In whom we trust. Click here to get an answer to your question ✍ Holden changes the wording of the song from “If a body meet a body coming through the rye. "Comin' Thro' the Rye" is a poem written in by Robert Burns (–96). The words are put to the melody of the Scottish Minstrel Common' Frae The There are many different versions of the song. . the protagonist, misinterprets a part of this poem to mean "if a body catch a body" rather than "if a body meet a body.
Dana is the author of Hymn No. According to Kimball, these sayings became by-words among the soldiers and, in a communal effort—similar in many ways to the spontaneous composition of camp meeting songs described above—were gradually put to the tune of "Say, Brothers": Finally ditties composed of the most nonsensical, doggerel rhymes, setting for the fact that John Brown was dead and that his body was undergoing the process of dissolution, began to be sung to the music of the hymn above given.
These ditties underwent various ramifications, until eventually the lines were reached,— John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave, His soul's marching on. He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord, His soul's marching on. These lines seemed to give general satisfaction, the idea that Brown's soul was "marching on" receiving recognition at once as having a germ of inspiration in it.
They were sung over and over again with a great deal of gusto, the "Glory hallelujah" chorus being always added. The lyrics were soon prepared for publication by members of the battalion, together with publisher C.
They selected and polished verses they felt appropriate, and may even have enlisted the services of a local poet to help polish and create verses.
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De Marsan, no date. Allen summarizes Steffe's own story of composing the tune: Steffe finally told the whole story of the writing of the song. They used it as a song of welcome for the visiting Liberty Fire Company of Baltimore. Thomas Brigham Bishop[ edit ] Maine songwriter, musician, band leader, and Union soldier Thomas Brigham Bishop — has also been credited as the originator of the John Brown Song, notably by promoter James MacIntyre in a book and interview.
Jerome, and others as the tune's composer. Randall wrote, "Multiple authors, most of them anonymous, borrowed the tune from "Say, Brothers", gave it new texts, and used it to hail Brown's terrorist war to abolish the centuries-old practice of slavery in America.
Some of those who claimed to have composed the tune may have had a hand in creating and publishing some of the perfectly legitimate variants or alternate texts that used the tune—but all certainly wanted a share of the fame that came with being known as the author of this very well known tune. Creation of other versions[ edit ] Once "John Brown's Body" became popular as a marching song, more literary versions of the "John Brown" lyrics were created for the "John Brown" tune.
The " Song of the First of Arkansas " was written, or written down, by Capt. Lindley Miller in although typical of the confusion of authorship among the variants and versions a similar text with the title "The Valiant Soldiers" is also attributed to Sojourner Truth. Other versions include the "Marching song of the 4th Battalion of Rifles, 13th Reg.
The song became an anthem of the Industrial Workers of the World and all unions that sought more than workplace concessions, but a world run by those who labor. Sailors are known to have adapted "John Brown's Body" into a sea shanty - specifically, into a " Capstan Shanty", used during anchor-raising.
The Burning of the School is a well-known parody. It is a common football chant, generally called Glory Glory. A version about a baby with a cold is often sung by school-age children. This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.
What is a man anyhow? All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me.
I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth. Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, con- formity goes to the fourth-remov'd, I wear my hat as I please indoors or out. Why should I pray? Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel'd with doctors and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.
In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them. I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means. I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass, I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.
I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood, I see that the elementary laws never apologize, I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all. I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content. One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is my- self, And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.
My foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time. I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.
I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development. Have you outstript the rest? It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on.
I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night. Night of south winds—night of the large few stars!
Still nodding night—mad naked summer night. Smile O voluptuous cool-breath'd earth! Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees! Earth of departed sunset—earth of the mountains misty-topt! Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue! Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river! Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!
Far-swooping elbow'd earth—rich apple-blossom'd earth! Smile, for your lover comes. Prodigal, you have given me love—therefore I to you give love! O unspeakable passionate love. I resign myself to you also—I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked inviting fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land, Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse, Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you.
Sea of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases. Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms. I am he attesting sympathy, Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them?
I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also.
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What blurt is this about virtue and about vice? Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy? Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified? I find one side a balance and the antipodal side a balance, Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start.
This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such a wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.
Endless unfolding of words of ages! And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time abso- lutely.
It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing.
Hurrah for positive science! Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches, These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas.
- John Brown's Body
- Comin' Thro' the Rye
This is the geologist, this works with the scalpel, and this is a mathematician. Gentlemen, to you the first honors always! Your facts are useful, and yet they are not my dwelling, I but enter by them to an area of my dwelling.
John Brown's Body - Wikipedia
Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding, No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them, No more modest than immodest.
Unscrew the locks from the doors! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs! Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.
Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the cur- rent and index. I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy, By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their coun- terpart of on the same terms. Through me many long dumb voices, Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves, Voices of the diseas'd and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs, Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff, And of the rights of them the others are down upon, Of the deform'd, trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.
Through me forbidden voices, Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil'd and I remove the veil, Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur'd. I do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it, Translucent mould of me it shall be you! Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you! Firm masculine colter it shall be you!
Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you! You my rich blood! Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you! My brain it shall be your occult convolutions! Root of wash'd sweet-flag!
Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you! Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you! Sun so generous it shall be you! Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you! You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you!
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Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you! Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my winding paths, it shall be you!
Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever touch'd, it shall be you. I dote on myself, there is that lot of me and all so luscious, Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy, I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, Nor the cause of the friendship I emit, nor the cause of the friend- ship I take again. That I walk up my stoop, I pause to consider if it really be, A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the meta- physics of books.
The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate.