Six Songs on Poems of Walt Whitman

When I peruse the conquer'd fame of heroes 
          and the victories of mighty generals, I do not envy the generals,
Nor the President in his Presidency, nor the rich in his great house,
But when I hear of the brotherhood of lovers, how it was with them,
How together through life, through dangers, odium, unchanging, long and long,
Through youth and through middle and old age, 
          how unfaltering, how affectionate and faithful they were,
Then I am pensive—I hastily walk away fill'd with the bitterest envy.

Wild, wild the storm, and the sea high running,
Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering,
Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing,
Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing,
Out in the shadows there milk-white combs careering,
On beachy slush and sand spirts of snow fierce slanting,
Where through the murk the easterly death-wind breasting,
Through cutting swirl and spray watchful and firm advancing,
(That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal flaring?)
Slush and sand of the beach tireless till daylight wending,
Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting,
Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering,
A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting,
That savage trinity warily watching.

I dream'd in a dream I saw a city invincible to the attacks
  of the whole of the rest of the earth,
I dream'd that was the new City of Friends,
Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love -- it led the rest,
It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city,
And in all their looks and words.

The world below the brine, 
Forests at the bottom of the sea, the branches and leaves,
Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seeds, 
      the thick tangle, openings, and pink turf, 
Different colors, pale gray and green, purple, white, and gold, 
       the play of light through the water, 
Dumb swimmers there among the rocks, coral, 
      gluten, grass, rushes, and the aliment of the swimmers. 
Sluggish existences grazing there suspended, 
       or slowly crawling close to the bottom, 
The sperm-whale at the surface blowing air and spray, 
       or disporting with his flukes. 
The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle, 
     the hairy sea-leopard, and the sting-ray. 
Passions there, wars, pursuits, tribes, sight in those ocean-depths, 
breathing that thick-breathing air, as so many do. 
The change thence to the sight here, 
      and to the subtle air breathed by beings like us who walk this sphere. 
The change onward from ours to that of beings who walk other spheres. 

Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,)
Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles,
The rushing amorous contact high in space together,
The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel,
Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,
In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,
Till o'er the river pois'd, the twain yet one, a moment's lull,
A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing,
Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse flight,
She hers, he his, pursuing.

City of ships!
(O the black ships! O the fierce ships!
O the beautiful sharp-bow'd steam-ships and sail-ships!)
City of the world! (for all races are here,
All the lands of the earth make contributions here;)
City of the sea! city of hurried and glittering tides!
City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, whirling in and
      out with eddies and foam!
City of wharves and stores—city of tall facades of marble and iron!
Proud and passionate city—mettlesome, mad, extravagant city!
Spring up O city—not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself, warlike!
Fear not—submit to no models but your own O city!
Behold me—incarnate me as I have incarnated you!
I have rejected nothing you offer'd me—whom you adopted I have adopted,
Good or bad I never question you—I love all—I do not condemn any thing,
I chant and celebrate all that is yours—yet peace no more,
In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine,
War, red war is my song through your streets, O city!