II

Each is not for its own sake,
I say the whole earth and all the stars in the sky
are for religion's sake.

III

In this broad earth of ours,
Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,
Enclosed and safe within its central heart,
Nestles the seed perfection.
By every life a share or more or less,
None born but it is born, conceal'd or unconceal'd the seed is waiting.

IV

Do you not see O my brothers and sisters?
It is not chaos or death--it is form, union, plan--it is
eternal life--it is Happiness.

V

The song is to the singer, and comes back most to him,
The love is to the lover, and comes back most to him--it cannot fail.

VI

I see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-beloved, saying to the
people _Do not weep for me,
This is not my true country, I have lived banish'd from my true
country, I now go back there,
I return to the celestial sphere where every one goes in his turn._

* * * * *

This is an attempt, incomplete but fairly representative as to
sources, to trace the changing view during half a century of Leaves of
Grass and its author.

V

Sonnets and apostrophes in large number addressed to Walt Whitman
during the later years of his life, and since his passing away, have
appeared in fugitive form in widely separated sources. A selection of
these may prove of interest by reason of the names attached, as well
as because of the subject:

"The good gray poet" gone! Brave hopeful Walt!
He might not be a singer without fault,
And his large rough-hewn rhythm did not chime
With dulcet daintiness of time and rhyme.
He was no neater than wide Nature's wild,
More metrical than sea winds. Culture's child,
Lapped in luxurious laws of line and lilt,
Shrank from him shuddering, who was roughly built
As cyclopean temples. Yet there rang
True music through his rhapsodies, as he sang
Of brotherhood, and freedom, love and hope,
With strong, wide sympathy which dared to cope
With all life's phases, and call nought unclean.
Whilst hearts are generous, and whilst woods are green,
He shall find hearers, who in a slack time
Of puny bards and pessimistic rhyme,
Dared to bid men adventure and rejoice.
His "yawp barbaric"