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Walt Whitman - Now List to my Morning’s Romanza.

NOW list to my morning’s romanza—I tell the signs of the Answerer; 
To the cities and farms I sing, as they spread in the sunshine before me. 
A young man comes to me bearing a message from his brother; 
How shall the young man know the whether and when of his brother? 
Tell him to send me the signs.
And I stand before the young man face to face, and take his right hand in my left hand,
    and his
	hand in my right hand, 
And I answer for his brother, and for men, and I answer for him that answers for all, and
Him all wait for—him all yield up to—his word is decisive and final, 
Him they accept, in him lave, in him perceive themselves, as amid light, 
Him they immerse, and he immerses them.
Beautiful women, the haughtiest nations, laws, the landscape, people, animals, 
The profound earth and its attributes, and the unquiet ocean, (so tell I my morning’s
All enjoyments and properties, and money, and whatever money will buy, 
The best farms—others toiling and planting, and he unavoidably reaps, 
The noblest and costliest cities—others grading and building, and he domiciles there;
Nothing for any one, but what is for him—near and far are for him, the ships in the
The perpetual shows and marches on land, are for him, if they are for any body. 
He puts things in their attitudes; 
He puts to-day out of himself, with plasticity and love; 
He places his own city, times, reminiscences, parents, brothers and sisters, associations,
	employment, politics, so that the rest never shame them afterward, nor assume to command
He is the answerer: 
What can be answer’d he answers—and what cannot be answer’d, he shows how
	be answer’d. 
A man is a summons and challenge; 
(It is vain to skulk—Do you hear that mocking and laughter? Do you hear the ironical
Books, friendships, philosophers, priests, action, pleasure, pride, beat up and down,
	give satisfaction;
He indicates the satisfaction, and indicates them that beat up and down also. 
Whichever the sex, whatever the season or place, he may go freshly and gently and safely,
	day or
	by night; 
He has the pass-key of hearts—to him the response of the prying of hands on the
His welcome is universal—the flow of beauty is not more welcome or universal than he
The person he favors by day, or sleeps with at night, is blessed.
Every existence has its idiom—everything has an idiom and tongue; 
He resolves all tongues into his own, and bestows it upon men, and any man translates, and
	translates himself also; 
One part does not counteract another part—he is the joiner—he sees how they
He says indifferently and alike, How are you, friend? to the President at his
And he says, Good-day, my brother! to Cudge that hoes in the sugar-field,
And both understand him, and know that his speech is right. 
He walks with perfect ease in the Capitol, 
He walks among the Congress, and one Representative says to another, Here is our equal,
	and new. 
Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic, 
And the soldiers suppose him to be a soldier, and the sailors that he has follow’d
And the authors take him for an author, and the artists for an artist, 
And the laborers perceive he could labor with them and love them; 
No matter what the work is, that he is the one to follow it, or has follow’d it, 
No matter what the nation, that he might find his brothers and sisters there. 
The English believe he comes of their English stock,
A Jew to the Jew he seems—a Russ to the Russ—usual and near, removed from none. 
Whoever he looks at in the traveler’s coffee-house claims him, 
The Italian or Frenchman is sure, and the German is sure, and the Spaniard is sure, and
	Cuban is sure; 
The engineer, the deck-hand on the great lakes, or on the Mississippi, or St. Lawrence, or
	Sacramento, or Hudson, or Paumanok Sound, claims him. 
The gentleman of perfect blood acknowledges his perfect blood;
The insulter, the prostitute, the angry person, the beggar, see themselves in the ways of
	him—he strangely transmutes them, 
They are not vile any more—they hardly know themselves, they are so grown.

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Added: Feb 7 2004 | Viewed: 6052 times | Comments and analysis of Now List to my Morning’s Romanza. by Walt Whitman Comments (2)

Now List to my Morning’s Romanza. - Comments and Information

Poet: Walt Whitman
Poem: 1. Now List to my Morning’s Romanza.
Volume: Leaves of Grass
- 5. The Answerer
Year: Published/Written in 1900
Poem of the Day: Oct 21 2009

Comment 2 of 2, added on March 2nd, 2013 at 7:05 PM.

helike hola!!!Gracias/obrigado por mais esta descoberta! O meu Paint Shop Pro reoechnce o formato *.gif mas ne3o consegue abrir a divertida imagem da capa. Seria possedvel disponibilizares a imagem noutro formato e por outra via?ObrigadoLi uns artigos recentes acerca do actual processo de balcanizae7e3o da Boledvia e e9 preocupante! Tambe9m li acerca de anarquistas presos na fronteira do Chile com a Argentina E, claro, a crise alimentar este1 na ordem do dia! Abrae7oFrancisco

Madelyn from Grenada
Comment 1 of 2, added on February 12th, 2012 at 12:32 PM.

6I9Fgp Hello! Read the pages not for the first day. Yes, the connection speed is not good. How can I subscribe? I would like to read you in the future!....

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