Home ⇒ 📌Walt Whitman ⇒ A Riddle Song
A Riddle Song
THAT which eludes this verse and any verse,
Unheard by sharpest ear, unform’d in clearest eye or cunningest mind,
Nor lore nor fame, nor happiness nor wealth,
And yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world incessantly,
Which you and I and all pursuing ever ever miss,
Open but still a secret, the real of the real, an illusion,
Costless, vouchsafed to each, yet never man the owner,
Which poets vainly seek to put in rhyme, historians in prose,
Which sculptor never chisel’d yet, nor painter painted,
Which vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter’d,
Invoking here and now I challenge for my song.
Indifferently, ‘mid public, private haunts, in solitude,
Behind the mountain and the wood,
Companion of the city’s busiest streets, through the assemblage,
It and its radiations constantly glide.
In looks of fair unconscious babes,
Or
Or show of breaking dawn or stars by night,
As some dissolving delicate film of dreams,
Hiding yet lingering.
Two little breaths of words comprising it.
Two words, yet all from first to last comprised in it.
How ardently for it!
How many ships have sail’d and sunk for it!
How many travelers started from their homes and ne’er return’d!
How much of genius boldly staked and lost for it!
What countless stores of beauty, love, ventur’d for it!
How all superbest deeds since Time began are traceable to it-and shall be to the end!
How all heroic martyrdoms to it!
How, justified by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth!
How the bright fascinating lambent flames of it, in every age and land, have drawn
men’s
eyes,
Rich as a sunset on the Norway coast, the sky, the islands, and the cliffs,
Or midnight’s silent glowing northern lights unreachable.
Haply God’s riddle it, so vague and yet so certain,
The soul for it, and all the visible universe for it,
And heaven at last for it.
(2 votes, average: 2.50 out of 5)Related poetry:
- The Riddle Shall I love God for causing me to be? I was mere utterance; shall these words love me? Yet when I caused His work to jar and stammer, And one free subject loosened all His grammar, I love Him that He did not in a rage Once and forever rule me off the page, But, […]...
- Metonymy as an Approach to a Real World Whether what we sense of this world Is the what of this world only, or the what Of which of several possible worlds which what? something of what we sense May be true, may be the world, what it is, what we sense. For the rest, a truce is possible, the tolerance Of travelers, eating […]...
- Santa Fe In Winter The city is closing for the night. Stores draw their blinds one by one, And it’s dark again, save for the dim Infrequent streetlight bending at the neck Like a weighted stem. Years have built The city in layers: balustrades filled in With brick, adobe reinforced with steel, And the rounded arches smoothed With white […]...
- His Legacy This is a true poem about a very special boy whose short life brought so much love and beauty to the world. It is dedicated to all the special children who bless our lives for only a short time but whose priceless gifts last forever. At an early age he started to Create beauty. The […]...
- Song How old may Phyllis be, you ask, Whose beauty thus all hearts engages? To answer is no easy task; For she has really two ages. Stiff in brocard, and pinch’d in stays, Her patches, paint, and jewels on; All day let envy view her face; And Phyllis is but twenty-one. Paint, patches, jeweTHE merchant, to […]...
- Smile, Smile, Smile Head to limp head, the sunk-eyed wounded scanned Yesterday’s Mail; the casualties (typed small) And (large) Vast Booty from our Latest Haul. Also, they read of Cheap Homes, not yet planned; For, said the paper, “When this war is done The men’s first instinct will be making homes. Meanwhile their foremost need is aerodromes, It […]...
- Riddle Where far in forest I am laid, In a place ringed around by stones, Look for no melancholy shade, And have no thoughts of buried bones; For I am bodiless and bright, And fill this glade with sudden glow; The leaves are washed in under-light; Shade lies upon the boughs like snow....
- Edmonton, thy cemetery Edmonton, thy cemetery In which I love to tread Has roused in me a dreary thought For all the countless dead, Ah me, the countless dead. Yet I believe that one is one And shall for ever be, And while I hold to this belief I walk, oh cemetery, Thy footpaths happily. And I believe […]...
- The Riddle of the World Know then thyself, presume not God to scan The proper study of Mankind is Man. Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A Being darkly wise, and rudely great: With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side, With too much weakness for the Stoic’s pride, He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest; […]...
- Genius Genius, like gold and precious stones, Is chiefly prized because of its rarity. Geniuses are people who dash of weird, wild, Incomprehensible poems with astonishing facility, And get booming drunk and sleep in the gutter. Genius elevates its possessor to ineffable spheres Far above the vulgar world and fills his soul With regal contempt for […]...
- A Riddle: On A Kiss What thing is that, nor felt nor seene Till it bee given? a present for a Queene: A fine conceite to give and take the like: The giver yet is farther for to seeke; The taker doth possesse nothing the more, The giver hee hath nothing lesse in store: And given once that nature hath […]...
- The Frost-King – Song 1 We are sending you, dear flowers Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not weep O’er the cold graves where you lie; But you go to bring them fadeless life In the bright homes where they dwell, And you softly smile that’t is so, As we sadly sing farewell. O plead with gentle […]...
- Two Rivulets TWO Rivulets side by side, Two blended, parallel, strolling tides, Companions, travelers, gossiping as they journey. For the Eternal Ocean bound, These ripples, passing surges, streams of Death and Life, Object and Subject hurrying, whirling by, The Real and Ideal, Alternate ebb and flow the Days and Nights, (Strands of a Trio twining, Present, Future, […]...
- Song of the Moon The moonlight breaks upon the city’s domes, And falls along cemented steel and stone, Upon the grayness of a million homes, Lugubrious in unchanging monotone. Upon the clothes behind the tenement, That hang like ghosts suspended from the lines, Linking each flat to each indifferent, Incongruous and strange the moonlight shines. There is no magic […]...
- The Gardener LXIX: I Hunt for the Golden Stag I hunt for the golden stag. You may smile, my friends, but I Pursue the vision that eludes me. I run across hills and dales, I wander Through nameless lands, because I am Hunting for the golden stag. You come and buy in the market And go back to your homes laden with Goods, but […]...
- Lo! Victress on the Peaks LO! Victress on the peaks! Where thou, with mighty brow, regarding the world, (The world, O Libertad, that vainly conspired against thee;) Out of its countless beleaguering toils, after thwarting them all; Dominant, with the dazzling sun around thee, Flauntest now unharm’d, in immortal soundness and bloom-lo! in these hours supreme, No poem proud, I, […]...
- The Wandering Bard What life like that of the bard can be The wandering bard, who roams as free As the mountain lark that o’er him sings, And, like that lark a music brings, Within him, where’er he comes or goes A fount that for ever flows! The world’s to him like some playground, Where fairies dance their […]...
- The Crowd At The Ball Game The crowd at the ball game Is moved uniformly By a spirit of uselessness Which delights them – All the exciting detail Of the chase And the escape, the error The flash of genius – All to no end save beauty The eternal – So in detail they, the crowd, Are beautiful For this To […]...
- Dream Song 7: 'The Prisoner of Shark Island' with Paul Muni Henry is old, old; for Henry remembers Mr Deeds’ tuba, & the Cameo, & the race in Ben Hur, —The Lost World, with sound, & The Man from Blankey’s, which he did not dig, Nor did he understand one caption of, Bewildered Henry, while the Big Ones laughed. Now Henry is unmistakably a Big One. […]...
- A Song of Enchantment A song of Enchantment I sang me there, In a green-green wood, by waters fair, Just as the words came up to me I sang it under the wild wood tree. Widdershins turned I, singing it low, Watching the wild birds come and go; No cloud in the deep dark blue to be seen Under […]...
- On the Building of Springfield Let not our town be large, remembering That little Athens was the Muses’ home, That Oxford rules the heart of London still, That Florence gave the Renaissance to Rome. Record it for the grandson of your son – A city is not builded in a day: Our little town cannot complete her soul Till countless […]...
- 550. Song-A Lass wi' a Tocher AWA’ wi’ your witchcraft o’ Beauty’s alarms, The slender bit Beauty you grasp in your arms, O, gie me the lass that has acres o’ charms, O, gie me the lass wi’ the weel-stockit farms. Chorus.-Then hey, for a lass wi’ a tocher, Then hey, for a lass wi’ a tocher; Then hey, for a […]...
- 429. Song-Come let me take thee to my breast COME, let me take thee to my breast, And pledge we ne’er shall sunder; And I shall spurn as vilest dust The world’s wealth and grandeur: And do I hear my Jeanie own That equal transports move her? I ask for dearest life alone, That I may live to love her. Thus, in my arms, […]...
- Song of the Universal 1 COME, said the Muse, Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted, Sing me the Universal. 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 […]...
- One Song, America, Before I Go ONE song, America, before I go, I’d sing, o’er all the rest, with trumpet sound, For thee—the Future. I’d sow a seed for thee of endless Nationality; I’d fashion thy Ensemble, including Body and Soul; I’d show, away ahead, thy real Union, and how it may be accomplish’d. (The paths to the House I seek […]...
- The Chambermaid's First Song How came this ranger Now sunk in rest, Stranger with strangcr. On my cold breast? What’s left to Sigh for? Strange night has come; God’s love has hidden him Out of all harm, Pleasure has made him Weak as a worm....
- Vanity My tangoing seemed to delight her; With me it was love at first sight. I mentioned That I was a writer: She asked me: “What is it you write?” “Oh, only best-sellers,” I told her. Their titles? . . . She shook her blonde head; The atmosphere seemed to grow colder: Not one of my […]...
- A Song Persuade me not, there is a Grace Proceeds from Silvia’s Voice or Lute, Against Miranda’s charming Face To make her hold the least Dispute. Musick, which tunes the Soul for Love, And stirs up all our soft Desires, Do’s but the glowing Flame improve, Which pow’rful Beauty first inspires. Thus, whilst with Art she plays, […]...
- THE WANDERER'S STORM-SONG [Goethe says of this ode, that it is the only One remaining out of several strange hymns and dithyrambs composed By him at a period of great unhappiness, when the love-affair between Him and Frederica had been broken off by him. He used to sing them While wandering wildly about the country. This particular one […]...
- 13. Song-Bonie Peggy Alison Chor.-And I’ll kiss thee yet, yet, And I’ll kiss thee o’er again: And I’ll kiss thee yet, yet, My bonie Peggy Alison. ILK care and fear, when thou art near I evermair defy them, O! Young kings upon their hansel throne Are no sae blest as I am, O! And I’ll kiss thee yet, yet, […]...
- Never Again Would Bird's Song Be The Same He would declare and could himself believe That the birds there in all the garden round From having heard the daylong voice of Eve Had added to their own an oversound, Her tone of meaning but without the words. Admittedly an eloquence so soft Could only have had an influence on birds When call or […]...
- Song of the Redwood-Tree 1 A CALIFORNIA song! A prophecy and indirection-a thought impalpable, to breathe, as air; A chorus of dryads, fading, departing-or hamadryads departing; A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky, Voice of a mighty dying tree in the Redwood forest dense. Farewell, my brethren, Farewell, O earth and sky-farewell, ye neighboring waters; […]...
- A Canvas For A Crust Aye, Montecelli, that’s the name. You may have heard of him perhaps. Yet though he never savoured fame, Of those impressionistic chaps, Monet and Manet and Renoir He was the avatar. He festered in a Marseilles slum, A starving genius, god-inspired. You’d take him for a lousy bum, Tho’ poetry of paint he lyred, In […]...
- Poetry For Supper ‘Listen, now, verse should be as natural As the small tuber that feeds on muck And grows slowly from obtuse soil To the white flower of immortal beauty.’ ‘Natural, hell! What was it Chaucer Said once about the long toil That goes like blood to the poem’s making? Leave it to nature and the verse […]...
- Dream Song 82: Op. posth. no. 5 Maskt as honours, insult like behaving Missiles homes. I bow, & grunt ‘Thank you. I’m glad you could come So late.’ All loves are gratified. I’m having To screw a little thing I have to screw. Good nature is over. Herewith ill-wishes. From a cozy grave Rainbow I scornful laughings. Do not do, Father, me […]...
- A Song I thought no more was needed Youth to polong Than dumb-bell and foil To keep the body young. O who could have foretold That thc heart grows old? Though I have many words, What woman’s satisfied, I am no longer faint Because at her side? O who could have foretold That the heart grows old? […]...
- An Old Man's Thought of School AN old man’s thought of School; An old man, gathering youthful memories and blooms, that youth itself cannot. Now only do I know you! O fair auroral skies! O morning dew upon the grass! And these I see-these sparkling eyes, These stores of mystic meaning-these young lives, Building, equipping, like a fleet of ships-immortal ships! […]...
- Pensive and Faltering PENSIVE and faltering, The words, the dead, I write; For living are the Dead; (Haply the only living, only real, And I the apparition-I the spectre.) 5...
- Song We know where deepest lies the snow, And where the frost-winds keenest blow, O’er every mountain’s brow, We long have known and learnt to bear The wandering outlaw’s toil and care, But where we late were hunted, there Our foes are hunted now. We have their princely homes, and they To our wild haunts are […]...
- Quicksand Years QUICKSAND years that whirl me I know not whither, Your schemes, politics, fail-lines give way-substances mock and elude me; Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess’d Soul, eludes not; One’s-self must never give way-that is the final substance-that out of all is sure; Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life-what at last finally remains? […]...