A SONG of the rolling earth， and of words according，

    Were you thinking that those were the words， those upright lines？

    those curves， angles， dots？

    No， those are not the words， the substantial words are in the

    ground and sea，

    They are in the air， they are in you.

    Were you thinking that those were the words， those delicious

    sounds out of your friends' mouths？

    No， the real words are more delicious than they.

    Human bodies are words， myriads¹ of words，

    （In the best poems re-appears the body， man's or woman's，

    well-shaped， natural， gay，

    Every part able， active， receptive， without shame or the

    need of shame.）

    Air， soil， water， fire - those are words，

    I myself am a word with them - my qualities interpenetrate

    with theirs - my name is nothing to them，

    Though it were told in the three thousand languages， what would

    air， soil， water， fire， know of my name？

    A healthy presence， a friendly or commanding gesture， are

    words， sayings， meanings，

    The charms that go with the mere² looks of some men and women，

    are sayings and meanings also.

    The workmanship of souls is by those inaudible words of the

    earth，

    The masters know the earth's words and use them more than

    audible words.

    Amelioration is one of the earth's words，

    The earth neither lags nor hastens，

    It has all attributes， growths， effects， latent in itself from the

    jump，

    It is not half beautiful only， defects and excrescences show

    just as much as perfections show.

    The earth does not withhold³， it is generous enough，

    The truths of the earth continually wait， they are not so

    conceal'd either，

    They are calm， subtle， untransmissible by print，

    They are imbued⁴ through all things conveying themselves

    willingly，

    Conveying a sentiment and invitation， I utter and utter，

    I speak not， yet if you hear me not of what avail am I

    to you？

    To bear， to better， lacking these of what avail am I？

    （Accouche！ accouchez！

    Will you rot your own fruit in yourself there？

    Will you squat⁵ and stifle⁶ there？）

    The earth does not argue，

    Is not pathetic， has no arrangements，

    Does not scream， haste， persuade， threaten， promise，

    Makes no discriminations， has no conceivable failures，

    Closes nothing， refuses nothing， shuts none out，

    Of all the powers， objects， states， it notifies， shuts

    none out.

    The earth does not exhibit itself nor refuse to exhibit

    itself， possesses still underneath⁷，

    Underneath the ostensible⁸ sounds， the august chorus of

    heroes， the wail⁹ of slaves，

    Persuasions¹⁰ of lovers， curses， gasps¹¹ of the dying， laughter

    of young people， accents of bargainers，

    Underneath these possessing words that never fail.

    To her children the words of the eloquent¹² dumb great

    mother never fail，

    The true words do not fail， for motion does not fail and

    reflection does not fail，

    Also the day and night do not fail， and the voyage we

    pursue does not fail.

    Of the interminable sisters，

    Of the ceaseless cotillions of sisters，

    Of the centripetal¹³ and centrifugal sisters， the elder and

    younger sisters，

    The beautiful sister we know dances on with the rest.

    With her ample back towards every beholder¹⁴，

    With the fascinations¹⁵ of youth and the equal fascinations

    of age，

    Sits she whom I too love like the rest， sits undisturb'd，

    Holding up in her hand what has the character of a mirror，

    while her eyes glance back from it，

    Glance as she sits， inviting¹⁶ none， denying none，

    Holding a mirror day and night tirelessly before her own

    face.

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