And how all people, sights, combinations, the Democratic masses, too,
serve--and how every fact serves,
And how now, or at any time, each serves the exquisite transition of Death.
_TO WORKING MEN._
1.
Come closer to me;
Push close, my lovers, and take the best I possess;
Yield closer and closer, and give me the best you possess.
This is unfinished business with me--How is it with you?
(I was chilled with the cold types, cylinder, wet paper between us.)
Male and Female!
I pass so poorly with paper and types, I must pass with the contact of
bodies and souls.
American masses!
I do not thank you for liking me as I am, and liking the touch of me--I
know that it is good for you to do so.
2.
This is the poem of occupations;
In the labour of engines and trades, and the labour of fields, I find the
developments,
And find the eternal meanings.
Workmen and Workwomen!
Were all educations, practical and ornamental, well displayed out of me,
what would it amount to?
Were I as the head teacher, charitable proprietor, wise statesman, what
would it amount to?
Were I to you as the boss employing and paying you, would that satisfy you?
The learned, virtuous, benevolent, and the usual terms;
A man like me, and never the usual terms.
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