There Was a Child Went Forth

There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he looked upon and received with
　　　wonder or pity or love or dread, that object
　　　he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain
　　　part of the day . . . . or for many years or stretching
　　　cycles of years.

The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass, and white and red morningglories, and white
　　　and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
And the March-born lambs, and the sow's pink-faint litter,
　　　and the mare's foal, and the cow's calf, and the
　　　noisy brood of the barnyard or by the mire of the
　　　pondside . . and the fish suspending themselves so
　　　curiously below there . . and the beautiful curious
　　　liquid . . and the water-plants with their graceful flat
　　　heads . . all became part of him.

And the field-sprouts of April and May became part of him
　　　 . . . . wintergrain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow
　　　corn, and of the esculent1 roots of the garden,
And the appletrees covered with blossoms, and the fruit
　　　afterward . . . . and woodberries . . and the commonest
　　　weeds by the road;
And the old drunkard staggering home from the outhouse
　　　of the tavern whence he had lately risen,
And the schoolmistress that passed on her way to the
　　　school . . and the friendly boys that passed . . and
　　　the quarrelsome boys . . and the tidy and freshcheeked
　　　girls . . and the barefoot negro boy and girl,
And all the changes of city and country wherever he went.

His own parents . . he that had propelled the fatherstuff
　　　at night, and fathered him . . and she that conceived
　　　him in her womb and birthed him . . . . they gave
　　　this child more of themselves than that,
They gave him afterward every day . . . . they and of them
　　　became part of him.

The mother at home quietly placing the dishes on the
　　　suppertable,
The mother with mild words . . . . clean her cap and
　　　gown . . . . a wholesome odor falling off her person and
　　　clothes as she walks by:
The father, strong, selfsufficient, manly, mean, angered,
　　　unjust,
The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty
　　　lure,
The family usages, the language, the company, the
　　　furniture . . . . the yearning and swelling heart,
Affection that will not be gainsayed . . . . The sense of
　　　what is real . . . . the thought if after all it should
　　　prove unreal,
The doubts of daytime and the doubts of nighttime . . .
　　　the curious whether and how,
Whether that which appears so is so . . . . Or is it all
　　　flashes and specks?
Men and women crowding fast in the streets . . if they
　　　are not flashes and specks what are they?
The streets themselves, and the facades of houses . . . .
　　　the goods in the windows,
Vehicles . . teams . . the tiered wharves, and the huge
　　　crossing at the ferries;
The village on the highland seen from afar at sunset . . . .
　　　the river between,
Shadows . . aureola and mist . . light falling on roofs and
　　　gables of white or brown, three miles off,
The schooner near by sleepily dropping down the tide . .
　　　the little boat slacktowed astern,
The hurrying tumbling waves and quickbroken crests
　　　and slapping;
The strata of colored clouds . . . . the long bar of
　　　maroontint away solitary by itself . . . . the spread
　　　of purity it lies motionless in,
The horizon's edge, the flying seacrow, the fragrance of
　　　saltmarsh and shoremud;
These became part of that child who went forth every day,
　　　and who now goes and will always go forth every day,
And these become of him or her that peruses them now.