Poem of The Singers, and of The Words of Poems

PERFECT sanity shows the master among

      philosophs,

Time, always without flaw, indicates itself in parts,

What always indicates the poet, is the crowd of the pleasant company of singers, and their words,

The words of the singers are the hours or min-utesminutes of the light or dark—but the words of the maker of poems are the complete light and dark,

The maker of poems settles justice, reality, im-mortalityimmortality,

His insight and power encircle things and the

      human race,

He is the glory and extract, thus far, of things and of the human race.

The singers do not beget—only the poet be-getsbegets,

The singers are welcomed, understood, appear

      often enough—but rare has the day been,

      likewise the spot, of the birth of the maker

      of poems,

Not every century, or every five centuries, has contained such a day, for all its names.

The singers of successive hours of centuries may have ostensible names, but the name of each of them is one of the singers,

The name of each is, a heart-singer, eye-singer, hymn-singer, law-singer, ear-singer, head-singerhead-singer, sweet-singer, wise-singer, droll-singerdroll-singer, thrift-singer, sea-singer, wit-singer, echo-singer, parlor-singer, love-singer, pas-sion-singerpassion-singer, mystic-singer, weeping-singer, fable-singer, item-singer, or something else.

All this time, and at all times, wait the words of poems;

The greatness of sons is the exuding of the great-nessgreatness of mothers and fathers,

The words of poems are the tuft and final applause of science.

Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of reason, health, rudeness of body, withdrawn-nesswithdrawnness, gaiety, sun-tan, air-sweetness—such are the words of poems.

The sailor and traveler underlie the maker of poems,

The builder, geometer, mathematician, astronomer, melodist, philosoph, chemist, anatomist, spiritualist, language-searcher, geologist, phrenologist, artist—all these underlie the maker of poems.

The words of poems give you more than poems,

They give you to form for yourself poems,

      religions, politics, war, peace, behaviour,

      histories, essays, romances, and every thing

      else,

They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes,

They do not seek beauty, they are sought —

      forever touching them, or close upon them,

      follows beauty, longing, fain, love-sick;

They are not the finish, but rather the outset,

They bring none to his or her terminus, or to be content and full,

Whom they take, they take into space, to behold the birth of stars, to learn one of the meanings,

To launch off with absolute faith—to sweep

      through the ceaseless rings, and never be

      quiet again.