D arkness and death? Nay, Pioneer, for thee
The day of deeper vision has begun;
There is no darkness for the central sun
Nor any death for immortality.
At last the song of all fair songs that be,
At last the guerdon of a race well run,
The upswelling joy to know the victory won,
The river’s rapture when it finds the sea.
Ah, thou art wrought in an heroic mould,
The Modern Man upon whose brow yet stays
A gleam of glory from the age of gold—
A diadem which all the gods have kissed.
Hail and farewell! Flower of the antique days,
Democracy’s divine protagonist.
—Francis Howard Williams
Tranquil as stars that unafraid
Pursue their way through space,
Vital as light, unhoused as wind,
Unloosed from time and place;
Solemn as birth, and sane as death,
Thy bardic chantings move;
Rugged as earth, and salt as sea,
And bitter-sweet as love.
—May Morgan
O ne master poet royally her own,
Begot of Freedom, bore our Western World:
A poet, native as the dew impearl’d
Upon her grass; a brother, thew and bone,
To mountains wild, vast lakes and prairies lone;
One, life and soul, akin to speech unfurl’d,
And zeal of artisan, and song not curl’d
In fronded forms, or petrified in tone.
High latitudes of thought gave breath to him;
The paps he suck’d ran not false shame for milk;
No bastard he! but virile truth in limb
And soul. A Titan mocking at the silk
That bound the wings of song. A tongue of flame,
Whose ashes gender an immortal name.
—Joseph W. Chapman
Thou lover of the cosmos vague and vast,
In which thy virile mind would penetrate
Unto the rushing, primal springs of fate,
Ruling alike the future, present, past:
Now, having breasted waves beyond death’s blast,
New Neptune’s steeds saluted, white and great,
And entered through the glorious Golden Gate.
And gained the fair celestial shores at last,
Still worship’st thou the Ocean? thou that tried
To comprehend its mental roar and surge,
Its howling as of victory and its dirge
For continents submerged by shock and tide.
By that immortal ocean now what cheer?
Do crews patrol and save the same as here?
—Edward S. Creamer
All hail to thee! WALT WHITMAN! Poet, Prophet, Priest!
Celebrant of Democracy! At more than regal feast
To thee we offer homage, and with our greenest bay
We crown thee Poet Laureate on this thy natal day.
We offer choice ascription—our loyal tribute bring,
In this the new Olympiad in which thou reignest king.
POET of the present age, and of æons yet to be,
In this the chosen homestead of those who would be free—
Free from feudal usage, from courtly sham and cant;
Free from kingcraft, priestcraft, with all their rot and rant!
PROPHET of a race redeemed from all conventual thrall,
Espouser of equal sexship in body, soul, and all!
PRIEST of a ransom’d people, endued with clearer light;
A newer dispensation for those of psychic sight.
We greet thee as our mentor, we meet thee as our friend,
And to thy ministrations devotedly we lend
The aid that comes from fealty which thou hast made so strong,
Thro’ touch of palm, and glint of eye, and spirit of thy song.
We magnify thy mission, we glorify thy aim,
Unfalteringly adhered to through ill-report and blame—
The fretting of the groundlings, the fumings of the pit,
The jibes and jeers and snarls and sneers which men mistake for wit.
We knew the rising splendor of thy sun could never wane
Until, the earth encompass’d, it sank in dazzling flame.
In faith assured we waited as in patience thou didst wait,
Knowing full well the answer must sooner come or late.
And come it has, sufficingly, the discord disappears
Until today again is heard the music of the spheres
Proclaiming thee the well-beloved, peer of the proudest peers.