“It is to the development, identification, and general prevalence
of that fervid comradeship (the adhesive love, at least rivaling
the amative love hitherto possessing imaginative literature, if
not going beyond it), that I look for the counterbalance and
offset of our materialistic and vulgar American Democracy, and
for the spiritualisation thereof. Many will say it is a dream,
and will not follow my inferences; but I confidently expect
a time when there will be seen, running like a half-hid warp
through all the myriad audible and visible worldly interests
of America, threads of manly friendship, fond and loving, pure
and sweet, strong and lifelong, carried to degrees hitherto
unknown—not only giving tone to individual character, and making
it unprecedently emotional, muscular, heroic, and refined, but
having deepest relations to general politics. I say Democracy
infers such loving comradeship, as its most inevitable twin or
counterpart, without which it will be incomplete, in vain, and
incapable of perpetuating itself.” _Democratic Vistas, note._
[Sidenote: _“Leaves of Grass”_]
The three following poems are taken from _Leaves of Grass_:—
“Recorders ages hence,
Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior, I will
tell you what to say of me,
Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover,
The friend the lover’s portrait, of whom his friend his lover was
fondest,
Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measureless ocean of love
within him, and freely pour’d it forth,
Who often walk’d lonesome walks thinking of his dear friends, his
lovers,
Who pensive away from one he lov’d often lay sleepless and dissatisfied
at night,
Who knew too well the sick, sick dread lest the one he lov’d might
secretly be indifferent to him,
Whose happiest days were far away through fields, in woods, on hills,
he and another wandering hand in hand, they twain apart from other
men,
Who oft as he saunter’d the streets curv’d with his arm the shoulder
of his friend, while the arm of his friend rested upon him also.”
_Leaves of Grass_, 1891-2 edn., p. 102.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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