FEINBERG/WHITMAN LITERARY FILE POETRY FILE "The Dalliance of the Eagles"(880). Proof Sheets. Box 26 Folder 48 Includes poems "Ah, Little Knows the Laborer," "Hast Never Come to Thee an Hour?," and "My Picture_Gallery." Also included AMS. corrections & notations, and [?] poem "A Riddle Song."1148 1880 The Dalliance of the Eagles and Other Poems: proofs. A. MS. (2p. 25.8 x 18.6 cm.) Written in ink on a proof of "The Dalliance of the Eagles', 'Ah, little knows the Laborer', 'Has never come to thee an hour?', My Picture-Gallery', which has been pasted to a heavy piece of paper, on the verso of which is "A Riddle Song', part of another Whitman poem, and a clipped headline 'The Society Articles Save Labor. Lighten the Labor for Mother', 14 words: take ten (10) impressions like this {Beside ' By Walt Whitman' at top}: a lead or two more each side {Beside line 5 of 'Dalliance' with '--a' cancelled}: ; --A 2 PHOTGRAPH this printed sheet only Pages Order of: 1-/27/2 Include text Do not include text Number of parts This part no. is Searcher mmk Return book to: MSS div LC 25-6 (9/53) Photo this item (printed sheet only) THE DALLIANCE OF THE EAGLES. BY WALT WHITMAN. Skirting the river road, (my languid forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward, in air, a sudden muffled sound—the dalliance of the eagles! The rushing amorous contact there in space together! The clinching, interlocking claws—a living, fierce, gyrating wheel, Four beating wings—two beaks;—A swirling mass, tight grappling, In tumbling, holding, clustering loops, comes downward falling, Till o'er the river pois'd, the twain yet one, a moment's lull, A motionless, still balance in the air—then parting, talons loosing, Upward again, on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate, diverse flight, She hers, he his, pursuing. Ah, little knows the Laborer. Ah, little knows the laborer, How near his work is holding him to God, The Perfect Laborer of Time, Space, All. Hast never come to thee an hour? Has never come to thee an hour, A sudden gleam divine, precipitating, bursting all these bubbles, fashions, wealth? These eager business aims—books, politics, art, amours, To utter nothingness? My Picture-Gallery. In a little house keep I pictures suspended--it is not a fix'd house, It is round--it is only a few inches from one side to the other: Yet behold! it has room for all the shows of the world—all memories: Here the tableaus of life, and here the groupings of death; Here, do you know this? this is Cicerone himself, With finger rais'd, he points to the prodigal pictures. 7263 Whitman, Walt The dalliance of the eagles. n.d. 1 leaf 24 x 15 cm. Proof sheet.PROOFS OF WALT WHITMAN 1881 The Dalliance of the Eagles Proof sheet. One copy with "Ah Little knows the Laborer." Another copy with "Hast never come to thee an hour" added. "Ah Little knows the laborer" became the first verse in "Some of the Exposition." FEINBERG COLLECTION OF WALT WHITMANTHE DALLIANCE OF THE EAGLES. Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles, The rushing amorous contact high in space together, The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel, Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling, In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling, Till o'er the river pois'd, the twain yet one, a moment's lull, A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing, Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse flight, She hers, he his, pursuing.THE DALLIANCE OF THE EAGLES BY WALT WHITMAN. Skirting the river road, (my languid forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward, in air, a sudden muffled sound—the dalliance of the eagles! The rushing amorous contact there in space together ! The clinching, interlocking claws—a living, fierce, gyrating wheel, Four beating wings—two beaks;—A swirling mass, tight grappling, In tumbling, holding, clustering loops, comes downward falling, Till o’er the river pois’d, the twain yet one, a moment's lull, A motionless, still balance in the air—then parting, talons loosing, Upward again, on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate, diverse flight, She hers, he his, pursuing. Ah, little knows the Laborer. Ah, little knows the laborer, How near his work is holding him to God, The Perfect Laborer of Time, Space, All.THE DALLIANCE OF THE EAGLES. BY WALT WHITMAN. Skirting the river road, (my languid forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward, in air, a sudden muffled sound—the dalliance of the eagles! The rushing amorous contact there in space together ! The clinching, interlocking claws—a living, fierce, gyrating wheel, Four beating wings—two beaks;—A swirling mass, tight grappling, In tumbling, holding, clustering loops, comes downward falling, Till o'er the river pois'd, the twain yet one, a moment's lull, A motionless, still balance in air—then parting, talons loosing, Upward again, on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate, diverse flight, She hers, he his, pursuing. Ah, little knows the Laborer. Ah, little knows the laborer, How near his work is holding him to God, The Perfect Laborer of Time, Space, All. Hast never come to thee an hour? Hast never come to thee an hour, A sudden gleam divine, precipitating, bursting all these bubbles, fashions, wealth? These eager business aims—books, politics, art, amours, To utter nothingness?[*take ten (10) impressions like this*] THE DALLIANCE OF THE EAGLES. [*a lead or two more each [s?d]*] BY WALT WHITMAN. Skirting the river road, (my languid forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward, in air, a sudden muffled sound—the dalliance of the eagles! The rushing amorous contact there in space together ! The clinching, interlocking claws—a living, fierce, gyrating wheel, Four beating wings—two beaks[—a] swirling mass, tight grappling, [*;-A*] In tumbling, holding, clustering loops, comes downward falling, Till o'er the river pois'd, the twain yet one, a moment's lull, A motionless, still balance in the air—then parting, talons loosing, Upward again, on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate, diverse flight, She hers, he his, pursuing. Ah, little knows the Laborer. Ah, little knows the laborer, How near his work is holding him to God, The Perfect Laborer of Time, Space, All. Hast never come to thee an hour? Hast never come to thee an hour, A sudden gleam divine, precipitating, bursting all these bubbles, fashions, wealth? These eager business aims—books, politics, art, amours, To utter nothingness? My Picture-Gallery. In a little house keep I pictures suspended—it is not a fix'd house, It is round—it is only a few inches from one side to the other: Yet behold! it has room for all the shows of the world—all memories : Here the tableaus of life, and here groupings of death; Here, do you know this? this is Cicerone himself, With finger rais'd, he points to the prodigal pictures.A Riddle Song. BY WALT WHITMAN. That which eludes this verse, and any verse, Unheard by sharpest ear—unform'd in clearest eye, or cunningest mind, Nor lore, nor fame, nor happiness, nor wealth, And yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world, incessantly; Which you and I, and all, pursuing ever, ever miss; Open, but still a secret—the real of the real—an illusion; Costless, vouchsafed to each, yet never man the owner; Which poets vainly seek to put in rhyme—historians in prose; Which sculptor never chisel'd yet, nor painter painted; Which vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter'd; Invoking here and now, I challenge for my song. Indifferently, 'mid public, private haunts—in solitude, Behind the mountain and the wood, Companion of the city's busiest streets—through the assemblage, It, and its radiations, constantly glide. In looks of fair, unconscious babes, Or strangely in the coffin'd dead. Or show of breaking dawn, or stars by night, As some dissolving delicate film of dreams, Hiding, yet lingering. Two little breaths of words, comprising it; Two words—yet all, from first to last, comprised in it. How ardently for it! How many ships have sail'd and sunk for it ! How many travelers started from their homes, and ne'er return'd! How much of genius boldly staked, and lost, for it ! What countless stores of beauty, love, ventur'd for it! How all superbest deeds, since Time began, are traceable to it! and shall be to the end ! How all heroic martyrdoms to it ! How, justified by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth! How the bright, fascinating, lambent flames of it, in every age and land, have drawn men's eyes; (Rich as a sunset on the Norway coast—the sky, the islands, and the cliffs; Or midnight's silent glowing Northern lights, unreachable.) Haply, God's riddle it—so vague, and yet so certain; The Soul for it—and all the visible Universe for it; And Heaven at last for it. THE SOCIETY ARTICLES SAVE LABOR. Lighten the Labor for Mother. I ["The Through t Rocks, wo In dulcet Electric, p (Yet stran Subtler tha Not to the Sounds, ec Sonnambul And thy Ray'd in t Music—Ita While Na Lurking i Acknowled (As some Listens, w