The Complete Works of Walt Whitman. Walt Whitman

The lyrist’s measur’d beat, the wrought-out temple’s grace — column

       and polish’d arch forgot?

       But thou that revelest here — spirit that form’d this scene,

       They have remember’d thee.

As I Walk These Broad Majestic Days

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      As I walk these broad majestic days of peace,

       (For the war, the struggle of blood finish’d, wherein, O terrific Ideal,

       Against vast odds erewhile having gloriously won,

       Now thou stridest on, yet perhaps in time toward denser wars,

       Perhaps to engage in time in still more dreadful contests, dangers,

       Longer campaigns and crises, labors beyond all others,)

       Around me I hear that eclat of the world, politics, produce,

       The announcements of recognized things, science,

       The approved growth of cities and the spread of inventions.

      I see the ships, (they will last a few years,)

       The vast factories with their foremen and workmen,

       And hear the indorsement of all, and do not object to it.

      But I too announce solid things,

       Science, ships, politics, cities, factories, are not nothing,

       Like a grand procession to music of distant bugles pouring,

       triumphantly moving, and grander heaving in sight,

       They stand for realities — all is as it should be.

      Then my realities;

       What else is so real as mine?

       Libertad and the divine average, freedom to every slave on the face

       of the earth,

       The rapt promises and lumine of seers, the spiritual world, these

       centuries-lasting songs,

       And our visions, the visions of poets, the most solid announcements

       of any.

A Clear Midnight

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      This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,

       Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,

       Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou

       lovest best,

       Night, sleep, death and the stars.

      BOOK XXXIII. SONGS OF PARTING

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As the Time Draws Nigh

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      As the time draws nigh glooming a cloud,

       A dread beyond of I know not what darkens me.

      I shall go forth,

       I shall traverse the States awhile, but I cannot tell whither or how long,

       Perhaps soon some day or night while I am singing my voice will

       suddenly cease.

      O book, O chants! must all then amount to but this?

       Must we barely arrive at this beginning of us? — and yet it is

       enough, O soul;

       O soul, we have positively appear’d — that is enough.

Years of the Modern

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      Years of the modern! years of the unperform’d!

       Your horizon rises, I see it parting away for more august dramas,

       I see not America only, not only Liberty’s nation but other nations

       preparing,

       I see tremendous entrances and exits, new combinations, the solidarity

       of races,

       I see that force advancing with irresistible power on the world’s stage,

       (Have the old forces, the old wars, played their parts? are the acts

       suitable to them closed?)

       I see Freedom, completely arm’d and victorious and very haughty,

       with Law on one side and Peace on the other,

       A stupendous trio all issuing forth against the idea of caste;

       What historic denouements are these we so rapidly approach?

       I see men marching and countermarching by swift millions,

       I see the frontiers and boundaries of the old aristocracies broken,

       I see the landmarks of European kings removed,

       I see this day the People beginning their landmarks, (all others give way;)

       Never were such sharp questions ask’d as this day,

       Never was average man, his soul, more energetic, more like a God,

       Lo, how he urges and urges, leaving the masses no rest!

       His daring foot is on land and sea everywhere, he colonizes the

       Pacific, the archipelagoes,

       With the steamship, the electric telegraph, the newspaper, the

       wholesale engines of war,

       With these and the world-spreading factories he interlinks all

       geography, all lands;

       What whispers are these O lands, running ahead of you, passing under

       the seas?

       Are all nations communing? is there going to be but one heart to the globe?

       Is humanity forming en-masse? for lo, tyrants tremble, crowns grow dim,

       The earth, restive, confronts a new era, perhaps a general divine war,

       No one knows what will happen next, such portents fill the days and nights;

       Years prophetical! the space ahead as I walk, as I vainly try to

       pierce it, is full of phantoms,

       Unborn deeds, things soon to be, project their shapes around me,

       This incredible rush and heat, this strange ecstatic fever of dreams

       O years!

       Your dreams O years, how they penetrate through me! (I know not

       whether I sleep or wake;)

       The perform’d America and Europe grow dim, retiring in shadow behind me,

       The unperform’d, more gigantic than ever, advance, advance upon me.

Ashes of Soldiers

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      Ashes of soldiers South