Walt Whitman (Уолт Уитмен)

Leaves of Grass. 24. Autumn Rivulets. 35. Italian Music in Dakota

["The Seventeenth—the finest Regimental Band I ever heard."]

Through the soft evening air enwinding all,
Rocks, woods, fort, cannon, pacing sentries, endless wilds,
In dulcet streams, in flutes' and cornets' notes,
Electric, pensive, turbulent, artificial,
(Yet strangely fitting even here, meanings unknown before,
Subtler than ever, more harmony, as if born here, related here,
Not to the city's fresco'd rooms, not to the audience of the opera house,
Sounds, echoes, wandering strains, as really here at home,
Sonnambula's innocent love, trios with Norma's anguish,
And thy ecstatic chorus Poliuto;)
Ray'd in the limpid yellow slanting sundown,
Music, Italian music in Dakota.

While Nature, sovereign of this gnarl'd realm,
Lurking in hidden barbaric grim recesses,
Acknowledging rapport however far remov'd,
(As some old root or soil of earth its last-born flower or fruit,)
Listens well pleas'd.

1. Leaves of Grass. 32. From Noon to Starry Night. 6. Mannahatta
2. Leaves of Grass. 20. By the Roadside. 28. Offerings
3. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. Fancies at Navesink. 1. The Pilot in the Mist
4. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 22. Death of General Grant
5. Leaves of Grass. 21. Drum-Taps. 20. Year That Trembled and Reel'd Beneath Me

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1735

Последние стихотворения

To English version