Walt Whitman (Уолт Уитмен)

Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 46. Twenty Years

Down on the ancient wharf, the sand, I sit, with a new-comer chatting:
He shipp'd as green-hand boy, and sail'd away, (took some sudden,
      vehement notion;)
Since, twenty years and more have circled round and round,
While he the globe was circling round and round, —and now returns:
How changed the place—all the old land-marks gone—the parents dead;
(Yes, he comes back to lay in port for good—to settle—has a
      well-fill'd purse—no spot will do but this;)
The little boat that scull'd him from the sloop, now held in leash I see,
I hear the slapping waves, the restless keel, the rocking in the sand,
I see the sailor kit, the canvas bag, the great box bound with brass,
I scan the face all berry-brown and bearded—the stout-strong frame,
Dress'd in its russet suit of good Scotch cloth:
(Then what the told-out story of those twenty years? What of the future?)

1. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 28. Old Salt Kossabone
2. Leaves of Grass. 24. Autumn Rivulets. 23. To a Pupil
3. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 18. Sounds of the Winter
4. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 14. Interpolation Sounds
5. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 47. Orange Buds by Mail from Florida

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