Walt Whitman (Уолт Уитмен)

Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 31. Yonnondio

A song, a poem of itself—the word itself a dirge,
Amid the wilds, the rocks, the storm and wintry night,
To me such misty, strange tableaux the syllables calling up;
Yonnondio—I see, far in the west or north, a limitless ravine, with
      plains and mountains dark,
I see swarms of stalwart chieftains, medicine-men, and warriors,
As flitting by like clouds of ghosts, they pass and are gone in the
      twilight,
(Race of the woods, the landscapes free, and the falls!
No picture, poem, statement, passing them to the future:)
Yonnondio! Yonnondio!—unlimn'd they disappear;
To-day gives place, and fades—the cities, farms, factories fade;
A muffled sonorous sound, a wailing word is borne through the air
      for a moment,
Then blank and gone and still, and utterly lost.

1. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 18. Sounds of the Winter
2. Leaves of Grass. 20. By the Roadside. 28. Offerings
3. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 28. Old Salt Kossabone
4. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 14. Interpolation Sounds
5. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 23. A Persian Lesson

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