Walt Whitman (Уолт Уитмен)

Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 10. To the Pending Year

Have I no weapon-word for thee—some message brief and fierce?
(Have I fought out and done indeed the battle?) Is there no shot left,
For all thy affectations, lisps, scorns, manifold silliness?
Nor for myself—my own rebellious self in thee?

Down, down, proud gorge!—though choking thee;
Thy bearded throat and high-borne forehead to the gutter;
Crouch low thy neck to eleemosynary gifts.

1. Leaves of Grass. 21. Drum-Taps. 7. Virginia—The West
2. Leaves of Grass. 24. Autumn Rivulets. 13. Out from Behind This Mask [To Confront a Portrait]
3. Leaves of Grass. 24. Autumn Rivulets. 20. Thought
4. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 55. An Evening Lull
5. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 17. Abraham Lincoln, Born Feb. 12, 1809

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1824

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