Poem by Walt Whitman

Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 25. Of That Blithe Throat of Thine

Of that blithe throat of thine from arctic bleak and blank,
I'll mind the lesson, solitary bird—let me too welcome chilling drifts,
E'en the profoundest chill, as now—a torpid pulse, a brain unnerv'd,
Old age land-lock'd within its winter bay—(cold, cold, O cold!)
These snowy hairs, my feeble arm, my frozen feet,
For them thy faith, thy rule I take, and grave it to the last;
Not summer's zones alone—not chants of youth, or south's warm tides alone,
But held by sluggish floes, pack'd in the northern ice, the cumulus
      of years,
These with gay heart I also sing.

1. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 13. Bravo, Paris Exposition!
2. Leaves of Grass. 30. Whispers of Heavenly Death. 7. Assurances
3. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 56. Old Age's Lambent Peaks
4. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 39. Life and Death
5. Leaves of Grass. 24. Autumn Rivulets. 36. With All Thy Gifts

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