Poem by Walt Whitman

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. 34. Sands at Seventy. 28. Old Salt Kossabone
2. Leaves of Grass. 30. Whispers of Heavenly Death. 16. The Last Invocation
3. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 14. Memories
4. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 29. The Dead Tenor
5. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 18. Sounds of the Winter

Print

1487 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version