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. 32. From Noon to Starry Night. 1. Thou Orb Aloft Full-Dazzling
2. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 55. An Evening Lull
3. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. Fancies at Navesink. 1. The Pilot in the Mist
4. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 2. Lingering Last Drops
5. Leaves of Grass. 24. Autumn Rivulets. 13. Out from Behind This Mask [To Confront a Portrait]

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