Walt Whitman (Уолт Уитмен)

Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 34. Small the Theme of My Chant

Small the theme of my Chant, yet the greatest—namely, One's-Self—
      a simple, separate person. That, for the use of the New World, I sing.
Man's physiology complete, from top to toe, I sing. Not physiognomy alone,
      nor brain alone, is worthy for the Muse;—I say the Form complete
      is worthier far. The Female equally with the Male, I sing.
Nor cease at the theme of One's-Self. I speak the word of the
      modern, the word En-Masse.
My Days I sing, and the Lands—with interstice I knew of hapless War.
(O friend, whoe'er you are, at last arriving hither to commence, I
      feel through every leaf the pressure of your hand, which I return.
And thus upon our journey, footing the road, and more than once, and
      link'd together let us go.)

1. Leaves of Grass. 24. Autumn Rivulets. 35. Italian Music in Dakota
2. Leaves of Grass. 33. Songs of Parting. 13. The Untold Want
3. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 9. Old Age's Ship & Crafty Death's
4. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 14. Interpolation Sounds
5. Leaves of Grass. 5. Calamus. 6. Not Heaving from My Ribb'd Breast Only

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1867

Последние стихотворения

To English version