Walt Whitman (Уолт Уитмен)

Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 28. The Unexpress'd

How dare one say it?
After the cycles, poems, singers, plays,
Vaunted Ionia's, India's—Homer, Shakspere—the long, long times'
      thick dotted roads, areas,
The shining clusters and the Milky Ways of stars—Nature's pulses reap'd,
All retrospective passions, heroes, war, love, adoration,
All ages' plummets dropt to their utmost depths,
All human lives, throats, wishes, brains—all experiences' utterance;
After the countless songs, or long or short, all tongues, all lands,
Still something not yet told in poesy's voice or print—something lacking,
(Who knows? the best yet unexpress'd and lacking.)

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

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1888

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