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. 34. Sands at Seventy. 55. An Evening Lull
2. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. Fancies at Navesink. 1. The Pilot in the Mist
3. Leaves of Grass. 32. From Noon to Starry Night. 1. Thou Orb Aloft Full-Dazzling
4. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. Fancies at Navesink. 5. And Yet Not You Alone
5. Leaves of Grass. 30. Whispers of Heavenly Death. 5. Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours

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