Splendor of the ended day floating and filling me,
Hour prophetic, hour resuming the past,
Inflating my throat, you divine average,
You earth and life till the last ray gleams I sing.
Open mouth of my soul uttering gladness,
Eyes of my soul seeing perfection.
Natural life of me faithfully praising things
Corroborating forever the triumph of things. . . .
Good in all,
In the satisfaction and aplomb of animals,
In the annual return of the seasons,
In the hilarity of youth,
In the strength and flush of manhood,
In the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age,
In the superb vistas of death. . . .
Wherever I have been I have charged myself with contentment and triumph.
I sing to the last the equalities modern or old,
I sing the endless finales of things
I say Nature continues, glory continues,
I praise with electric voice,
For I do not see one imperfection in the universe. . .
O setting sun! though the time has come,
I still warble under you, if none else does, unmitigated adoration.
~Walt Whitman
0 comments:
Post a Comment