Walt Whitman

LEAVES OF GRASS
(1891-92 issue)
complete book, e-book

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3

 Responsive to our summons,
 Or rather to her long-nurs'd inclination,
 Join'd with an irresistible, natural gravitation,
 She comes! I hear the rustling of her gown,
 I scent the odor of her breath's delicious fragrance,
 I mark her step divine, her curious eyes a-turning, rolling,
 Upon this very scene.
 
 The dame of dames! can I believe then,
 Those ancient temples, sculptures classic, could none of them retain her?
 Nor shades of Virgil and Dante, nor myriad memories, poems, old
 associations, magnetize and hold on to her?
 But that she's left them all--and here?
 
 Yes, if you will allow me to say so,
 I, my friends, if you do not, can plainly see her,
 The same undying soul of earth's, activity's, beauty's, heroism's
 expression,
 Out from her evolutions hither come, ended the strata of her former themes,
 Hidden and cover'd by to-day's, foundation of to-day's,
 Ended, deceas'd through time, her voice by Castaly's fountain,
 Silent the broken-lipp'd Sphynx in Egypt, silent all those century-
 baffling tombs,
 Ended for aye the epics of Asia's, Europe's helmeted warriors, ended
 the primitive call of the muses,
 Calliope's call forever closed, Clio, Melpomene, Thalia dead,
 Ended the stately rhythmus of Una and Oriana, ended the quest of the
 holy Graal,
 (...)
(......)