Walt Whitman

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

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Terminus

 Enough, the Centenarian's story ends,
 The two, the past and present, have interchanged,
 I myself as connecter, as chansonnier of a great future, am now speaking.
 
 And is this the ground Washington trod?
 And these waters I listlessly daily cross, are these the waters he cross'd,
 As resolute in defeat as other generals in their proudest triumphs?
 
 I must copy the story, and send it eastward and westward,
 I must preserve that look as it beam'd on you rivers of Brooklyn.
 
 See--as the annual round returns the phantoms return,
 It is the 27th of August and the British have landed,
 The battle begins and goes against us, behold through the smoke
 Washington's face,
 The brigade of Virginia and Maryland have march'd forth to intercept
 the enemy,
 They are cut off, murderous artillery from the hills plays upon them,
 Rank after rank falls, while over them silently droops the flag,
 Baptized that day in many a young man's bloody wounds.
 In death, defeat, and sisters', mothers' tears.
 
 Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn! I perceive you are more valuable
 than your owners supposed;
 In the midst of you stands an encampment very old,
 Stands forever the camp of that dead brigade.