Walt Whitman

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

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A Voice from Death

 A voice from Death, solemn and strange, in all his sweep and power,
 With sudden, indescribable blow--towns drown'd--humanity by
 thousands slain,
 The vaunted work of thrift, goods, dwellings, forge, street, iron bridge,
 Dash'd pell-mell by the blow--yet usher'd life continuing on,
 (Amid the rest, amid the rushing, whirling, wild debris,
 A suffering woman saved--a baby safely born!)
 
 Although I come and unannounc'd, in horror and in pang,
 In pouring flood and fire, and wholesale elemental crash, (this
 voice so solemn, strange,)
 I too a minister of Deity.
 
 Yea, Death, we bow our faces, veil our eyes to thee,
 We mourn the old, the young untimely drawn to thee,
 The fair, the strong, the good, the capable,
 The household wreck'd, the husband and the wife, the engulfed forger
 in his forge,
 The corpses in the whelming waters and the mud,
 The gather'd thousands to their funeral mounds, and thousands never
 found or gather'd.
 
 Then after burying, mourning the dead,
 (Faithful to them found or unfound, forgetting not, bearing the
 past, here new musing,)
 A day--a passing moment or an (...)
(......)