Walt Whitman

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

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26

 Now I will do nothing but listen,
 To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it.
 
 I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames,
 clack of sticks cooking my meals,
 I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice,
 I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following,
 Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night,
 Talkative young ones to those that like them, the loud laugh of
 work-people at their meals,
 The angry base of disjointed friendship, the faint tones of the sick,
 The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing
 a death-sentence,
 The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves, the
 refrain of the anchor-lifters,
 The ring of alarm-bells, the cry of fire, the whirr of swift-streaking
 engines and hose-carts with premonitory tinkles and color'd lights,
 The steam-whistle, the solid roll of the train of approaching cars,
 The (...)
(......)