HAST never come to thee an hour,
A sudden gleam divine, precipitating, bursting all these bubbles,
fashions, wealth?
These eager business aims--books, politics, art, amours,
To utter nothingness?
More verses by Walt Whitman
- Fast Anchor'D, Eternal, O Love
- Years Of The Modern
- Not Youth Pertains To Me
- Song Of The Exposition
- Hush'D Be The Camps To-Day