A NEWER garden of creation, no primal solitude,
Dense, joyous, modern, populous millions, cities and farms,
With iron interlaced, composite, tied, many in one,
By all the world contributed--freedom's and law's and thrift's
society,
The crown and teeming paradise, so far, of time's accumulations,
To justify the past.
More verses by Walt Whitman
- Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life
- To A Common Prostitute
- To One Shortly To Die
- What Think You I Take My Pen In Hand?
- The Untold Want