YEAR that trembled and reel'd beneath me!
Your summer wind was warm enough--yet the air I breathed froze me;
A thick gloom fell through the sunshine and darken'd me;
Must I change my triumphant songs? said I to myself;
Must I indeed learn to chant the cold dirges of the baffled?
And sullen hymns of defeat?
More verses by Walt Whitman
- With All Thy Gifts
- As Consequent, Etc.
- Chanting The Square Deific
- Starting From Paumanok
- From My Last Years