Читать книгу Complete Works - Walt Whitman - Страница 170

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Why reclining, interrogating? why myself and all drowsing?

What deepening twilight-scum floating atop of the waters,

Who are they as bats and night-dogs askant in the capitol?

What a filthy Presidentiad! (O South, your torrid suns! O North,

your arctic freezings!)

Are those really Congressmen? are those the great Judges? is that

the President?

Then I will sleep awhile yet, for I see that these States sleep, for

reasons;

(With gathering murk, with muttering thunder and lambent shoots we

all duly awake,

South, North, East, West, inland and seaboard, we will surely awake.)