Читать книгу Complete Works - Walt Whitman - Страница 277

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That music always round me, unceasing, unbeginning, yet long

untaught I did not hear,

But now the chorus I hear and am elated,

A tenor, strong, ascending with power and health, with glad notes of

daybreak I hear,

A soprano at intervals sailing buoyantly over the tops of immense waves,

A transparent base shuddering lusciously under and through the universe,

The triumphant tutti, the funeral wailings with sweet flutes and

violins, all these I fill myself with,

I hear not the volumes of sound merely, I am moved by the exquisite

meanings,

I listen to the different voices winding in and out, striving,

contending with fiery vehemence to excel each other in emotion;

I do not think the performers know themselves — but now I think

begin to know them.