Читать книгу Complete Works - Walt Whitman - Страница 302

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Out of the murk of heaviest clouds,

Out of the feudal wrecks and heap’d-up skeletons of kings,

Out of that old entire European debris, the shatter’d mummeries,

Ruin’d cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests,

Lo, Freedom’s features fresh undimm’d look forth — the same immortal

face looks forth;

(A glimpse as of thy Mother’s face Columbia,

A flash significant as of a sword,

Beaming towards thee.)

Nor think we forget thee maternal;

Lag’d’st thou so long? shall the clouds close again upon thee?

Ah, but thou hast thyself now appear’d to us — we know thee,

Thou hast given us a sure proof, the glimpse of thyself,

Thou waitest there as everywhere thy time.