Читать книгу Complete Works - Walt Whitman - Страница 310

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As the time draws nigh glooming a cloud,

A dread beyond of I know not what darkens me.

I shall go forth,

I shall traverse the States awhile, but I cannot tell whither or how long,

Perhaps soon some day or night while I am singing my voice will

suddenly cease.

O book, O chants! must all then amount to but this?

Must we barely arrive at this beginning of us? — and yet it is

enough, O soul;

O soul, we have positively appear’d — that is enough.