Читать книгу Complete Works - Walt Whitman - Страница 320

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As they draw to a close,

Of what underlies the precedent songs — of my aims in them,

Of the seed I have sought to plant in them,

Of joy, sweet joy, through many a year, in them,

(For them, for them have I lived, in them my work is done,)

Of many an aspiration fond, of many a dream and plan;

Through Space and Time fused in a chant, and the flowing eternal identity,

To Nature encompassing these, encompassing God — to the joyous,

electric all,

To the sense of Death, and accepting exulting in Death in its turn

the same as life,

The entrance of man to sing;

To compact you, ye parted, diverse lives,

To put rapport the mountains and rocks and streams,

And the winds of the north, and the forests of oak and pine,

With you O soul.