Читать книгу Complete Works - Walt Whitman - Страница 351

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Ah, not this marble, dead and cold:

Far from its base and shaft expanding — the round zones circling,

comprehending,

Thou, Washington, art all the world’s, the continents’ entire — not

yours alone, America,

Europe’s as well, in every part, castle of lord or laborer’s cot,

Or frozen North, or sultry South — the African’s — the Arab’s in his tent,

Old Asia’s there with venerable smile, seated amid her ruins;

(Greets the antique the hero new? ’tis but the same — the heir

legitimate, continued ever,

The indomitable heart and arm — proofs of the never-broken line,

Courage, alertness, patience, faith, the same — e’en in defeat

defeated not, the same:)

Wherever sails a ship, or house is built on land, or day or night,

Through teeming cities’ streets, indoors or out, factories or farms,

Now, or to come, or past — where patriot wills existed or exist,

Wherever Freedom, pois’d by Toleration, sway’d by Law,

Stands or is rising thy true monument.