Читать книгу Complete Works - Walt Whitman - Страница 357

Table of Contents

Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost,

No birth, identity, form — no object of the world.

Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing;

Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain.

Ample are time and space — ample the fields of Nature.

The body, sluggish, aged, cold — the embers left from earlier fires,

The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again;

The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons continual;

To frozen clods ever the spring’s invisible law returns,

With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn.