Читать книгу Complete Works - Walt Whitman - Страница 377

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Not meagre, latent boughs alone, O songs! (scaly and bare, like

eagles’ talons,)

But haply for some sunny day (who knows?) some future spring, some

summer — bursting forth,

To verdant leaves, or sheltering shade — to nourishing fruit,

Apples and grapes — the stalwart limbs of trees emerging — the fresh,

free, open air,

And love and faith, like scented roses blooming.