| |
LO! Victress on the peaks!
Where thou, with mighty brow, regarding the world,
(The world, O Libertad, that vainly conspired against thee;)
Out of its countless beleaguering toils, after thwarting them all;
Dominant, with the dazzling sun around thee,
Flauntest now unharm'd, in immortal soundness and bloom--lo! in these
hours supreme,
No poem proud, I, chanting, bring to thee--nor mastery's rapturous
verse;
But a book, containing night's darkness, and blood-dripping wounds,
And psalms of the dead.
Walt Whitman
Read poems about / on: poem, world, sun, night
|
|
User Rating: |
|
--
/10
(0 votes) |
|
|
|
Walt Whitman
Free
Poetry E-Book:
E-mail this poem to e friend