Walt Whitman (31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892 / New York / United States)
To The States
WHY reclining, interrogating? Why myself and all drowsing?
What deepening twilight! scum floating atop of the waters!
Who are they, as bats and night-dogs, askant in the Capitol?
What a filthy Presidentiad! (O south, your torrid suns! O north, your
Are those really Congressmen? are those the great Judges? is that the
Then I will sleep awhile yet--for I see that These States sleep, for
(With gathering murk--with muttering thunder and lambent shoots, we
all duly awake,
South, north, east, west, inland and seaboard, we will surely awake.)
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