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With Walt Whitman in Camden vol. 9 (1996)
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Sunday, April 3, 1892
Great find tonight. The Columbus envelope spoken of in notes for March 16 does not contain old notes, but notes and one draft of
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a new poem, unpublished, dedicated to 1892. So far as I know the only recent formidable attempt since "Good-Bye" to write any.
The mystery of mysteries, the crude and hurried ceaseless
flame, spontaneous, bearing on itself.
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| The bubble and the huge, round, concrete orb! |
| A breath of Deity, as thence the bulging universe unfolding! |
| The many issuing cycles from their precedent minute! |
| The eras of the soul incepting in an hour, |
| Haply the widest, farthest evolutions of the world and man. |
Thousands and thousands of miles hence, and now four
centuries back,
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| A mortal impulse thrilling its brain cell, |
| Reck'd or unreck'd, the birth can no longer be postpon'd: |
| A phantom of the moment, mystic, stalking, sudden, |
Only a silent thought, yet toppling down of more than walls of
brass or stone.
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(A flutter at the darkness' edge as if old Time's and Space's
secret near revealing.)
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| A thought! a definite thought works out in shape. |
| Four hundred years roll on. |
The rapid cumulus—trade, navigation, war, peace, democracy,
roll on;
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The restless armies and the fleets of time following their
leader—the old camps of ages pitch'd in newer, larger areas,
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The tangl'd, long-deferr'd eclaircissement of human life and
hopes boldly begins untying,
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| As here to-day up-grows the Western World. |
(An added word yet to my song, far Discoverer, as ne'er before
sent back to son of earth—
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| If still thou hearest, hear me, |
| Voicing as now—lands, races, arts, bravas to thee, |
O'er the long backward path to thee—one vast consensus,
north, south, east, west,
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| Soul plaudits! acclamation! reverent echoes! |
| One manifold, huge memory to thee! oceans and lands! |
| The modern world to thee and thought of thee!) |
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