Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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BEAT! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!

Through the windows—through doors—burst like a
force of ruthless men,

Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;

Into the school where the scholar is studying:

Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must
he have now with his bride;

Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or
gathering his grain;

So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums—so shrill
you bugles blow.

Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!

Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in
the streets:

Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses?
No sleepers must sleep in those beds;

No bargainers' bargains by day—no brokers or specu-
lators—Would they continue?

Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt
to sing?

Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case
before the judge?

Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder
blow.

Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!

Make no parley—stop for no expostulation;

Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer;

Mind not the old man beseeching the young man;

Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's en-
treaties;

Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie
awaiting the hearses,

So strong you thump, O terrible drums—so loud
you bugles blow.

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