Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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TURN, O Libertad, no more doubting;

Turn from lands retrospective, recording proofs of the
past;

From the singers that sing the trailing glories of the
past;

From the chants of the feudal world—the triumphs of
kings, slavery, caste;

Turn to the world, the triumphs reserv'd and to come—
give up that backward world;

Leave to the singers of hitherto—give them the trailing
past:

But what remains, remains for singers for you—wars
to come are for you;

(Lo! how the wars of the past have duly inured to you
—and the wars of the present shall also inure:)

—Then turn, and be not alarm'd, O Libertad—turn
your undying face,

To where the future, greater than all the past,

Is swiftly, surely preparing for you.

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