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[WRITTEN FOR THE HERALD.]
A CAROL CLOSING SIXTY-NINE.
A carol closing sixty-nine—a résumé—a repeti-
tion,
My lines in joy and hope continuing on the
same,
Of ye, O God, Life, Nature, Freedom, Poetry;
Of you, my Land—your rivers, prairies, States—
you, mottled Flag I love,
Your aggregate retain'd entire—Of north, south,
east and west, your items all;
Of me myself—the jocund heart yet beating in
my breast,
The body wreck'd, old, poor and paralyzed—
the strange intertia falling pall-like round
me;
The burning fires down in my sluggish blood
not yet extinct,
The undiminish'd faith—the groups of loving
friends.
WALT WHITMAN.
Notes
1. Reprinted in the "Sands at Seventy" annex to Leaves of Grass (1888). [back]