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Soon Shall Winter's Foil Be Here

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Soon Shall the Winter's Foil Be Here.1

Soon shall the winter's foil be here; Soon shall these icy ligatures unbind and melt. 
  A little while,
And air, soil, wave, suffused shall be in softness, 
  bloom and growth; a thousand forms 
  shall rise
From these dead clods and chills as from low 
  burial graves.
Thine eyes, ears—all thy best attributes—all 
  that takes cognizance of natural beauty—
Shall wake and fill. Thou shalt perceive the 
  simple shows, delicate miracles of earth,
Dandelions, clover, the emerald grass, the early 
  scents and flowers,
The arbutus under foot, the willow's yellow- 
  green, the blossoming plum and cherry;
With these the robin, lark and thrush singing 
  their songs—the flitting bluebird;
For such the scenes the annual endless play 
  brings on.2
WALT WHITMAN.

Notes

1. Reprinted in the "Sands at Seventy" annex to Leaves of Grass (1888). [back]

2. In the "Sands at Seventy" printing of this poem, the word "endless" is omitted from the last line. [back]

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