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[WRITTEN FOR THE HERALD.]
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.
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.
Publication Information
"A Carol Closing Sixty-Nine."
New York Herald
21 May 1888:
4.
Reprinted in the "Sands at Seventy" annex to Leaves of Grass (1888).
Whitman Archive ID
per.00091