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[WRITTEN FOR THE HERALD.]
Thou dim, uncertain spectre—bringest thou life
or death?
Strength, weakness, blindness, more paralysis
and heavier?
Or placid skies and sun? Wilt stir the waters
yet?
Or haply cut me short for good? Or leave me
here as now,
Dull, parrot-like and old with crack'd voice
harping, screeching?
WALT WHITMAN. CAMDEN, May 1, 1888.
Queries to My Seventieth Year.
Approaching, nearing, curious,Thou dim, uncertain spectre—bringest thou life
or death?
Strength, weakness, blindness, more paralysis
and heavier?
Or placid skies and sun? Wilt stir the waters
yet?
Or haply cut me short for good? Or leave me
here as now,
Dull, parrot-like and old with crack'd voice
harping, screeching?
WALT WHITMAN. CAMDEN, May 1, 1888.
Copy-text
Our transcription is based on a digital image of a microfilm copy of an original issue.
Publication Information
"Queries to My Seventieth Year."
New York Herald
2 May 1888:
6.
Reprinted in the "Sands at Seventy" annex to Leaves of Grass (1888).
Whitman Archive ID
per.00122