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object:1.whitman - Year Of Meteors, 1859 60
author class:Walt Whitman
subject class:Poetry
book class:Whitman - Poems
class:chapter


YEAR of meteors! brooding year!
I would bind in words retrospective, some of your deeds and signs;
I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidential;
I would sing how an old man, tall, with white hair, mounted the
    scaffold in Virginia;
(I was at handsilent I stood, with teeth shut closeI watch'd;
I stood very near you, old man, when cool and indifferent, but
    trembling with age and your unheal'd wounds, you mounted the
    scaffold
I would sing in my copious song your census returns of The States,
The tables of population and productsI would sing of your ships and
    their cargoes,
The proud black ships of Manhattan, arriving, some fill'd with
    immigrants, some from the isthmus with cargoes of gold;
Songs thereof would I singto all that hitherward comes would I
    welcome give;                        


And you would I sing, fair stripling! welcome to you from me, sweet
    boy of England!
Remember you surging Manhattan's crowds, as you pass'd with your
    cortege of nobles?
There in the crowds stood I, and singled you out with attachment;
I know not why, but I loved you (and so go forth little song,
Far over sea speed like an arrow, carrying my love all folded,
And find in his palace the youth I love, and drop these lines at his
    feet
Nor forget I to sing of the wonder, the ship as she swam up my bay,
Well-shaped and stately the Great Eastern swam up my bay, she was



    feet long,
Her, moving swiftly, surrounded by myriads of small craft, I forget
    not to sing;
Nor the comet that came unannounced out of the north, flaring in
    heaven;                          


Nor the strange huge meteor procession, dazzling and clear, shooting
    over our heads,
(A moment, a moment long, it sail'd its balls of unearthly light over
    our heads,
Then departed, dropt in the night, and was gone
Of such, and fitful as they, I singwith gleams from them would I
    gleam and patch these chants;
Your chants, O year all mottled with evil and good! year of
    forebodings! year of the youth I love!
Year of comets and meteors transient and strange!lo! even here, one
    equally transient and strange!
As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone, what is this
    book,
What am I myself but one of your meteors?






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1.whitman - Year Of Meteors, 1859 60
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