English Poetry. Walt Whitman. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 25. Of That Blithe Throat of Thine. Уолт Уитмен.

Walt Whitman (Уолт Уитмен)

Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 25. Of That Blithe Throat of Thine

Of that blithe throat of thine from arctic bleak and blank,
I'll mind the lesson, solitary bird—let me too welcome chilling drifts,
E'en the profoundest chill, as now—a torpid pulse, a brain unnerv'd,
Old age land-lock'd within its winter bay—(cold, cold, O cold!)
These snowy hairs, my feeble arm, my frozen feet,
For them thy faith, thy rule I take, and grave it to the last;
Not summer's zones alone—not chants of youth, or south's warm tides alone,
But held by sluggish floes, pack'd in the northern ice, the cumulus
      of years,
These with gay heart I also sing.

Walt Whitman’s other poems:

1. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 10. To the Pending Year
2. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 11. Shakspere-Bacon’s Cipher
3. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 13. Bravo, Paris Exposition!
4. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 24. The Commonplace
5. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 29. The Dead Tenor

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