And the icy cool of the far, far north, with rustling cedars and pines,

And the whirr of drums and the sound of soldiers marching, and the hot sun shining south,

And the beach-waves combing over the beach on my Eastern shore, and my Western shore the same,

And all between those shores, and my ever running Mississippi with bends and chutes,

And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my fields of Missouri,

The Continent, devoting the whole identity without reserving an atom,

Pour in! whelm that which asks, which sings, with all and the yield of all,

Fusing and holding, claiming, devouring the whole,

No more with tender lip, nor musical labial sound,

But out of the night emerging for food, our voice persuasive no more,

Croaking like crows here in the wind

 Poet

My limbs, my veins dilate, my theme is clear at last,

Banner so broad advancing out of the night, I sing you haughty and resolute,

I burst through where I waited long, too long, deafen'd and blinded,

My hearing and tongue are come to me (a little child taught me),

I hear from above O pennant of war your ironical call and demand,

Insensate! insensate (yet I at any rate chant you), O banner!

Not houses of peace indeed are you, nor any nor all their prosperity (if need be, you shall again have every one of those houses to destroy them.

You thought not to destroy those valuable houses, standing fast, full of comfort, built with money,

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