 | Leaves of grass. |  |
BANNER AND PENNANT.
13 Yet louder, higher,
stronger, bard! yet farther,
wider cleave!
No longer let our children deem us riches and peace alone;
We can be terror and carnage also, and are so now;
Not now are we one of these spacious and haughty States, (nor any five, nor ten;)
Nor market nor depot are we, nor money-bank in the city;
But these, and all, and the brown and spreading land, and the mines below, are ours;
And the shores of the sea are ours, and the rivers great and small;
And the fields they moisten are ours, and the crops and the fruits are ours;
Bays and channels, and ships sailing in and out, are ours — and we over all,
Over the area spread below, the three millions of square miles — the capitals,
The thirty-five millions of people — O bard! in life and death supreme,
We, even we, from this day flaunt out masterful, high up above,
Not for the present alone, for a thousand years, chant- ing through you,
This song to the soul of one poor little child.
No longer let our children deem us riches and peace alone;
We can be terror and carnage also, and are so now;
Not now are we one of these spacious and haughty States, (nor any five, nor ten;)
Nor market nor depot are we, nor money-bank in the city;
But these, and all, and the brown and spreading land, and the mines below, are ours;
And the shores of the sea are ours, and the rivers great and small;
And the fields they moisten are ours, and the crops and the fruits are ours;
Bays and channels, and ships sailing in and out, are ours — and we over all,
Over the area spread below, the three millions of square miles — the capitals,
The thirty-five millions of people — O bard! in life and death supreme,
We, even we, from this day flaunt out masterful, high up above,
Not for the present alone, for a thousand years, chant- ing through you,
This song to the soul of one poor little child.
| Leaves of grass. | |