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 | Leaves of grass. |  |
1
1 As I sat alone,
by blue Ontario's shore,
As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace re- turn'd, and the dead that return no more,
A Phantom, gigantic, superb, with stern visage, ac- cost'd me;
Chant me a poem, it said, of the range of the high Soul of Poets,
And chant of the welcome bards that breathe but my native air — invoke those bards;
And chant me, before you go, the Song of the throes of Democracy.
2 (Democracy — the destined conqueror — yet treacher- ous lip-smiles everywhere,
And Death and infidelity at every step.)
As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace re- turn'd, and the dead that return no more,
A Phantom, gigantic, superb, with stern visage, ac- cost'd me;
Chant me a poem, it said, of the range of the high Soul of Poets,
And chant of the welcome bards that breathe but my native air — invoke those bards;
And chant me, before you go, the Song of the throes of Democracy.
2 (Democracy — the destined conqueror — yet treacher- ous lip-smiles everywhere,
And Death and infidelity at every step.)
| Leaves of grass. | |