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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342111" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Walt Whitman In America</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Send but a song oversea for us,<br> Heart of their hearts who are free,<br>Heart of their singer, to be for us<br> More than our singing can be;<br>Ours, in the tempest at error,<br>With no light but the twilight of terror;<br> Send us a song oversea!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet-smelling of pine-leaves and grasses,<br> And blown as a tree through and through<br>With the winds of the keen mountain-passes,<br> And tender as sun-smitten dew;<br>Sharp-tongued as the winter that shakes<br>The wastes of your limitless lakes,<br> Wide-eyed as the sea-line's blue.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O strong-winged soul with prophetic<br> Lips hot with the bloodheats of song,<br>With tremor of heartstrings magnetic,<br> With thoughts as thunders in throng,<br>With consonant ardours of chords<br>That pierce men's souls as with swords<br> And hale them hearing along,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Make us too music, to be with us<br> As a word from a world's heart warm,<br>To sail the dark as a sea with us,<br> Full-sailed, outsinging the storm,<br>A song to put fire in our ears<br>Whose burning shall burn up tears,<br> Whose sign bid battle reform;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A note in the ranks of a clarion,<br> A word in the wind of cheer,<br>To consume as with lightning the carrion<br> That makes time foul for us here;<br>In the air that our dead things infest<br>A blast of the breath of the west,<br> Till east way as west way is clear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Out of the sun beyond sunset,<br> From the evening whence morning shall be,<br>With the rollers in measureless onset,<br> With the van of the storming sea,<br>With the world-wide wind, with the breath<br>That breaks ships driven upon death,<br> With the passion of all things free,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With the sea-steeds footless and frantic,<br> White myriads for death to bestride<br>In the charge of the ruining Atlantic<br> Where deaths by regiments ride,<br>With clouds and clamours of waters,<br>With a long note shriller than slaughter's<br> On the furrowless fields world-wide,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With terror, with ardour and wonder,<br> With the soul of the season that wakes<br>When the weight of a whole year's thunder<br> In the tidestream of autumn breaks,<br>Let the flight of the wide-winged word<br>Come over, come in and be heard,<br> Take form and fire for our sakes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For a continent bloodless with travail<br> Here toils and brawls as it can,<br>And the web of it who shall unravel<br> Of all that peer on the plan;<br>Would fain grow men, but they grow not,<br>And fain be free, but they know not<br> One name for freedom and man?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One name, not twain for division;<br> One thing, not twain, from the birth;<br>Spirit and substance and vision,<br> Worth more than worship is worth;<br>Unbeheld, unadored, undivined,<br>The cause, the centre, the mind,<br> The secret and sense of the earth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here as a weakling in irons,<br> Here as a weanling in bands,<br>As a prey that the stake-net environs,<br> Our life that we looked for stands;<br>And the man-child naked and dear,<br>Democracy, turns on us here<br> Eyes trembling with tremulous hands</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It sees not what season shall bring to it<br> Sweet fruit of its bitter desire;<br>Few voices it hears yet sing to it,<br> Few pulses of hearts reaspire;<br>Foresees not time, nor forehears<br>The noises of imminent years,<br> Earthquake, and thunder, and fire:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When crowned and weaponed and curbless<br> It shall walk without helm or shield<br>The bare burnt furrows and herbless<br> Of war's last flame-stricken field,<br>Till godlike, equal with time,<br>It stand in the sun sublime,<br> In the godhead of man revealed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Round your people and over them<br> Light like raiment is drawn,<br>Close as a garment to cover them<br> Wrought not of mail nor of lawn;<br>Here, with hope hardly to wear,<br>Naked nations and bare<br> Swim, sink, strike out for the dawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Chains are here, and a prison,<br> Kings, and subjects, and shame;<br>If the God upon you be arisen,<br> How should our songs be the same?<br>How, in confusion of change,<br>How shall we sing, in a strange<br> Land, songs praising his name?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God is buried and dead to us,<br> Even the spirit of earth,<br>Freedom; so have they said to us,<br> Some with mocking and mirth,<br>Some with heartbreak and tears;<br>And a God without eyes, without ears,<br> Who shall sing of him, dead in the birth?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The earth-god Freedom, the lonely<br> Face lightening, the footprint unshod,<br>Not as one man crucified only<br> Nor scourged with but one life's rod;<br>The soul that is substance of nations,<br>Reincarnate with fresh generations;<br> The great god Man, which is God.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But in weariest of years and obscurest<br> Doth it live not at heart of all things,<br>The one God and one spirit, a purest<br> Life, fed from unstanchable springs?<br>Within love, within hatred it is,<br>And its seed in the stripe as the kiss,<br> And in slaves is the germ, and in kings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Freedom we call it, for holier<br> Name of the soul's there is none;<br>Surelier it labours if slowlier,<br> Than the metres of star or of sun;<br>Slowlier than life into breath,<br>Surelier than time into death,<br> It moves till its labour be done.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till the motion be done and the measure<br> Circling through season and clime,<br>Slumber and sorrow and pleasure,<br> Vision of virtue and crime;<br>Till consummate with conquering eyes,<br>A soul disembodied, it rise<br> From the body transfigured of time.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till it rise and remain and take station<br> With the stars of the worlds that rejoice;<br>Till the voice of its heart's exultation<br> Be as theirs an invariable voice;<br>By no discord of evil estranged,<br>By no pause, by no breach in it changed,<br> By no clash in the chord of its choice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is one with the world's generations,<br> With the spirit, the star, and the sod;<br>With the kingless and king-stricken nations,<br> With the cross, and the chain, and the rod;<br>The most high, the most secret, most lonely,<br>The earth-soul Freedom, that only<br> Lives, and that only is God.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Algernon+Charles+Swinburne">Algernon Charles Swinburne</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342111" data-title="To Walt Whitman In America de Algernon Charles Swinburne" data-description="Send but a song oversea for us,
 Heart of their hearts who are free,
Heart of their singer, to be for us
 More than our singing can be;
Ours, in the tempest at error,
With no light but the twilight of terror;
 Send us a song oversea!

Sweet-smelli..."></div>
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