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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535140" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Spirit Whose Work Is Done</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">SPIRIT whose work is done! spirit of dreadful hours!<br> Ere, departing, fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets;<br> Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet onward ever unfaltering<br> pressing;)<br> Spirit of many a solemn day, and many a savage scene! Electric<br> spirit!<br> That with muttering voice, through the war now closed, like a<br> tireless phantom flitted,<br> Rousing the land with breath of flame, while you beat and beat the<br> drum;<br> --Now, as the sound of the drum, hollow and harsh to the last,<br> reverberates round me;<br> As your ranks, your immortal ranks, return, return from the battles;<br> While the muskets of the young men yet lean over their shoulders; 10<br> While I look on the bayonets bristling over their shoulders;<br> While those slanted bayonets, whole forests of them, appearing in the<br> distance, approach and pass on, returning homeward,<br> Moving with steady motion, swaying to and fro, to the right and left,<br> Evenly, lightly rising and falling, as the steps keep time;<br> --Spirit of hours I knew, all hectic red one day, but pale as death<br> next day;<br> Touch my mouth, ere you depart--press my lips close!<br> Leave me your pulses of rage! bequeath them to me! fill me with<br> currents convulsive!<br> Let them scorch and blister out of my chants, when you are gone;<br> Let them identify you to the future, in these songs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Walt+Whitman">Walt Whitman</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=535140" data-title="Spirit Whose Work Is Done de Walt Whitman" data-description="SPIRIT whose work is done! spirit of dreadful hours!
 Ere, departing, fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets;
 Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet onward ever unfaltering
 pressing;)
 Spirit of many a solemn day, and many a savage scene..."></div>
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