Daily Whitman

Copts

Salut au Monde!

3
  What do you hear Walt Whitman?

  I hear the workman singing and the farmer's wife singing,
  I hear in the distance the sounds of children and of animals early
      in the day,
  I hear emulous shouts of Australians pursuing the wild horse,
  I hear the Spanish dance with castanets in the chestnut shade, to
      the rebeck and guitar,
  I hear continual echoes from the Thames,
  I hear fierce French liberty songs,
  I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recitative of old poems,
  I hear the locusts in Syria as they strike the grain and grass with
      the showers of their terrible clouds,
  I hear the Coptic refrain toward sundown, pensively falling on the
      breast of the black venerable vast mother the Nile,
  I hear the chirp of the Mexican muleteer, and the bells of the mule,
  I hear the Arab muezzin calling from the top of the mosque,
  I hear the Christian priests at the altars of their churches, I hear
      the responsive base and soprano,
  I hear the cry of the Cossack, and the sailor's voice putting to sea
      at Okotsk,
  I hear the wheeze of the slave-coffle as the slaves march on, as the
      husky gangs pass on by twos and threes, fasten'd together
      with wrist-chains and ankle-chains,
  I hear the Hebrew reading his records and psalms,
  I hear the rhythmic myths of the Greeks, and the strong legends of
      the Romans,
  I hear the tale of the divine life and bloody death of the beautiful
      God the Christ,
  I hear the Hindoo teaching his favorite pupil the loves, wars,
      adages, transmitted safely to this day from poets who wrote three
      thousand years ago.

Posted on 18/08/2014, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

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