Election Day, November, 1884
by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
If I should need to name, O Western World, your powerfulest scene and
show,'Twould not be you, Niagara--nor you, ye limitless prairies--nor
your huge rifts of canyons, Colorado,Nor you, Yosemite--nor Yellowstone, with all its spasmic
geyser-loops ascending to the skies, appearing and disappearing,Nor Oregon's white cones--nor Huron's belt of mighty lakes--nor
Mississippi's stream:--This seething hemisphere's humanity, as now, I'd name--the still
small voice vibrating--America's choosing day,(The heart of it not in the chosen--the act itself the main, the
quadriennial choosing,)The stretch of North and South arous'd--sea-board and inland--
Texas to Maine--the Prairie States--Vermont, Virginia, California,
The final ballot-shower from East to West--the paradox and conflict,
The countless snow-flakes falling--(a swordless conflict,
Yet more than all Rome's wars of old, or modern Napoleon's:) the
peaceful choice of all,Or good or ill humanity--welcoming the darker odds, the dross:
--Foams and ferments the wine? it serves to purify--while the heart
pants, life glows:These stormy gusts and winds waft precious ships,
Swell'd Washington's, Jefferson's, Lincoln's sails.
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Whoa — Whitman used emoticons?
Blake: I guess so! Who knew? :)
He was even ahead of Nabokov, then, and beat Ambroce Bierce by three years!