Walt Whitman

As they draw to a close

AS they draw to a close, Of what underlies the precedent songs—of my aims in them; Of the seed I have sought to plant in them; Of joy, sweet joy, through many a year, in them; (For them—for them have I lived—In them my work is done;) Of many an aspiration fond—of many a dream and plan, Of you, O mystery great!—to place on record faith in you, O death! —To compact you, ye parted, diverse lives! To put rapport the mountains, and rocks, and streams, And the winds of the north, and the forests of oak and pine, With you, O soul of man.

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