Walt Whitman

Victress on the Peaks

LO! Victress on the peaks! Where thou, with mighty brow, regarding the world, (The world, O Libertad, that vainly conspired against thee;) Out of its countless beleaguering toils, after thwarting them all; Dominant, with the dazzling sun around thee, Flauntest now unharm’d, in immortal soundness and bloom—lo! in these hours supreme, No poem proud, I, chanting, bring to thee—nor mastery’s rapturous verse; But a book, containing night’s darkness, and blood-dripping wounds, And psalms of the dead.

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