Walt Whitman (Уолт Уитмен)

Leaves of Grass. 33. Songs of Parting. 8. Pensive on Her Dead Gazing

Pensive on her dead gazing I heard the Mother of All,
Desperate on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battlefields gazing,
(As the last gun ceased, but the scent of the powder-smoke linger'd,)
As she call'd to her earth with mournful voice while she stalk'd,
Absorb them well O my earth, she cried, I charge you lose not my
      sons, lose not an atom,
And you streams absorb them well, taking their dear blood,
And you local spots, and you airs that swim above lightly impalpable,
And all you essences of soil and growth, and you my rivers' depths,
And you mountain sides, and the woods where my dear children's
      blood trickling redden'd,
And you trees down in your roots to bequeath to all future trees,
My dead absorb or South or North—my young men's bodies absorb,
      and their precious precious blood,
Which holding in trust for me faithfully back again give me many a
      year hence,
In unseen essence and odor of surface and grass, centuries hence,
In blowing airs from the fields back again give me my darlings, give
      my immortal heroes,
Exhale me them centuries hence, breathe me their breath, let not an
      atom be lost,
O years and graves! O air and soil! O my dead, an aroma sweet!
Exhale them perennial sweet death, years, centuries hence.

1. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 10. Queries to My Seventieth Year
2. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 25. “The Rounded Catalogue Divine Complete”
3. Leaves of Grass. 4. Children of Adam. 15. Facing West from California's Shores
4. Leaves of Grass. 20. By the Roadside. 8. Perfections
5. Leaves of Grass. 20. By the Roadside. 22. Thought (Of justice—as If could be any thing but the same ample law)

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