Poem by Walt Whitman

Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 23. Red Jacket (From Aloft)

Upon this scene, this show,
Yielded to-day by fashion, learning, wealth,
(Nor in caprice alone—some grains of deepest meaning,)
Haply, aloft, (who knows?) from distant sky-clouds' blended shapes,
As some old tree, or rock or cliff, thrill'd with its soul,
Product of Nature's sun, stars, earth direct—a towering human form,
In hunting-shirt of film, arm'd with the rifle, a half-ironical
      smile curving its phantom lips,
Like one of Ossian's ghosts looks down.

1. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 17. A Christmas Greeting
2. Leaves of Grass. 21. Drum-Taps. 35. How Solemn As One by One [Washington City, 1865]
3. Leaves of Grass. 32. From Noon to Starry Night. 19. What Best I See in Thee
4. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 26. Broadway
5. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 7. A Font of Type

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