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. 34. Sands at Seventy. 28. Old Salt Kossabone
2. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 14. Interpolation Sounds
3. Leaves of Grass. 24. Autumn Rivulets. 23. To a Pupil
4. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 18. Sounds of the Winter
5. Leaves of Grass. 20. By the Roadside. 28. Offerings

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