WHY reclining, interrogating? Why myself and all drowsing? 
What deepening twilight! scum floating atop of the waters! 
Who are they, as bats and night-dogs, askant in the Capitol? 
What a filthy Presidentiad! (O south, your torrid suns! O north, your arctic freezings!) 
Are those really Congressmen? are those the great Judges? is that the President?
Then I will sleep awhile yet—for I see that These States sleep, for reasons; 
(With gathering murk—with muttering thunder and lambent shoots, we all duly awake, 
South, north, east, west, inland and seaboard, we will surely awake.)

Added: Feb 7 2004 | Viewed: 2589 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Walt Whitman
Poem: 7. To The States.
Volume: Leaves of Grass
- 7. Leaves of Grass
Year: Published/Written in 1900
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