http://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1867/poems/187 wrote:
Leaves of Grass (1867) YEAR OF METEORS. (1859-60.)
YEAR of meteors! brooding year!
I would bind in words retrospective, some of your deeds
. and signs;
I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidentiad;
I would sing how an old man, tall, with white hair,
. mounted the scaffold in Virginia;
(I was at hand—silent I stood, with teeth shut close—I
. watch'd;
I stood very near you, old man, when cool and indiffer-
. ent, but trembling with age and your unheal'd
. wounds, you mounted the scaffold;)
I would sing in my copious song your census returns of
. The States,
The tables of population and products—I would sing of
. your ships and their cargoes,
The proud black ships of Manhattan, arriving, some
. fill'd with immigrants, some from the isthmus
. with cargoes of gold;
Songs thereof would I sing—to all that hitherward
. comes would I welcome give;
And you would I sing, fair stripling! welcome to you
. from me, sweet boy of England!
Remember you surging Manhattan's crowds, as you
. passed with your cortege of nobles?
There in the crowds stood I, and singled you out with
. attachment;
I know not why, but I loved you…(and so go forth
. little song,
Far over sea speed like an arrow, carrying my love all
. folded,
And find in his palace the youth I love, and drop these
. lines at his feet;)
—Nor forget I to sing of the wonder, the ship as she
. swam up my bay,
Well-shaped and stately the Great Eastern swam up my
. bay, she was 600 feet long,
Her moving swiftly, surrounded by myriads of small
. craft, I forget not to sing;
Nor the comet that came unannounced, out of the north,
. flaring in heaven,
Nor the strange huge meteor procession, dazzling and
. clear, shooting over our heads,
(A moment, a moment long, it sail'd its balls of unearth-
. ly light over our heads,
Then departed, dropt in the night, and was gone;)
—Of such, and fitful as they, I sing—with gleams from
. them would I gleam and patch these chants;
Your chants, O year all mottled with evil and good!
. year of forebodings! year of the youth I love!
Year of comets and meteors transient and strange!—lo!
. even here, one equally transient and strange!
As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone,
. what is this book,
What am I myself but one of your meteors?