OUT of the murk of heaviest clouds,
Out of the feudal wrecks, and heapd-up skeletons of kings,
Out of that old entire European debristhe shatterd mummeries,
Ruind cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests,
Lo! Freedoms features, fresh, undimmd, look forththe same immortal face
looks
forth;
(A glimpse as of thy mothers face, Columbia,
A flash significant as of a sword,
Beaming towards thee.)
Nor think we forget thee, Maternal;
Lagdst thou so long? Shall the clouds close again upon thee?
Ah, but thou hast Thyself now appeard to uswe know thee;
Thou hast given us a sure proof, the glimpse of Thyself;
Thou waitest there, as everywhere, thy time.
Spain 187374.
written byWalt Whitman
© Walt Whitman