Verse > Walt Whitman > Leaves of Grass
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Walt Whitman (1819–1892).  Leaves of Grass.  1900.

295. O Sun of Real Peace


O SUN of real peace! O hastening light! 
O free and extatic! O what I here, preparing, warble for! 
O the sun of the world will ascend, dazzling, and take his height—and you too, O my Ideal, will surely ascend! 
O so amazing and broad—up there resplendent, darting and burning! 
O vision prophetic, stagger’d with weight of light! with pouring glories!         5
O lips of my soul, already becoming powerless! 
O ample and grand Presidentiads! Now the war, the war is over! 
New history! new heroes! I project you! 
Visions of poets! only you really last! sweep on! sweep on! 
O heights too swift and dizzy yet!  10
O purged and luminous! you threaten me more than I can stand! 
(I must not venture—the ground under my feet menaces me—it will not support me: 
O future too immense,)—O present, I return, while yet I may, to you. 


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