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

90. Poets to Come


POETS to come! orators, singers, musicians to come! 
Not to-day is to justify me, and answer what I am for; 
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known, 
Arouse! Arouse—for you must justify me—you must answer. 
  
I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,         5
I but advance a moment, only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness. 
  
I am a man who, sauntering along, without fully stopping, turns a casual look upon you, and then averts his face, 
Leaving it to you to prove and define it, 
Expecting the main things from you. 


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