i365 - Jan. 9

(Best viewed on black)

 

By that long scan of waves, myself call'd back, resumed upon myself,

In every crest some undulating light or shade--some retrospect,

Joys, travels, studies, silent panoramas--scenes ephemeral,

The long past war, the battles, hospital sights, the wounded and the dead,

Myself through every by-gone phase--my idle youth--old age at hand,

My three-score years of life summ'd up, and more, and past,

By any grand ideal tried, intentionless, the whole a nothing,

And haply yet some drop within God's scheme's ensemble--some

wave, or part of wave,

Like one of yours, ye multitudinous ocean.

 

by Walt Whitman

Done