whitman

Maybe January Light Will Consume (Cento)

poetry

In vacant or in pensive mood,
And be one traveler, long I stood
To cool in the peppermint wind
Of a surf-tormented shore.

The dews drew quivering and chill:
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
The roof was scarcely visible.

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Yet if hope has flown away
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
Somewhere ages and ages hence
My heart moves from cold to fire,
And dances with the daffodils.

A Glimpse

poetry

A glimpse, through a curtained window
Of a family of parents and children in kitchen, around the table,
late on a summer afternoon—And I thought from my view
Of a time when those close, and whom I love, were seated there, and
Seated huddled over chairs, that they could reach the colored game pieces;
A faint giggle, amid the shuffle of chairs and chatter—of laughter and
Joy and company,
There I discovered, a truth undeniable, sharing life together,
Perhaps nothing else could be asked.