After surmounting three-score and ten,
With all their chances, changes, losses, sorrows,
My parents’ deaths, the vagaries of my life, the many tearing passions of
me, the war of ’63 and ‘4,
As some old broken soldier, after a long, hot, wearying march, or haply
after battle,
To-day at twilight, hobbling, answering company roll-call, Here, with
vital voice,
Reporting yet, saluting yet the Officer over all.
Other works by Walt Whitman...
