Poem By Walt Whitman
THE noble Sire, fallen on evil days,
I saw, with hand uplifted, menacing, brandishing,
(Memories of old in abeyance--love and faith in abeyance,)
The insane knife toward the Mother of All.
The noble Son, on sinewy feet advancing,
I saw--out of the land of prairies--land of Ohio's waters, and of
To the rescue, the stalwart giant, hurry his plenteous offspring,
Drest in blue, bearing their trusty rifles on their shoulders.
Then the Mother of All, with calm voice speaking,
As to you, Virginia, (I seemed to hear her say,) why strive against
me--and why seek my life? 10
When you yourself forever provide to defend me?
For you provided me Washington--and now these also.