Of That Blithe Throat Of Thine

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Title:     Of That Blithe Throat Of Thine
Author: Walt Whitman [More Titles by Whitman]

Of that blithe throat of thine from arctic bleak and blank,
I'll mind the lesson, solitary bird--let me too welcome chilling drifts,
E'en the profoundest chill, as now--a torpid pulse, a brain unnerv'd,
Old age land-lock'd within its winter bay--(cold, cold, O cold!)
These snowy hairs, my feeble arm, my frozen feet,
For them thy faith, thy rule I take, and grave it to the last;
Not summer's zones alone--not chants of youth, or south's warm tides alone,
But held by sluggish floes, pack'd in the northern ice, the cumulus of years,
These with gay heart I also sing.

[The end]
Walt Whitman's poem: Of That Blithe Throat Of Thine

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