Spirit Whose Work Is Done [Washington City, 1865]
by Whitman · Cluster: War and its Cost · American Civil War · Battlefield
Abstract
Invocation to the departing spirit of war to bequeath its rage and pulses to the poet’s chants as the soldiers return home and the conflict closes.
Connections
Topoi: Poet as Prophet Motifs: Swords and Weapons, Supernatural Themes & Concepts: War and its Cost Historical References: American Civil War Settings: Battlefield
Testo integrale / Full text
Cluster: DRUM-TAPS
Spirit whose work is done—spirit of dreadful hours! Ere departing fade from my eyes your forests of bayonets; Spirit of gloomiest fears and doubts, (yet onward ever unfaltering pressing,) Spirit of many a solemn day and many a savage scene—electric spirit, That with muttering voice through the war now closed, like a tireless phantom flitted, Rousing the land with breath of flame, while you beat and beat the drum, Now as the sound of the drum, hollow and harsh to the last, reverberates round me, As your ranks, your immortal ranks, return, return from the battles, As the muskets of the young men yet lean over their shoulders, As I look on the bayonets bristling over their shoulders, As those slanted bayonets, whole forests of them appearing in the distance, approach and pass on, returning homeward, Moving with steady motion, swaying to and fro to the right and left, Evenly lightly rising and falling while the steps keep time; Spirit of hours I knew, all hectic red one day, but pale as death next day, Touch my mouth ere you depart, press my lips close, Leave me your pulses of rage—bequeath them to me—fill me with currents convulsive, Let them scorch and blister out of my chants when you are gone, Let them identify you to the future in these songs.