by Whitman · Cluster: Swords and Weapons · Power and Corruption · Tyrant
Abstract
A fierce, self-interrogating address to the coming year, the poet searching for a last weapon-word against affectation and his own rebellious self.
Connections
Topoi: Tempus Fugit Motifs: Swords and Weapons Themes & Concepts: Memory and Time, Satire of Society, Conscience Forms & Genres: Free Verse
Testo integrale / Full text
Cluster: GOOD-BYE MY FANCY
Have I no weapon-word for thee—some message brief and fierce?
(Have I fought out and done indeed the battle?) Is there no shot left,
For all thy affectations, lisps, scorns, manifold silliness?
Nor for myself—my own rebellious self in thee?
Down, down, proud gorge!—though choking thee;
Thy bearded throat and high-borne forehead to the gutter;
Crouch low thy neck to eleemosynary gifts.