Tears. by Walt Whitman

Art-Literature Desk
4 September 2019, Wed
Published: 08:49

Tears. by Walt Whitman

Tears! tears! tears! 
In the night, in solitude, tears; 

On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck’d in by the sand; 
Tears—not a star shining—all dark and desolate; 

Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head:
—O who is that ghost?—that form in the dark, with tears? 

What shapeless lump is that, bent, crouch’d there on the sand? 

Streaming tears—sobbing tears—throes, choked with wild cries; 
O storm, embodied, rising, careering, with swift steps along the beach; 
O wild and dismal night storm, with wind! O belching and desperate!

O shade, so sedate and decorous by day, with calm countenance and regulated pace; 
But away, at night, as you fly, none looking—O then the unloosen’d ocean, 
Of tears! tears! tears!

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