Out of murk the heaviest clouds,
Out of the feudal wrecks, and heap'd-up skeletons of
Out of that old entire European debris—the shatter'd
Ruin'd cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of
Lo! Freedom's features, fresh, undimm'd, look
forth—the same immortal face looks forth;
(A glimpse as of thy Mother's face, Columbia,
A flash significant as of a sword,
Beaming towards thee.)
Nor think we forget thee, Maternal;
Lagg'st thou so long? Shall the clouds close again
Ah, but thou hast Thyself now appear'd to us—we
Thou hast given us a sure proof, the glimpse of Thy-
Thou waitest there, as everywhere, thy time.
WALT WHITMAN. Washington, March 22, 1873.
Sobre imagenes de Diego Calahorrano
Le Club est l'espace de libre expression des abonnés de Mediapart. Ses contenus n'engagent pas la rédaction.