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Leaves of Grass (1891-92)
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ELECTION DAY, NOVEMBER, 1884.
If I should need to name, O Western World, your powerfulest
scene and show,
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'Twould not be you, Niagara—nor you, ye limitless prairies—nor
your huge rifts of canyons, Colorado,
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Nor you, Yosemite—nor Yellowstone, with all its spasmic geyser-
loops ascending to the skies, appearing and disappearing,
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Nor Oregon's white cones—nor Huron's belt of mighty lakes—
nor Mississippi's stream:
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—This seething hemisphere's humanity, as now, I'd name— the
still small voice vibrating—America's choosing day,
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(The heart of it not in the chosen—the act itself the main, the
quadriennial choosing,)
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The stretch of North and South arous'd—sea-board and inland
—Texas to Maine—the Prairie States—Vermont, Virginia,
California,
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The final ballot-shower from East to West—the paradox and con-
flict,
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The countless snow-flakes falling—(a swordless conflict, |
Yet more than all Rome's wars of old, or modern Napoleon's:)
the peaceful choice of all,
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Or good or ill humanity—welcoming the darker odds, the dross: |
—Foams and ferments the wine? it serves to purify—while the
heart pants, life glows:
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These stormy gusts and winds waft precious ships, |
Swell'd Washington's, Jefferson's, Lincoln's sails. |
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