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Leaves of Grass (1891-92)
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THE DEAD TENOR.
With Spanish hat and plumes, and gait inimitable, |
Back from the fading lessons of the past, I'd call, I'd tell and
own,
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How much from thee! the revelation of the singing voice from
thee!
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(So firm—so liquid-soft—again that tremulous, manly timbre! |
The perfect singing voice—deepest of all to me the lesson—trial
and test of all:)
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How through those strains distill'd—how the rapt ears, the soul
of me, absorbing
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Fernando's heart, Manrico's passionate call, Ernani's, sweet
Gennaro's,
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I fold thenceforth, or seek to fold, within my chants transmuting, |
Freedom's and Love's and Faith's unloos'd cantabile, |
(As perfume's, color's, sunlight's correlation:) |
From these, for these, with these, a hurried line, dead tenor, |
A wafted autumn leaf, dropt in the closing grave, the shovel'd
earth,
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