Spain 1873-'74

Walt Whitman

   OUT of the murk of heaviest clouds,
   Out of the feudal wrecks, and heap'd-up skeletons of kings,
   Out of that old entire European debris--the shatter'd mummeries,
   Ruin'd cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests,
   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;
   Lag'd'st thou so long? Shall the clouds close again upon thee?     10
   Ah, but thou hast Thyself now appear'd to us--we know thee;
   Thou hast given us a sure proof, the glimpse of Thyself;
   Thou waitest there, as everywhere, thy time.

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