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Leaves of Grass
Contents:
7
(Lo, high toward heaven, this day,
Libertad, from the conqueress’ field return’d,
I mark the new aureola around your head,
No more of soft astral, but dazzling and fierce,
With war’s flames and the lambent lightnings playing,
And your port immovable where you stand,
With still the inextinguishable glance and the clinch’d and lifted fist,
And your foot on the neck of the menacing one, the scorner utterly
crush’d beneath you,
The menacing arrogant one that strode and advanced with his
senseless scorn, bearing the murderous knife,
The wide-swelling one, the braggart that would yesterday do so much,
To-day a carrion dead and damn’d, the despised of all the earth,
An offal rank, to the dunghill maggots spurn’d.)
Contents:
Chicago: Walt Whitman, "7," Leaves of Grass, ed. Keil, Heinrich, 1822-1894 and trans. Seaton, R. C. in Leaves of Grass (New York: George E. Wood, ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892), Original Sources, accessed September 17, 2024, http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=9GWKY6HW2WSB6G2.
MLA: Whitman, Walt. "7." Leaves of Grass, edited by Keil, Heinrich, 1822-1894, and translated by Seaton, R. C., in Leaves of Grass, New York, George E. Wood, ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892, Original Sources. 17 Sep. 2024. http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=9GWKY6HW2WSB6G2.
Harvard: Whitman, W, '7' in Leaves of Grass, ed. and trans. . cited in ""Death-bed"" edition, 1892, Leaves of Grass, George E. Wood, New York. Original Sources, retrieved 17 September 2024, from http://www.originalsources.com/Document.aspx?DocID=9GWKY6HW2WSB6G2.
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