…from the quills of the dead white poets
Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)
Year that Trembled and Reel’d beneath Me!
Your summer wind was warm enough, yet the air I breathed froze me,
A thick gloom fell through the sunshine and darken’d me,
Must I change my triumphant songs? said I to myself,
Must I indeed learn to chant the cold dirges of the baffled?
And sullen hymns of defeat?