Old farmers, travelers, workmen (no matter how crippled or bent,)
Old sailors, out of many a perilous voyage, storm and wreck,
Old soldiers from campaigns, with all their wounds, defeats and scars;
Enough that they’ve survived at all—long life’s unflinching ones!
Forth from their struggles, trials, fights, to have emerged at all—
in that alone,
True conquerors o’er all the rest.
|from Leaves of Grass: BOOK XXXIV. SANDS AT SEVENTY|
by Walt Whitman
|Small the Theme of My Chant||The United States to Old World Critics (LoG)|