Walt Whitman Poems

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TURN, O Libertad, for the war is over,
(From it and all henceforth expanding, doubting no more, resolute, sweeping the world,)
Turn from lands retrospective, recording proofs of the past;
From the singers that sing the trailing glories of the past;
From the chants of the feudal world—the triumphs of kings, slavery, caste;
Turn to the world, the triumphs reserv’d and to come—give up that backward
world;
Leave to the singers of hitherto—give them the trailing past;
But what remains, remains for singers for you—wars to come are for you;
(Lo! how the wars of the past have duly inured to you—and the wars of the present
also
inure:)
—Then turn, and be not alarm’d, O Libertad—turn your undying face,
To where the future, greater than all the past,
Is swiftly, surely preparing for you.

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