QUICKSAND years that whirl me I know not whither,
Your schemes, politics, fail–lines give way–substances mock and
elude me;
Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess’d Soul, eludes
not;
One’s-self must never give way–that is the final substance–that out
of all is sure;
Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life–what at last finally
remains?
When shows break up, what but One’s-Self is sure?
Quicksand Years
Did you enjoy the the artible “Quicksand Years” from Walt Whitman on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
Leave a Reply