Shapes of Clay - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 173

JUDGMENT.

I drew aside the Future's veil And saw upon his bier The poet Whitman. Loud the wail And damp the falling tear. "He's dead—he is no more!" one cried, With sobs of sorrow crammed; "No more? He's this much more," replied Another: "he is damned!"1885.