Voyaging

I rise up with the day singing, singing;
I rise up with May on my lips in December,
And though the snow hears not my song
And the ice, it freezes harder,
Though the wild winds rage and clouds grow heavy,
I rise with flowers in my song
And all the brilliant suns of spring undying!

I fountain into birds, and petals fluttering,
Pink and white, thousands, swirling around
All over the hid, green grasses. I sing and sing,
And leaping lightly through the snow
My song warms up the air
Till all about me smiles and shines
And bleak December cannot itself remember,
And I, a-top a giant granite rock
In the giant park of this titanic city,
Sing up my hymn to the spires and towers,
Sing up my love to their majestic climb
To the sky, to their April strength of steel,
To their sheets of May glass and June-faced stone,
To July splendor of rigid shoulders,
To the red/white winking night-time choir,
To the mid-summer roar of the oceanic stream
Of cars and trains and trucks below them,
To millions of shoes tapping, walking, running,
Riding up through the stems of purpose
With budding souls of ambition,
To this great glad harvest of august Man!

I stand up within the winter singing, singing, singing!

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