Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.
330. In Former Songs
I
But here I twine the strands of Patriotism and Death.
To you, O F
(You that elude me most—refusing to be caught in songs of mine,)
I offer all to you.
’Tis not for nothing, Death,
I sound out you, and words of you, with daring tone—embodying you,
In my new Democratic chants—keeping you for a close,
For last impregnable retreat—a citadel and tower,
For my last stand—my pealing, final cry.