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Walt Whitman - Italian Music In Dakota
Work rating: Low

THROUGH the soft evening air enwrinding all,
Rocks, woods, fort, cannon, pacing sentries, endless wilds,
In dulcet streams, in flutes` and cornets` notes,
Electric, pensive, turbulent artificial,
(Yet strangely fitting even here, meanings unknown before,
Subtler than ever, more harmony, as if born here, related here,
Not to the city`s fresco`d rooms, not to the audience of the opera
         house,
Sounds, echoes, wandering strains, as really here at home,
Sonnambula`s innocent love, trios with Norma`s anguish,
And thy ecstatic chorus Poliuto                                  


Ray`d in the limpid yellow slanting sundown,
Music, Italian music in Dakota.

While Nature, sovereign of this gnarl`d realm,
Lurking in hidden barbaric grim recesses,
Acknowledging rapport however far remov`d,
(As some old root or soil of earth its last-born flower or fruit,)
Listens well pleas`d.
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