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Walt Whitman · Leaves of Grass

Poem 365 of 382 · Sands at Seventy

Interpolation Sounds

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Over and through the burial chant, Organ and solemn service, sermon, bending priests, To me come interpolation sounds not in the show--plainly to me, crowding up the aisle and from the window, Of sudden battle’s hurry and harsh noises--war’s grim game to sight and ear in earnest; The scout call’d up and forward--the general mounted and his aides around him--the new-brought word--the instantaneous order issued; The rifle crack--the cannon thud--the rushing forth of men from their tents; The clank of cavalry--the strange celerity of forming ranks--the slender bugle note; The sound of horses’ hoofs departing--saddles, arms, accoutrements.

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