If I should need to name, O Western World, your powerfulest scene and show, ‘ Twould not be you, Niagara — nor you, ye limitless prairies — nor your huge rifts of canyons, Colorado, Nor you, Yosemite — nor Yellowstone, with all its spasmic geyser-loops ascending to the skies, appearing and disappearing, Nor Oregon's white cones — nor Huron's belt of mighty lakes — nor
Mississippi's stream: — This seething hemisphere's humanity, as now, I'd name — the still small voice vibrating — America's choosing day, ( The heart of it not in the chosen — the act itself the main, the quadriennial choosing,) The stretch of North and South arous'd — sea-board and inland —
Texas to Maine — the Prairie States — Vermont, Virginia, California, The final ballot-shower from East to West — the paradox and conflict, The countless snow-flakes falling — ( a swordless conflict, Yet more than all Rome's wars of old, or modern Napoleon's:) the peaceful choice of all,
Or good or ill humanity — welcoming the darker odds, the dross: — Foams and ferments the wine? it serves to purify — while the heart pants, life glows: These stormy gusts and winds waft precious ships, Swell'd Washington's, Jefferson's, Lincoln's sails.
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