Verse > Walt Whitman > Leaves of Grass
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Walt Whitman (1819–1892).  Leaves of Grass.  1900.

205. That Music Always Round Me


THAT music always round me, unceasing, unbeginning—yet long untaught I did not hear; 
But now the chorus I hear, and am elated; 
A tenor, strong, ascending, with power and health, with glad notes of day-break I hear, 
A soprano, at intervals, sailing buoyantly over the tops of immense waves, 
A transparent bass, shuddering lusciously under and through the universe,         5
The triumphant tutti—the funeral wailings, with sweet flutes and violins—all these I fill myself with; 
I hear not the volumes of sound merely—I am moved by the exquisite meanings, 
I listen to the different voices winding in and out, striving, contending with fiery vehemence to excel each other in emotion; 
I do not think the performers know themselves—but now I think I begin to know them. 


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