Walt Whitman: A Letter from Camp

The first in my series of Whitman’s Poems…

Whitman. Image: internationaltimes.it

1.

“Come up from the fields, father, here’s a letter from our Pete;

And come to the front door, mother — here’s a letter from

thy dear son.”

2.

Lo, ’tis autumn;

Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder,

Cool and sweeten Ohio’s villages, with leaves fluttering in

the moderate wind;

Where apples ripe in the orchards hang, and grapes on the

trellised vines;

Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines?

Smell you the buckwheat, where the bees were lately buzzing?

Above all, lo, the sky, so calm, so transparent after the rain,

and with wondrous clouds;

Below, too, all calm, all vital and beautiful — and the farm

prospers well.

3.

Down in the fields all prospers well;

But now from the fields come, father — come at the

daughter’s call;