Page:The Collected Poems of Hart Crane.djvu/44

New integers of Roman, Viking, Celt—
Thou, Vedic Caesar, to the greensward knelt!

And now, as launched in abysmal cupolas of space,
Toward endless terminals, Easters of speeding light—
Vast engines outward veering with seraphic grace
On clarion cylinders pass out of sight
To course that span of consciousness thou’st named
The Open Road—thy vision is reclaimed!
What heritage thou’st signalled to our hands!

And see! the rainbows’s arch—how shimmeringly stands
Above the Cape’s ghoul-mound, O joyous seer!
Recorders ages hence, yes, they shall hear
In their own veins uncancelled thy sure tread
And read thee by the aureole’round thy head
Of pasture-shine, Panis Angelicus!

                                          Yes, Walt,
Afoot again, and onward without halt, —
Not soon, nor suddenly, —no, never to let go
          My hand
                     in yours,
                                Walt Whitman—
                                                    so—