Down from the gardens of Asia descending radiating, Adam and Eve appear, then their myriad progeny after them,—Walt Whitman, "Passage to India" (1868/1871)
Wandering, yearning, curious, with restless explorations,
With questionings, baffled, formless, feverish, with never-happy hearts,
With that sad incessant refrain, Wherefore unsatisfied soul? and Whither O mocking life?
Ah who shall soothe these feverish children?
Who justify these restless explorations?
Who speak the secret of impassive earth?
Who bind it to us? what is this separate Nature so unnatural?
What is this earth to our affections? (unloving earth, without a throb to answer ours,
Cold earth, the place of graves.)
Monday, April 8, 2013
'unloving earth, without a throb to answer ours'
Labels:
bewilderment,
earth,
exploration,
nature,
restlessness,
Whitman
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