Election Day, November, 1884

by Walt Whitman

If I should need to name, O Western World, your power-
fulest 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 countelss 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.

And Obama's. Yes We Can. We are One.

Congratulations America. I feel the hope rising. Rising up.