Welcome to Poetry.com

Poetry.com is a huge collection of poems from famous and amateur poets from around the world — collaboratively published by a community of authors and contributing editors.

Navigate through our poetry database by subjects, alphabetically or simply search by keywords. You can submit a new poem, discuss and rate existing work, listen to poems using voice pronunciation and even translate pieces to many common and not-so-common languages.

Rate this poem:(0.00 / 0 votes)

Proud Music Of The Storm

Walt Whitman 1819 (West Hills) – 1892 (Camden)


  PROUD music of the storm!
  Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies!
  Strong hum of forest tree-tops! Wind of the mountains!
  Personified dim shapes! you hidden orchestras!
  You serenades of phantoms, with instruments alert,
  Blending, with Nature's rhythmus, all the tongues of nations;
  You chords left us by vast composers! you choruses!
  You formless, free, religious dances! you from the Orient!
  You undertone of rivers, roar of pouring cataracts;
  You sounds from distant guns, with galloping cavalry! 10
  Echoes of camps, with all the different bugle-calls!
  Trooping tumultuous, filling the midnight late, bending me powerless,
  Entering my lonesome slumber-chamber--Why have you seiz'd me?

  Come forward, O my Soul, and let the rest retire;
  Listen--lose not--it is toward thee they tend;
  Parting the midnight, entering my slumber-chamber,
  For thee they sing and dance, O Soul.

  A festival song!
  The duet of the bridegroom and the bride--a marriage-march,
  With lips of love, and hearts of lovers, fill'd to the brim with
  love; 20
  The red-flush'd cheeks, and perfumes--the cortege swarming, full of
  friendly faces, young and old,
  To flutes' clear notes, and sounding harps' cantabile.

  Now loud approaching drums!
  Victoria! see'st thou in powder-smoke the banners torn but flying?
  the rout of the baffled?
  Hearest those shouts of a conquering army?

  (Ah, Soul, the sobs of women--the wounded groaning in agony,
  The hiss and crackle of flames--the blacken'd ruins--the embers of
  cities,
  The dirge and desolation of mankind.)

  Now airs antique and medieval fill me!
  I see and hear old harpers with their harps, at Welsh festivals: 30
  I hear the minnesingers, singing their lays of love,
  I hear the minstrels, gleemen, troubadours, of the feudal ages.

  Now the great organ sounds,
  Tremulous--while underneath, (as the hid footholds of the earth,
  On which arising, rest, and leaping forth, depend,
  All shapes of beauty, grace and strength--all hues we know,
  Green blades of grass, and warbling birds--children that gambol and
  play--the clouds of heaven above,)
  The strong base stands, and its pulsations intermits not,
  Bathing, supporting, merging all the rest--maternity of all the rest;
  And with it every instrument in multitudes, 40
  The players playing--all the world's musicians,
  The solemn hymns and masses, rousing adoration,
  All passionate heart-chants, sorrowful appeals,
  The measureless sweet vocalists of ages,
  And for their solvent setting, Earth's own diapason,
  Of winds and woods and mighty ocean waves;
  A new composite orchestra--binder of years and climes--ten-fold
  renewer,
  As of the far-back days the poets tell--the Paradiso,
  The straying thence, the separation long, but now the wandering done,
  The journey done, the Journeyman come home, 50
  And Man and Art, with Nature fused again.

  Tutti! for Earth and Heaven!
  The Almighty Leader now for me, for once has signal'd with his wand.

  The manly strophe of the husbands of the world,
  And all the wives responding.

  The tongues of violins!
  (I think, O tongues, ye tell this heart, that cannot tell itself;
  This brooding, yearning heart, that cannot tell itself.)

  Ah, from a little child,
  Thou knowest, Soul, how to me all sounds became music; 60
  My mother's voice, in lullaby or hymn;
  (The voice--O tender voices--memory's loving voices!
  Last miracle of all--O dearest mother's, sister's, voices;)
  The rain, the growing corn, the breeze among the long-leav'd corn,
  The measur'd sea-surf, beating on the sand,
  The twittering bird, the hawk's sharp scream,
  The wild-fowl's notes at night, as flying low, migrating north or
  south,
  The psalm in the country church, or mid the clustering trees, the
  open air camp-meeting,
  The fiddler in the tavern--the glee, the long-strung sailor-song,
  The lowing cattle, bleating sheep--the crowing cock at dawn. 70

  All songs of current lands come sounding 'round me,
  The German airs of friendship, wine and love,
  Irish ballads, merry jigs and dances--English warbles,
  Chansons of France, Scotch tunes--and o'er the rest,
  Italia's peerless composit
Font size:
 

Submitted on May 13, 2011

3:17 min read
146 Views

Walt Whitman

Walter "Walt" Whitman was an American poet, essayist and journalist. more…

All Walt Whitman poems | Walt Whitman Books

FAVORITE (7 fans)

Discuss this Walt Whitman poem with the community:

0 Comments

    Translation

    Find a translation for this poem in other languages:

    Select another language:

    • - Select -
    • 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
    • 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
    • Español (Spanish)
    • Esperanto (Esperanto)
    • 日本語 (Japanese)
    • Português (Portuguese)
    • Deutsch (German)
    • العربية (Arabic)
    • Français (French)
    • Русский (Russian)
    • ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
    • 한국어 (Korean)
    • עברית (Hebrew)
    • Gaeilge (Irish)
    • Українська (Ukrainian)
    • اردو (Urdu)
    • Magyar (Hungarian)
    • मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
    • Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Italiano (Italian)
    • தமிழ் (Tamil)
    • Türkçe (Turkish)
    • తెలుగు (Telugu)
    • ภาษาไทย (Thai)
    • Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
    • Čeština (Czech)
    • Polski (Polish)
    • Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Românește (Romanian)
    • Nederlands (Dutch)
    • Ελληνικά (Greek)
    • Latinum (Latin)
    • Svenska (Swedish)
    • Dansk (Danish)
    • Suomi (Finnish)
    • فارسی (Persian)
    • ייִדיש (Yiddish)
    • հայերեն (Armenian)
    • Norsk (Norwegian)
    • English (English)

    Citation

    Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:

    Style:MLAChicagoAPA

    "Proud Music Of The Storm" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 26 Sep. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/38120/proud-music-of-the-storm>.

    Become a member!

    Join our community of poets and poetry lovers to share your work and offer feedback and encouragement to writers all over the world!

    Browse Poetry.com

    Quiz

    Are you a poetry master?

    »
    Who wrote the poem "There Will Come Soft Rain"?
    • A. Percy Bysshe Shelley
    • B. Sara Teasdale
    • C. Rainer Maria Rilke
    • D. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

    Our favorite collection of

    Famous Poets

    »