Song of Caryn
This is the trill of a thousand clear cornets and scream of
the octave flute and strike of triangles
I play not a march for victors only…I play great marches
For conquered and slain persons.
I sound triumphal drums for the dead…I fling through
my embouchures the loudest and gayest music to them,
Vivas to those who have failed, and to those whose war vessels
sank in the sea, and those themselves who sand in the sea,
And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome
heroes, and the numberless unknown heroes equal to
the greatest heroes known.
In his frontispiece, Whitman has a nonchalant, inviting expression. A hand on the hip usually implies a matter-a-fact attitude, almost childlike. Whitman projects an air of casualness with his top button opened and his tipped hat.
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