AS I ponder'd in silence, <br /> Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long, <br /> A Phantom arose before me, with distrustful aspect, <br /> Terrible in beauty, age, and power, <br /> The genius of poets of old lands, <br /> As to me directing like flame its eyes, <br /> With finger pointing to many immortal songs, <br /> And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said; <br /> Know'st thou not, there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards? <br /> And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles, 10 <br /> The making of perfect soldiers? <br /> <br /> <br /> Be it so, then I answer'd, <br /> I too, haughty Shade, also sing war--and a longer and greater one <br /> than any, <br /> Waged in my book with varying fortune--with flight, advance, and <br /> retreat--Victory deferr'd and wavering, <br /> (Yet, methinks, certain, or as good as certain, at the last,)--The <br /> field the world; <br /> For life and death--for the Body, and for the eternal Soul, <br /> Lo! too am come, chanting the chant of battles, <br /> I, above all, promote brave soldiers.<br /><br />Walt Whitman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/as-i-ponder-d-in-silence/
