Walt Whitman
In his Iron country lives the grand old man,
Handsome like a patriarch, serene and saintly.
He has in his Olympic wrinkles of his frown
something that he reigns and defeats with charming nobility.
His infinite soul resembles a mirror;
His weary shoulders are worthy of the cloak;
And with an ancient harp, made of oak,
like a young prophet he chants his songs.
A Priest with his divine breath,
Announces the better future to come.
And the eagle says “Fly!”,”Row!” to the sailor
And “Work!” to the robust worker.
And so goes that poet following his path,
With his proud face of emperor!
By Rubén Darío