Walt Whitman - To BRYANT, the Poet of Nature lyrics

Let Glory diadem the mighty dead— Let monuments of bra** and marble rise To those who have upon our being shed A golden halo, borrowed from the skies, And given to time its most enduring prize; For they but little less than angels were: But not to thee, oh! nature's OWN, we should (When from this clod the minstrel-soul aspires And joins the glorious band of purer lyres) Tall columns build: thy monument is here— For ever fixed in its eternity— A monument God-built! 'Tis seen around— In mountains huge and many gliding streams— Where'er the torrent lifts a melancholy sound, Or modest flower in broad savannah gleams