Classic Poem

Years of the modern! years of the unperform'd!
Your horizon rises, I see it parting away for more august dramas,
I see not America only, not only Liberty's nation but other nations
preparing,
I see tremendous entrances and exits, new combinations, the
solidarity of races,
The earth, restive, confronts a new era, perhaps a general divine war,
No one knows what will happen next, such portents fill the days and
nights;
Years prophetical! the space ahead as I walk, as I vainly try to
pierce it, is full of phantoms,
Unborn deeds, things soon to be, project their shapes around me,
This incredible rush and heat, this strange ecstatic fever of dreams O
years!
Your dreams O years, how they penetrate through me! (I know not
whether I sleep or wake.)
The perform'd America and Europe grow dim, retiring in shadow
behind me,
The unperform'd, more gigantic than ever, advance, advance upon me.