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Banding the bulge of the earth winds the hot equator,
Curiously north and south turn the axis-ends;
Within me is the longest day—the sun wheels in
slanting rings—it does not set for months,
Stretched in due time within me the midnight sun
just rises above the horizon, and sinks again,
Within me zones, seas, cataracts, plains, volcanoes,
groups,
Oceanica, Australasia, Polynesia, and the great West
Indian islands.

4.What do you hear, Walt Whitman?

5.I hear the workman singing, and the farmer's wife
singing,
I hear in the distance the sounds of children, and of
animals early in the day,
I hear quick rifle-cracks from the riflemen of East
Tennessee and Kentucky, hunting on hills,
I hear emulous shouts of Australians, pursuing the
wild horse,
I hear the Spanish dance, with castanets, in the chestnut
shade, to the rebeck and guitar,
I hear continual echoes from the Thames,
I hear fierce French liberty songs,
I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recitative
of old poems,
I hear the Virginia plantation chorus of negroes, of
a harvest night, in the glare of pine knots,
I hear the strong baritone of the 'long-shore-men of
Manhatta,
I hear the stevedores unlading the cargoes, and
singing,