Old Age's Lambent Peaks

By Walt Whitman

The touch of flame — the illuminating fire — the loftiest look at last,

O'er city, passion, sea — o'er prairie, mountain, wood — the earth itself,

The airy, different, changing hues of all, in failing twilight,

Objects and groups, bearings, faces, reminiscences;

The calmer sight — the golden setting, clear and broad:

So much i’ the atmosphere, the points of view, the situations whence we scan,

Bro't out by them alone — so much ( perhaps the best ) unreck'd before;

The lights indeed from them — old age's lambent peaks.