1861. 
ARM'D year! year of the struggle! 	
No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you, 
         terrible year! 	
Not you as some pale poetling, seated at a desk, lisp- 
         ing cadenzas piano; 	
But as a strong man, erect, clothed in blue clothes, 
         advancing, carrying a rifle on your shoulder, 	
With well-gristled body and sunburnt face and hands— 
         with a knife in the belt at your side, 	
As I heard you shouting loud—your sonorous voice 
         ringing across the continent; 	
Your masculine voice, O year, as rising amid the great 
         cities, 	
Amid the men of Manhattan I saw you, as one of the 
         workmen, the dwellers in Manhattan; 	
Or with large steps crossing the prairies out of Illinois 
         and Indiana, 	
Rapidly crossing the West with springy gait, and de- 
         scending the Alleghanies; 	
Or down from the great lakes, or in Pennsylvania, or on 
         deck along the Ohio river; 	
Or southward along the Tennessee or Cumberland rivers, 
         or at Chattanooga on the mountain top, 	
Saw I your gait and saw I your sinewy limbs, clothed 
         in blue, bearing weapons, robust year; 	
Heard your determin'd voice, launch'd forth again and 
         again; 	
Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round 
         lipp'd cannon, 	
I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year.