Walt Whitman - Leaves of Grass

Great is youth, equally great is old age—great are the day and night,
Great is wealth, great is poverty, great is expression, great is silence.

Youth, large, lusty, loving—youth, full of grace, force, fascination,
Do you know that old age may come after you, with equal grace, force, fascination?

Day, full-blown and splendid—day of the immense sun, action, ambition, laughter,
The night follows close, with millions of suns, and sleep, and restoring darkness.

Wealth with the flush hand, fine clothes, hospitality,
But then the soul’s wealth, which is candor, knowledge, pride, enfolding love;
(Who goes for men and women showing poverty richer than wealth?)

Expression of speech! in what is written or said, forget not that silence is also expressive,
That anguish as hot as the hottest, and contempt as cold as the coldest, may be without words,
That the true adoration is likewise without words, and without kneeling.

Great is the greatest nation! the nation of clusters of equal nations!

Great is the earth, and the way it became what it is,
Do you imagine it is stopped at this? the increase abandoned?
Understand then that it goes as far onward from this, as this is from the times when it lay in covering waters and gases.

Great is the quality of truth in man,
The quality of truth in man supports itself through all changes,
It is inevitably in the man—he and it are in love, and never leave each other.

The truth in man is no dictum, it is vital as eyesight,
If there be any soul, there is truth—if there be man or woman, there is truth—if there be physical or moral, there is truth,
If there be equilibrium or volition, there is truth—if there be things at all upon the earth, there is truth.

O truth of the earth! O truth of things! I am determined to press the whole way toward you,
Sound your voice! I scale mountains, or dive in the sea after you.

Great is language—it is the mightiest of the sciences,
It is the fulness, color, form, diversity of the earth, and of men and women, and of all qualities and processes,
It is greater than wealth—it is greater than buildings, ships, religions, paintings, music.

Great is the English speech—what speech is so great as the English?
Great is the English brood—what brood has so vast a destiny as the English?
It is the mother of the brood that must rule the earth with the new rule,
The new rule shall rule as the soul rules, and as the love, justice, equality in the soul, rule.

Great in the law—great are the old few landmarks of the law,
They are the same in all times, and shall not be disturbed.

Great are marriage, commerce, newspapers, books, free-trade, rail-roads, steamers, international mails, telegraphs, exchanges.

Great is justice!
Justice is not settled by legislators and laws—it is in the soul,
It cannot be varied by statutes, any more than love, pride, the attraction of gravity, can,
It is immutable—it does not depend on majorities—majorities or what not come at last before the same passionless and exact tribunal.

For justice are the grand natural lawyers and perfect judges, it is in their souls,
It is well assorted, they have not studied for nothing, the great includes the less,
They rule on the highest grounds, they oversee all eras, states, administrations.

The perfect judge fears nothing, he could go front to front before God,
Before the perfect judge all shall stand back—life and death shall stand back—heaven and hell shall stand back.

Great is goodness!
I do not know what it is any more than I know what health is, but I know it is great.

Great is wickedness—I find I often admire it just as much as I admire goodness,
Do you call that a paradox? It certainly is a paradox.

The eternal equilibrium of things is great, and the eternal overthrow of things is great,
And there is another paradox.

Great is life, real and mystical, wherever and whoever,
Great is death—sure as life holds all parts together, death holds all parts together,
Death has just as much purport as life has,
Do you enjoy what life confers? you shall enjoy what death confers,
I do not understand the realities of death, but I know they are great,
I do not understand the least reality of life—how then can I understand the realities of death?

The bodies of men and women engirth me, and I engirth them,
They will not let me off, nor I them, till I go with them, respond to them, love them.

Was it doubted if those who corrupt their own live bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do as much as the soul?
And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?

The expression of the body of man or woman balks account,
The male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees—dress does not hide him,
The strong, sweet, supple quality he has, strikes through the cotton and flannel,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up, and rolls silently in the heave of the water,
The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,
The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard,
The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver guiding his six horses through the crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down, after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,
The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;
The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, the listening on the alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curved neck, the counting,
Such-like I love, I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, pause, listen, count.