Walt Whitman - Leaves of Grass

78 I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,
Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,
Stuffed with the stuff that is coarse, and stuffed with the stuff that is fine,
One of the great nation, the nation of many nations, the smallest the same, and the largest the same,
A southerner soon as a northerner, a planter nonchalant and hospitable,
A Yankee, bound my own way, ready for trade, my joints the limberest joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth,
A Kentuckian, walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin leggings,
A boatman over lakes or bays, or along coasts—a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye,
A Louisianian or Georgian—a Poke-easy from sand-hills and pines,
At home on Kanadian snow-shoes, or up in the bush, or with fishermen off Newfoundland,
At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest, and tacking,
At home on the hills of Vermont, or in the woods of Maine, or the Texan ranch,
Comrade of Californians—comrade of free northwesterners, and loving their big proportions,
Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen—comrade of all who shake hands and welcome to drink and meat,
A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest,
A novice beginning, yet experient of myriads of seasons,
Of every hue, trade, rank, caste and religion,
Not merely of the New World, but of Africa, Europe, Asia—a wandering savage,
A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, lover, quaker,
A prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest.

79 I resist anything better than my own diversity,
And breathe the air, and leave plenty after me,
And am not stuck up, and am in my place.

80 The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place,
The suns I see, and the suns I cannot see, are in their place,
The palpable is in its place, and the impalpable is in its place.

81 These are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands—they are not original with me,
If they are not yours as much as mine, they are nothing, or next to nothing,
If they do not enclose everything, they are next to nothing,
If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle, they are nothing,
If they are not just as close as they are distant, they are nothing.

82 This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is,
This is the common air that bathes the globe.

83 This is the breath for America, because it is my breath,
This is for laws, songs, behavior,
This is the tasteless water of Souls—this is the true sustenance.

84 This is for the illiterate, and for the judges of the Supreme Court, and for the Federal capitol and the State capitols,
And for the admirable communes of literats, composers, singers, lecturers, engineers, and savans,
And for the endless races of work-people, farmers, and seamen.

85 This is the trilling of thousands of clear cornets, screaming of octave flutes, striking of triangles.

86 I play not here marches for victors only—I play great marches for conquered and slain persons.

87 Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
I also say it is good to fall—battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.

88 I beat triumphal drums for the dead,
I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest music to them.

89 Vivas to those who have failed!
And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!
And those themselves who sank in the sea!
And to all generals that lost engagements! and all overcome heroes!
And the numberless unknown heroes, equal to the greatest heroes known.

90 This is the meal pleasantly set—this is the meat and drink for natural hunger,
It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous—I make appointments with all,
I will not have a single person slighted or left away,
The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited,
The heavy-lipped slave is invited—the venerealee is invited,
There shall be no difference between them and the rest.

91 This is the press of a bashful hand—this is the float and odor of hair,
This is the touch of my lips to yours—this is the murmur of yearning,
This is the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face,
This is the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.

92 Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?
Well, I have—for the Fourth Month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.

93 Do you take it I would astonish?
Does the daylight astonish? Does the early redstart, twittering through the woods?
Do I astonish more than they?

94 This hour I tell things in confidence,
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

95 Who goes there! hankering, gross, mystical, nude?
How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?

96 What is a man anyhow? What am I? What are you?

97 All I mark as my own, you shall offset it with your own,
Else it were time lost listening to me.

98 I do not snivel that snivel the world over,
That months are vacuums, and the ground but wallow and filth,
That life is a suck and a sell, and nothing remains at the end but threadbare crape, and tears.

99 Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids—conformity goes to the fourth-removed,
I cock my hat as I please, indoors or out.

100 Why should I pray? Why should I venerate and be
ceremonious?

101 Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsell’d with doctors, and calculated close,
I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.

102 In all people I see myself—none more, and not one a barleycorn less,
And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.

103 And I know I am solid and sound,
To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow,
All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.

104 I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter’s compass,
I know I shall not pass like a child’s carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.

105 I know I am august,
I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood,
I see that the elementary laws never apologize,
I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.

106 I exist as I am—that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware, I sit content,
And if each and all be aware, I sit content.

107 One world is aware, and by far the largest to me, and that is myself,
And whether I come to my own to-day, or in ten thousand or ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.

108 My foothold is tenoned and mortised in granite,
I laugh at what you call dissolution,
And I know the amplitude of time.

109 I am the poet of the body,
And I am the poet of the Soul.

110 The pleasures of heaven are with me, and the pains of hell are with me,
The first I graft and increase upon myself—the latter I translate into a new tongue.