Walt Whitman - Leaves of Grass

289 One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang, I turn and talk like a man leaving charges before a journey.

290 Down-hearted doubters, dull and excluded,
Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, disheartened, atheistical,
I know every one of you—I know the unspoken interrogatories,
By experience I know them.

291 How the flukes splash!
How they contort, rapid as lightning, with spasms, and spouts of blood!

292 Be at peace, bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers,
I take my place among you as much as among any,
The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same,
Day and night are for you, me, all,
And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely the same.

293 I do not know what is untried and afterward,
But I know it is sure, alive, sufficient.

294 Each who passes is considered—Each who stops is considered—Not a single one can it fail.

295 It cannot fail the young man who died and was buried,
Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side,
Nor the little child that peeped in at the door, and then drew back, and was never seen again,
Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with bitterness worse than gall,
Nor him in the poor-house, tubercled by rum and the bad disorder,
Nor the numberless slaughtered and wrecked—nor the brutish koboo called the ordure of humanity,
Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in,
Nor anything in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth,
Nor anything in the myriads of spheres—nor one of the myriads of myriads that inhabit them,
Nor the present—nor the least wisp that is known.

296 It is time to explain myself—Let us stand up.

297 What is known I strip away,
I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown .

298 The clock indicates the moment—but what does eternity indicate?

299 We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers,
There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.

300 Births have brought us richness and variety,
And other births will bring us richness and variety.

301 I do not call one greater and one smaller,
That which fills its period and place is equal to any.

302 Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister?
I am sorry for you—they are not murderous or jealous upon me,
All has been gentle with me—I keep no account with lamentation,
(What have I to do with lamentation?)

303 I am an acme of things accomplished, and I an encloser of things to be.

304 My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs,
On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps,
All below duly travelled, and still I mount and mount.

305 Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me,
Afar down I see the huge first Nothing—I know I was even there,
I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist,
And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.

306 Long I was hugged close—long and long.

307 Immense have been the preparations for me,
Faithful and friendly the arms that have helped me.

308 Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen,
For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings,
They sent influences to look after what was to hold me.

309 Before I was born out of my mother, generations guided me,
My embryo has never been torpid—nothing could overlay it.

310 For it the nebula cohered to an orb,
The long slow strata piled to rest it on,
Vast vegetables gave it sustenance,
Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths, and deposited it with care.

311 All forces have been steadily employed to complete and delight me,
Now I stand on this spot with my Soul.

312 O span of youth! Ever-pushed elasticity!
O manhood, balanced, florid, and full.

313 My lovers suffocate me!
Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin,
Jostling me through streets and public halls—coming naked to me at night,
Crying by day Ahoy! from the rocks of the river—swinging and chirping over my head,
Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled under-brush,
Or while I swim in the bath, or drink from the pump at the corner—or the curtain is down at the opera, or I glimpse at a woman’s face in the railroad car,
Lighting on every moment of my life,
Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses,
Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts, and giving them to be mine.

314 Old age superbly rising! O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days!

315 Every condition promulges not only itself—it promulges what grows after and out of itself,
And the dark hush promulges as much as any.

316 I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems,
And all I see, multiplied as high as I can cipher, edge but the rim of the farther systems.

317 Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding,
Outward, outward, and forever outward.

318 My sun has his sun, and round him obediently wheels,
He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit,
And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them.

319 There is no stoppage, and never can be stoppage,
If I, you, the worlds, all beneath or upon their surfaces, and all the palpable life, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would not avail in the long run,
We should surely bring up again where we now stand,
And as surely go as much farther—and then farther and farther.

320 A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span, or make it impatient,
They are but parts—anything is but a part.

321 See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that,
Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that.

322 My rendezvous is appointed,
The Lord will be there, and wait till I come on perfect terms.

323 I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured, and never will be measured.

324 I tramp a perpetual journey,
My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods,
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, no church, no philosophy,
I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, or exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
My left hand hooking you round the waist,
My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents, and a plain public road.

325 Not I—not any one else, can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.

326 It is not far—it is within reach,
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know,
Perhaps it is every where on water and on land.