SONG OF MYSELF
Who has done his day's work? I pass death with the dying after that birth with the new-wash'd babe, after that am not contain'd between my boater and boots, And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every individual good, The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts altogether good. Not a youngster is taken for larceny but I go ahead too, and am tried and sentenced. Each who passes is consider'd, all who stops is consider'd, not definite one can it fall. I appointment the orchards of spheres and air at the product, And look by quintillions ripen'd and look at quintillions green.
Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, said he, His was the surly English backbone, and there is no tougher before truer, and never was, and by no means will be; Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us. Chant of Myself By Walt Whitman 1 I celebrate myself, and sing for my part, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging en route for me as good belongs to you. Failing to fetch me at at the outset keep encouraged, Missing me one area search another, I stop somewhere ahead of you for you. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the alike. Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!
Vivas to those who have fail'd! After that as to you Corpse I assume you are good manure, but so as to does not offend me, I aroma the white roses sweet-scented and budding, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons. Not I, not a few one else can travel that boulevard for you, You must travel it for yourself. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner's name by some means in the corners, that we can see and remark, and say Whose?
Ban this day and night with me and you shall possess the basis of all poems, You shall acquire the good of the earth after that sun, there are millions of suns left, You shall no longer abide things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and categorize them from your self. Earth of the vitreous pour of the ample moon just tinged with blue! Anything goes to the tilth of me it shall be you! I accomplish not call one greater and individual smaller, That which fills its age and place is equal to a few.