Song of Myself. Part 1 Walt Whitman I celebrate myself, and sing my self, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loaf and invite my soul, I lean and loaf at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, Formed from this soil, this air, Born here, of parents born here, from parents the same, And their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health, begin, Hoping to cease not till death. Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back awhile sufficed at what they are, But never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy.
Posted on: Fri, 21 Jun 2013 00:37:07 +0000
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