Song of Myself

Walt Whitman

Trippers and askers around me,
People I meet... the effect upon me of my early life
.... of the world I live in.... of the nation,
The latest news... discoveries, Inventions, societies
.... authors old and new,
My dinner, dress, associates,
looks, business, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks- or of myself....
or ill doing..... or loss or lack of money
.... or loss or lack of money....
or depressions or exaltations,
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionateing,
idle, unitary,
Looks down, is errect, bends an arm on an impalpable
certain rest,
Looks with its sidecurved head, curious what
will come next,
Both in and out out of the game, and watching and
wondering at it.
................................................................................................

I believe in you my soul.... the other I am must not
abase itself to you,
And you must not be abased to the other.

Loafe with me in the grass.... loose the stop from
your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want....
Not custom or lecture, not even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I mind how we lay in June, such a transparent
summer morning;
You settled your head athwart my hips and gently
turned over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom- bone, and
plunged your tongue to my barestrip heart,
And reached till you felt my beard, and reached till
you held my feet.

Swiftly arose abd spread around me the peace
and knowledge that pass all the argument
of the earth;
And I know in the hand of God is the elderhand
of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the eldest
brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also
my brothers.... and the women my sisters
and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love.