.
.
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you
-
There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.
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Welcome is every organ and attribute of me
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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.
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I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,
And I say it is great to be a woman as to be a man
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I believe in the flesh and the appetites,
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
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What is less or more than a touch?
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Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
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I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
-
Walt Whitman, excerpts from
Song of myself
.