This is the city, and I am one of the citizens/Whatever interests the rest interests me - Walt Whitman

I visit the orchards of God and look at the spheric product
And look at quintillions ripened, and look at quintillions green.

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

When the full-grown poet came,
Out spake pleased Nature (the round impassive globe, with all
its shows of day and night,) saying, He is mine;
But out spake too the Soul of man, proud, jealous and unreconciled,
Nay, he is mine alone; — Then the full-grown poet stood between the two, and took each by the hand;
And to-day and ever so stands, as blender, uniter, tightly holding hands,
Which he will never release until he reconciles the two,
And wholly and joyously blends them.