Sea of stretch'd ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves, Howl… - Walt Whitman

am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases.

Loafe with me on 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.

This is no book;
Who touches this,
touches a man;
(Is it night?
Are we here alone?)
It is I you hold,
and who holds you;
I spring from the
pages into your arms...

Beginning my studies the first step pleas'd me so much, The mere fact consciousness, these forms, the power of motion, The least insect or animal, the senses, eyesight, love, The first step I say awed me and pleas'd me so much, I have hardly gone and hardly wish'd to go any farther, But stop and loiter all the time to sing it in ecstatic songs.