— > <p> <strong>This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, Thee ful… - Walt Whitman

What do you seek, so pensive and silent? What do you need, Camerado? Dear son! do you think it is love? Listen, dear son — listen, America, daughter or son! It is a painful thing to love a man or woman to excess — and yet it satisfies — it is great; But there is something else very great — it makes the whole coincide; It, magnificent, beyond materials, with continuous hands, sweeps and provides for all.

O Banner!
Not houses of peace are you, nor any nor all of their prosperity; if need be you shall have every one of those houses to destroy them;
You thought not to destroy those valuable houses, standing fast, full of comfort, built with money;
May they stand fast then? Not an hour, unless you, above them and all, stand fast.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.