Shut not your doors to me proud libraries, For that which was lacking on all your well-fill'd shelves, yet needed most, I bring, Forth from the war e… - Walt Whitman

The words of my book are nothing, the drift of it everything.

The words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything.

Forth from the war emerging,a book I have made, the words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything, a book separate, not link'd with the rest nor felt by the intellect, but you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page.

Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made, The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing,

The earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains jagged and broken.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.