I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars. - Walt Whitman

I exist as I am, that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content,
And if each and all be aware I sit content.
One world is aware, and by the far the largest to me, and that is myself,
And whether I come to my own today or in ten thousand or ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness, I can wait.

Every existence has its idiom, every thing and idiom and tongue.

ELECTION DAY, NOVEMBER, 1884.

If I should need to name, O Western World, your powerfulest
scene and show,
'Twould not be you, Niagara — nor you, ye limitless prairies — nor
your huge rifts of canyons, Colorado,
Nor you, Yosemite — nor Yellowstone, with all its spasmic geyser-
loops ascending to the skies, appearing and disappearing,
Nor Oregon's white cones — nor Huron's belt of mighty lakes — nor Mississippi's stream: — This seething hemisphere's humanity, as now, I'd name — the
still small voice vibrating — America's choosing day,
(The heart of it not in the chosen — the act itself the main, the
quadriennial choosing,)
The stretch of North and South arous'd — sea-board and inland — Texas to Maine — the Prairie States — Vermont, Virginia,
California,
The final ballot-shower from East to West — the paradox and con-
flict,
The countless snow-flakes falling — (a swordless conflict,
Yet more than all Rome's wars of old, or modern Napoleon's:)
the peaceful choice of all,
Or good or ill humanity — welcoming the darker odds, the dross: — Foams and ferments the wine? it serves to purify — while the
heart pants, life glows:
These stormy gusts and winds waft precious ships,
Swell'd Washington's, Jefferson's, Lincoln's sails.