My words itch at your ears till you understand them - Walt Whitman

None has begun to think how divine he himself is and how certain the future is.

am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone; I am to wait — I do not doubt I am to meet you again; I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Where joyous full of faith, spreading white sails, She cleaves the ether mid the sparkle and the foam of day, or under many a star at night, By sailors young and old haply will I, a reminiscence of the land, be read,