Whitman, Walt, 1819-1892 -- Criticism and interpretation
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"I am an acme of things accomplished, and I an endorser of things to be.
My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs,
On every step bunches of ages, and large bunches between the steps,
All below duly traveled, and still I mount and mount.
"Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me,
Afar down I see the huge first Nothing--I know I was even there,
I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist,
And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.
"Long I was hugged close--long and long.
Immense have been the preparations for me,
Faithful and friendly the arms that have helped me,
Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen,
For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings,
They sent influences to look after what was to hold me.
"Before I was born out of my mother, generations guided me,
My embryo has never been torpid--nothing could overlay it.
For it the nebula cohered to an orb,
The long, slow strata piled to rest it in,
Vast vegetables gave it sustenance,
Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths, and deposited it with
care.
All forces have been steadily employed to complete and delight me,
Now I stand on this spot with my Soul.
"I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems,
And all I see, multiplied as high as I can cipher, edge but the rim of
the farther systems:
Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding,
Outward, outward, and forever outward:
My sun has his sun, and around him obediently wheels;
He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit,
And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them.
"There is no stoppage, and never can be stoppage.
If I, you, the worlds, all beneath or upon their surfaces, and all the
palpable life, were this moment reduced back to a pallid float,
it would not avail in the long run.
We should surely bring up again where we now stand,
And as surely go as much farther--and then farther and farther.
A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not
hazard the span or make it impatient.
They are but parts--anything is but a part,
See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that,
Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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