by Walt Whitman
SMALL is the theme of the following Chant, yet the greatest—namely,
One’s-Self—that wondrous thing a simple, separate person. That, for the use of
New World, I sing.
Man’s physiology complete, from top to toe, I sing. Not physiognomy alone, nor brain
alone, is worthy for the muse;—I say the Form complete is worthier far. The female
with the male, I sing,
Nor cease at the theme of One’s-Self. I speak the word of the modern, the word
My Days I sing, and the Lands—with interstice I knew of hapless War.
O friend whoe’er you are, at last arriving hither to commence, I feel through every
the pressure of your hand, which I return. And thus upon our journey link’d together
Last updated May 02, 2015