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Happiness. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master! Look to your arms!
Walt Whitman: Song of Myself - DayPoems
Somehow I have been stunn'd. We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. I troop forth replenish'd with supreme power, one of an average unending procession, Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines, Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth, The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands. What have you to confide to me? Easily written loose-finger'd chords-I feel the thrum of your climax and close. Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting.
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