“O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself—projecting me;O solitary me, listening—nevermore shall I cease perpetuating you;Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations,Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me,Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there, in the night,By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon,The messenger there arous’d—the fire, the sweet hell within,The unknown want, the destiny of me.”

“Demon or bird! (said the boy’s soul,) Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it mostly to me? For I, that was a child, my tongue’s use sleeping, Now I have heard you, Now in a moment I know what I am for—I awake, 150And already a thousand singers—a thousand songs, clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours, A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me, Never to die. O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself—projecting me; O solitary me, listening—nevermore shall I cease perpetuating you; 155Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations, Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me, Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there, in the night, By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon, The messenger there arous’d—the fire, the sweet hell within, 160The unknown want, the destiny of me.”

“I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I loveIf you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.You will hardly know who I am or what I meanBut I shall be good health to you nonethelessAnd filter and fibre your blood.”

“If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good help to you nevertheless And filter and fiber your blood.Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,Missing me one place search another,I stop some where waiting for you”

“O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish; Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d; Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me; Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined; The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer.That you are here—that life exists, and identity; That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.”

“O, to be a ruler of life-- not a slave, To meet life as a powerful conqueror, No fumes-- no ennui-- no more complaints or scornful criticisms. O me repellent and ugly, O to these proud laws of the air, the water and the ground, proving my interior Soul impregnable, And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me.”

“I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume,For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.”