Find the right food

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, & who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave sầu the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d, Of the poor results of all, of the plodding & sordid crowds I see around me, Of the empty & 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, và you may contribute a verse.




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Born on May 31, 1819, Walt Whitman is the author of Leaves of Grassand, along with Emily Dickinson, is considered one of the architects of a uniquely American poetic voice.




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1To think of time—of all that retrospection! To think of to-day, và the ages continued henceforward! Have you guess"d you yourself would not continue? Have you dreaded these earth-beetles? Have sầu you fear"d the future would be nothing khổng lồ you? Is to-day nothing? Is the beginningless past nothing? If the future is nothing, they are just as surely nothing. To think that the sun rose in the east! that men & women were flexible, real, alive! that everything was alive! To think that you and I did not see, feel, think, nor bear our part! To think that we are now here, and bear our part! 2Not a day passes—not a minute or second, without an accouchement! Not a day passes—not a minute or second, without a corpse! The dull nights go over, & the dull days also, The soreness of lying so much in bed goes over, The physician, after long putting off, gives the silent and terrible look for an answer,The children come hurried và weeping, and the brothers và sisters are sent for, Medicines stand unused on the shelf—(the camphor-smell has long pervaded the rooms,) The faithful hvà of the living does not desert the hand of the dying, The twitching lips press lightly on the forehead of the dying, The breath ceases, và the pulse of the heart ceases,The corpse stretches on the bed, & the living look upon it, It is palpable as the living are palpable. The living look upon the corpse with their eye-sight, But without eye-sight lingers a different living, và looks curiously on the corpse. 3To think the thought of Death, merged in the thought of materials! To think that the rivers will flow, and the snow fall, and fruits ripen, & act upon others as upon us now—yet not act upon us! To think of all these wonders of đô thị & country, and others taking great interest in them—and we taking no interest in them! To think how eager we are in building our houses! To think others shall be just as eager, và we quite indifferent! (I see one building the house that serves hyên ổn a few years, or seventy or eighty years at most,I see one building the house that serves hyên ổn longer than that.) Slow-moving và blachồng lines creep over the whole earth—they never cease—they are the burial lines, He that was President was buried, và he that is now President shall surely be buried. 4A reminiscence of the vulgar fate, A frequent sample of the life & death of workmen,Each after his kind: Cold dash of waves at the ferry-wharf—posh and ice in the river, half-frozen mud in the streets, a gray, discouraged sky overhead, the short, last daylight of Twelfth-month, A hearse & stages—other vehicles give sầu place—the funeral of an old Broadway stage-driver, the cortege mostly drivers. Steady the trot lớn the cemetery, duly rattles the death-bell, the gate is pass"d, the new-dug grave sầu is halted at, the living alight, the hearse uncloses, The coffin is pass"d out, lower"d & settled, the whip is laid on the coffin, the earth is swiftly shovel"d in, The mound above is flatted with the spades—silence, A minute—no one moves or speaks—it is done, He is decently put away—is there anything more? He was a good fellow, free-mouth"d, quick-temper"d, not bad-looking, able to lớn take his own part, witty, sensitive lớn a slight, ready with life or death for a friend, fond of women, gambled, ate hearty, drank hearty, had known what it was to be flush, grew low-spirited toward the last, sicken"d, was help"d by a contribution, died, aged forty-one years—and that was his funeral. Thumb extended, finger uplifted, apron, cape, gloves, strap, wet-weather clothes, whip carefully chosen, boss, spotter, starter, hostler, sometoàn thân loafing on you, you loafing on somebody toàn thân, headway, man before and man behind, good day"s work, bad day"s work, pet stock, mean stoông chồng, first out, last out, turning-in at night;To think that these are so much & so nigh to other drivers—& he there takes no interest in them! 5The markets, the government, the working-man"s wages—to think what account they are through our nights và days! To think that other working-men will make just as great account of them—yet we make little or no account! The vulgar and the refined—what you hotline sin, and what you call goodness—to think how wide a difference! To think the difference will still continue to lớn others, yet we lie beyond the difference. To think how much pleasure there is! Have you pleasure from looking at the sky? have you pleasure from poems? Do you enjoy yourself in the city? or engaged in business? or planning a nomination và election? or with your wife & family? Or with your mother & sisters? or in womanly housework? or the beautiful maternal cares? —These also flow onward to lớn others—you and I flow onward, But in due time, you and I shall take less interest in them. Your farm, profits, crops,—to think how engross"d you are! To think there will still be farms, profits, crops—yet for you, of what avail? 6What will be, will be well—for what is, is well, To take interest is well, & not to take interest shall be well. The sky continues beautiful, The pleasure of men with women shall never be sated, nor the pleasure of women with men, nor the pleasure from poems, The domestic joys, the daily housework or business, the building of houses—these are not phantasms—they have weight, size, location; Farms, profits, crops, markets, wages, government, are none of them phantasms, The difference between sin và goodness is no delusion,The earth is not an echo—man và his life, & all the things of his life, are well-consider"d. You are not thrown khổng lồ the winds—you gather certainly and safely around yourself; Yourself! Yourself! Yourself, forever và ever! 7It is not to lớn diffuse you that you were born of your mother and father—it is lớn identify you; It is not that you should be undecided, but that you should be decided;Something long preparing và formless is arrived & form"d in you, You are henceforth secure, whatever comes or goes. The threads that were spun are gather"d, the weft crosses the warp, the pattern is systematic. The preparations have sầu every one been justified, The orchestra have sầu sufficiently tuned their instruments—the baton has given the signal. The guest that was coming—he waited long, for reasons—he is now housed, He is one of those who are beautiful và happy—he is one of those that to lớn look upon & be with is enough. The law of the past cannot be eluded, The law of the present và future cannot be eluded, The law of the living cannot be eluded—it is eternal,The law of promotion & transformation cannot be eluded, The law of heroes và good-doers cannot be eluded, The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons—not one iota thereof can be eluded. 8Slow moving và blachồng lines go ceaselessly over the earth, Northerner goes carried, and Southerner goes carried, & they on the Atlantic side, and they on the Pacific, and they between, và all through the Mississippi country, & all over the earth. The great masters & kosmos are well as they go—the heroes & good-doers are well, The known leaders & inventors, và the rich owners and pious và distinguish"d, may be well, But there is more account than that—there is strict account of all. The interminable hordes of the ignorant & wicked are not nothing, The barbarians of Africa và Asia are not nothing,The comtháng people of Europe are not nothing—the American aborigines are not nothing, The infected in the immigrant hospital are not nothing—the murderer or mean person is not nothing, The perpetual successions of shallow people are not nothing as they go, The lowest prostitute is not nothing—the mocker of religion is not nothing as he goes. 9Of and in all these things,I have dream"d that we are not lớn be changed so much, nor the law of us changed, I have sầu dream"d that heroes & good-doers shall be under the present and past law, And that murderers, drunkards, liars, shall be under the present và past law, For I have dream"d that the law they are under now is enough. If otherwise, all came but to lớn ashes of dung,If maggots và rats ended us, then Alarum! for we are betray"d! Then indeed suspicion of death. Do you suspect death? If I were to lớn suspect death, I should die now, Do you think I could walk pleasantly & well-suited toward annihilation? 10Pleasantly & well-suited I walk,Whither I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good, The whole universe indicates that it is good, The past and the present indicate that it is good. How beautiful and perfect are the animals! How perfect the earth, and the minukiểm tra thing upon it! What is called good is perfect, và what is called bad is just as perfect, The vegetables và minerals are all perfect, and the imponderable fluids are perfect; Slowly and surely they have pass"d on to lớn this, and slowly & surely they yet pass on. 11I swear I think now that everything without exception has an eternal Soul! The trees have sầu, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the sea have! the animals! I swear I think there is nothing but immortality! That the exquisite scheme is for it, & the nebulous float is for it, và the cohering is for it; And all preparation is for it! và identity is for it! and life và materials are altogether for it!

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