Wednesday, 4 February 2015

". . . the pismire* is equally perfect"

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'oeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.


*pismire - ant obs
Song of Myself verse 31: 1

I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain'd,
I stand and look at them long and long.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, 
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, 
Not one is dissatisfied, not one demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.


Song of Myself verse 32: 1-2


  1. I have always been a great Walt Whitman fan Gwil - he talks such sense. Glad you admire him too.

  2. I of often turn to him Pat, and I particularly like the line (above) about the cow crunching with depress'd head . . .

  3. I love Whitman. His observations were so accurate and so moving.

    1. His observations still have the ring of truth more than a century later. I think he died in 1892. Thanks for the visit.


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