Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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WE two—how long we were fool'd!

Now transmuted, we swiftly escape, as Nature escapes;

We are Nature—long have we been absent, but now we
return;

We become plants, leaves, foliage, roots, bark;

We are bedded in the ground—we are rocks;

We are oaks—we grow in the openings side by side;

We browse—we are two among the wild herds, spon-
taneous as any;

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We are two fishes swimming in the sea together;

We are what the locust blossoms are—we drop scent
around the lanes, mornings and evenings;

We are also the coarse smut of beasts, vegetables,
minerals;

We are two predatory hawks—we soar above, and look
down;

We are two resplendent suns—we it is who balance
ourselves, orbic and stellar—we are as two
comets;

We prowl fang'd and four-footed in the woods—we
spring on prey;

We are two clouds, forenoons and afternoons, driving
overhead;

We are seas mingling—we are two of those cheerful
waves, rolling over each other, and interwetting
each other;

We are what the atmosphere is, transparent, receptive,
pervious, impervious:

We are snow, rain, cold, darkness—we are each product
and influence of the globe;

We have circled and circled till we have arrived home
again—we two have;

We have voided all but freedom, and all but our own
joy.

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