Leaves of Grass (1860)


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14.


1  POETS to come!
Not to-day is to justify me, and Democracy, and
         what we are for,
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental,
         greater than before known,
You must justify me.
 


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2  Indeed, if it were not for you, what would I be?
What is the little I have done, except to arouse you?

3  I depend on being realized, long hence, where the
         broad fat prairies spread, and thence to Oregon
         and California inclusive,
I expect that the Texan and the Arizonian, ages
         hence, will understand me,
I expect that the future Carolinian and Georgian will
         understand me and love me,
I expect that Kanadians, a hundred, and perhaps
         many hundred years from now, in winter, in the
         splendor of the snow and woods, or on the icy
         lakes, will take me with them, and permanently
         enjoy themselves with me.

4  Of to-day I know I am momentary, untouched—I
         am the bard of the future,
I but write one or two indicative words for the future,
I but advance a moment, only to wheel and hurry
         back in the darkness.

5  I am a man who, sauntering along, without fully
         stopping, turns a casual look upon you, and then
         averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you.
 


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