Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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TO the garden, the world, anew ascending,

Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding,

The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being,

Curious, here behold my resurrection, after slumber,

The revolving cycles, in their wide sweep, having
brought me again,

Amorous, mature—all beautiful to me—all won-
drous,

My limbs, and the quivering fire that ever plays

through them, for reasons, most wondrous;

Existing, I peer and penetrate still,

Content with the present—content with the past,

By my side, or back of me, Eve following,

Or in front, and I following her just the same.

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