Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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¹ Now I make a leaf of Voices—for I have found
nothing mightier than they are,

And I have found that no word spoken, but is beauti-
ful, in its place.

² O what is it in me that makes me tremble so at
voices?

Surely, whoever speaks to me in the right voice, him
or her I shall follow,

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As the water follows the moon, silently, with fluid
steps any where around the globe.

³ All waits for the right voices;

Where is the practis'd and perfect organ? Where is
the develop'd Soul?

For I see every word utter'd thence has deeper,
sweeter, new sounds, impossible on less terms.

⁴ I see brains and lips closed—tympans and temples
unstruck,

Until that comes which has the quality to strike and
to unclose,

Until that comes which has the quality to bring forth
what lies slumbering, forever ready, in all
words.

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