Leaves of Grass (1871-72)


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QUICKSAND YEARS.

QUICKSAND years that whirl me I know not whither,
Your schemes, politics, fail—lines give way—substances
         mock and elude me;
Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess'd
         Soul, eludes not;
One's-self must never give way—that is the final sub-
         stance—that out of all is sure;
Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life—what at last
         finally remains?
When shows break up, what but One's-Self is sure?
 
 
 
 
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