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Poem of Perfect Miracles.

24 — Poem of Perfect Miracles.

REALISM is mine, my miracles, Take all of the rest—take freely—I keep  
 but my own—I give only of them,
I offer them without end—I offer them to you  
 wherever your feet can carry you, or your  
 eyes reach.
Why! who makes much of a miracle? As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward  
 the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in  
 the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love—or sleep in  
 the bed at night with any one I love,
Or sit at the table at dinner with my mother, Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car, Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of an  
 August forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,   [ begin page 280 ]ppp.00237.288.jpg Or birds—or the wonderfulness of insects in the  
Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down—or of  
 stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new- 
 moon in May,
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that  
 like me best—mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savans—or to the soiree—or to  
 the opera,
Or stand a long while looking at the movements  
 of machinery,
Or behold children at their sports, Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or  
 the perfect old woman,
Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to  
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass, These, with the rest, one and all, are to me  
The whole referring—yet each distinct and in its  
To me, every hour of the light and dark is a  
Every inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is  
 spread with the same,
  [ begin page 281 ]ppp.00237.289.jpg Every cubic foot of the interior swarms with the  
Every spear of grass—the frames, limbs, organs,  
 of men and women, and all that concerns  
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
To me the sea is a continual miracle, The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion  
 of the waves—the ships, with men in them  
 —what stranger miracles are there?
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