There was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he looked upon, that object he became;
And that object became a part of him,
For the day that’s gone is perfect for the ones that follow—
He looked upon the trees and flowers,
And they became a part of him,
As did the endless birds in every green-tipped field.
And the winds, and the waters,
They flowed into his soul,
And his heart beat with the rhythm of the fields beneath.

• Walt Whitman