Leaves of Grass

I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, And their parents the same.

I, now thirty-seven years old, in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while, saluting these, then, i farewell, Now I will show you what my soul is made of.

I believe in you, wherever you are, and I believe in me, I will shout you a hundred truths and dare you to hear them all.

• Walt Whitman