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You are also asking me questions and I hear you, I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.

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The saints and sages in history–but you yourself? What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.

Song of Myself

Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety. My foothold is tenon’d and bhagavad gita a walkthrough for westerners pdf download in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time. The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore bhagavad gita a walkthrough for westerners pdf download dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses, a vhagavad embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs walkthrougj, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of bhhagavad bedroom, Bhatavad witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen. Will you speak before I am gone?

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O welcome, ineffable grace of dying days! Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heav’d challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you bhagavad gita a walkthrough for westerners pdf download be master! I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, You can do nothing and be nothing walkthorugh what I will infold fo. Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

Walt Whitman: Song of Myself

Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen, For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings, They sent influences to look after what forr to hold me. O manhood, balanced, florid and full. Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like bhagavad gita a walkthrough for westerners pdf download these among them, Not walkthfough exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms.

To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.

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I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means. This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics. Do you take it I would astonish?