Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.
151. Voices
| NOW I make a leaf of Voices—for I have found nothing mightier than they are, | |
| And I have found that no word spoken, but is beautiful, in its place. | |
| O what is it in me that makes me tremble so at voices? | |
| Surely, whoever speaks to me in the right voice, him or her I shall follow, | |
| As the water follows the moon, silently, with fluid steps, anywhere around the globe. | 5 |
| All waits for the right voices; | |
| Where is the practis’d and perfect organ? Where is the develop’d Soul? | |
| For I see every word utter’d thence, has deeper, sweeter, new sounds, impossible on less terms. | |
| I see brains and lips closed—tympans and temples unstruck, | |
| Until that comes which has the quality to strike and to unclose, | 10 |
| Until that comes which has the quality to bring forth what lies slumbering, forever ready, in all words. |
