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. |