Walt Whitman

LEAVES OF GRASS
(1891-92 issue)
complete book, e-book

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8

 O we can wait no longer,
 We too take ship O soul,
 Joyous we too launch out on trackless seas,
 Fearless for unknown shores on waves of ecstasy to sail,
 Amid the wafting winds, (thou pressing me to thee, I thee to me, O soul,)
 Caroling free, singing our song of God,
 Chanting our chant of pleasant exploration.
 
 With laugh and many a kiss,
 (Let others deprecate, let others weep for sin, remorse, humiliation,)
 O soul thou pleasest me, I thee.
 
 Ah more than any priest O soul we too believe in God,
 But with the mystery of God we dare not dally.
 
 O soul thou pleasest me, I thee,
 Sailing these seas or on the hills, or waking in the night,
 Thoughts, silent thoughts, of Time and Space and Death, like waters flowing,
 Bear me indeed as through the regions infinite,
 Whose air I breathe, whose ripples hear, lave me all over,
 Bathe me O God in thee, mounting to thee,
 I and my soul to range in range of thee.
 
 O Thou transcendent,
 Nameless, the fibre and the breath,
 Light of the light, shedding forth universes, thou centre of them,
 Thou mightier centre of the true, the good, the loving,
 Thou moral, spiritual fountain--affection's source--thou reservoir,
 (O pensive soul of me--O thirst unsatisfied--waitest not there?
 Waitest (...)
(......)