Walt Whitman


Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost / No birth, identity, form – no object of the world, / Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing; / Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain, / Ample are time and space – ample the fields of Nature. / The body, sluggish, aged, cold – the embers left from earlier fires, / The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again; / The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons continual; / To frozen clods ever the spring’s invisible law returns, / With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn.

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