They seem to me like Nature at last, (America has
given birth to them, and I have also;)
They seem to me at last as perfect as the animals,
and as the rocks and weeds—fitted to them,
Fitted to the sky, to float with floating clouds—to
rustle among the trees with rustling leaves,
To stretch with stretched and level waters, where
ships silently sail in the distance.
3. What do you suppose Creation is?
What do you suppose will satisfy the Soul, except to
walk free and own no superior?
What do you suppose I have intimated to you in a
hundred ways, but that man or woman is as good
as God?
And that there is no God any more divine than
Yourself?
And that that is what the oldest and newest myths
finally mean?
And that you or any one must approach Creations
through such laws?
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14.
1. Poets to come!
Not to-day is to justify me, and Democracy, and
what we are for,
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental,
greater than before known,
You must justify me.
