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189.I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-
work of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of
sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-d'œuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors
of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all
machinery,
And the cow crunching with depressed head surpasses
any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions
of infidels,
And I could come every afternoon of my life to look
at the farmer's girl boiling her iron tea-kettle
and baking short-cake.

190.I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss,
fruits, grains, esculent roots.
And am stuccoed with quadrupeds and birds all over,
And have distanced what is behind me for good
reasons,
And call anything close again, when I desire it.

191.In vain the speeding or shyness,
In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against
my approach,
In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own
powdered bones,
In vain objects stand leagues off, and assume manifold
shapes,
In vain the ocean settling in hollows, and the great
monsters lying low,