[From _Leaves of Grass_.]

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth
is spread with the same,
Every cubic foot of the interior swarms with the same.

* * * * * * * *

To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion
of the waves--the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

* * * * * * * *

I was thinking the day most splendid,
till I saw what the not-day exhibited;
I was thinking this globe enough,
till there tumbled upon me myriads of other globes;
O, how plainly I see now that this life cannot exhibit
all to me--as the day cannot;
O, I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by death.

* * * * * * * *

O Death!
O, the beautiful touch of Death, soothing and benumbing