Thoughts

A poem by Walt Whitman

I

Of ownership, As if one fit to own things could not at pleasure enter upon all, and incorporate them into himself or herself.

II

Of waters, forests, hills;
Of the earth at large, whispering through medium of me;
Of vista, Suppose some sight in arriere, through the formative chaos, presuming the growth, fulness, life, now attain’d on the journey;
(But I see the road continued, and the journey ever continued;)
Of what was once lacking on earth, and in due time has become supplied, And of what will yet be supplied,
Because all I see and know, I believe to have purport in what will yet be supplied.

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