Pointing to another world will never stop vice among us; shedding light over this world can alone help us.
O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done.
Comerado, this is no book,Who touches this, touches a man,(Is it night? Are we here alone?)It is I you hold, and who holds you,I spring from the pages into your arms-decease calls me forth.
Whatever satisfies the soul is truth.
I see behind each mask that wonder a kindred soul.
The United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem.