O lands! O all so dear to me - what you are, I become part of that, whatever it is.

Give me such shows - give me the streets of Manhattan!

And I will show that there is no imperfection in the present, and can be none in the future, And I will show that whatever happens to anybody it may be turned to beautiful results.

For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers! O pioneers!

Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city of this earth ever afterward resumes its liberty.

O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be with you; As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.

And your very flesh shall be a great poem.