Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.

O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?

I am too not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost.

We were together. I forget the rest.

I say that democracy can never prove itself beyond cavil, until it founds and luxuriantly grows its own forms of art, poems, schools, theology, displacing all that exists, or that has been produced anywhere in the past, under opposite influences.

Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn, A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding; And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.