A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky, Voice of a mighty dying tree in the Redwood forest dense.... [T]he wood-spirits came from their haunts of a thousand years, to join the refrain; But in my soul I plainly heard. Murmuring out of its myriad leaves, Down from its lofty top, rising two hundred feet high, Out of its stalwart trunk and limbs - out of its foot-thick bark, That chant of the seasons and time - chant, not of the past only, but of the future.
Walt WhitmanHas anyone supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her that it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
Walt WhitmanI think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained, I stand and look at them long and long.
Walt Whitman