I act as the tongue of you, ... tied in your mouth . . . . in mine it begins to be loosened.

I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd by God's name.

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear.

In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings, Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, with many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love, With every leaf a miracle - and from this bush in the dooryard, With delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, A sprig with its flower I break.

And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.

I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for.

I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware, I sit content, And if each and all be aware, I sit content.