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 turn'd to beautiful results, And I will show that nothing can happen more beautiful than death, And I will thread a thread through my poems that time and events are compact, And that all the things of the universe are perfect miracles, each as profound as any.

Are you the new person drawn toward me? To begin with, take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself.

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.

Perhaps the efforts of the true poets, founders, religions, literatures, all ages, have been, and ever will be, our time and times to come, essentially the same - to bring people back from their present strayings and sickly abstractions, to the costless, average, divine, original concrete.

So here I sit in the early candle-light of old age-I and my book-casting backward glances over out travel'd road.

Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.