The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night, Ya-honk! he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation: The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen closer, I find its purpose and place up there toward the November sky.

I am not contain'd between my hat and boots.

Other lands have their vitality in a few, a class, but we have it in the bulk of our people.

Sure as the most certain sure .... plumb in the uprights, well entreated, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery we stand. Clear and sweet is my soul .... and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul, Lack one lacks both .... and the unseen is proved by the seen Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. To elaborate is no avail .... Learned and unlearned feel that it is so.

If you want me again look for me under your boot soles.

There is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheeled universe.

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