Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the earth much? Have you practis’d so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Comerado, this is no book,Who touches this, touches a man,(Is it night? Are we here alone?)It is I you hold, and who holds you,I spring from the pages into your arms-decease calls me forth.

I will write the evangel-poem of comrades and of love.

I dreamed in a dream, I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth; I dreamed that was the new City of Friends; Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love—it led the rest; It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city, And in all their looks and words.

The sum of all known value and respect, I add up in you, whoever you are.

This hour I tell things in confidence/ I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

The President eats dirt and excrement for his daily meals, likes it and tries to force it on The States.