All truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, (What is less or more than a touch).

The beautiful uncut hair of graves.

O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done.

But where is what I started for so long ago? And why is it yet unfound?

Human bodies are words, myriads of words, (In the best poems re-appears the body, man's or woman's, well-shaped, natural, gay, Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.)

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

Nothing endures but personal qualities.