I sing the body electric.
Nothing can happen more beautiful than death.
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.
The best writing has no lace on its sleeves.
Clear and sweet is my soul, clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers! O pioneers!