Surely whoever speaks to me in the right voice, him or her shall I follow.

I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

A Song of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets; A song of farms - a song of the soil of fields. A song with the smell of sun-dried hay, where the nimble pitchers handle the pitch-fork; A song tasting of new wheat, and of fresh-husk'd maize.

O to be self-balanced for contingencies, to confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do.

If any thing is sacred, the human body is sacred.

You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here, I believe much unseen is also here