Joy, shipmate, joy! (Pleased to my soul at death I cry), Our life is closed, our life begins, The long, long anchorage we leave, The ship is clear at last, she leaps! She swiftly courses from the shore, Joy, shipmate, joy!

I celebrate myself, and sing myself.

From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines. Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute. Listening to others, and considering well what they say. Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating. Gently but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.

Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?

What has miserable, inefficient Mexico...to do with the great mission of peopling the New World with a noble race?

We arrange our lives-even the best and boldest men and women that exist, just as much as the most limited-with reference to what society conventionally rules and makes right.

Each of us inevitable; Each of us limitless-each of us with his or her right upon the earth.