From Leaves of Grass
, by Walt Whitman
I met a seer
Passing the hues and objects of the world
The fields of art and learning, pleasure
To glean eidólons
Put in thy chants said he,
No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in,
Put first before the rest as light
for all and entrance-song of all,
That of eidólons.
Ever the dim beginning,
Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle
Ever the summit
and the merge at last, (to surely start again,)
Ever the mutable,
Ever materials, changing, crumbling
Ever the ateliers, the factories divine,
Lo, I or you,
Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown,
We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty
But really build eidólons.
The ostent evanescent,
The substance of an artist
's mood or savant's studies long,
's, hero's toils,
To fashion his eidólon.
Of every human life,
(The units gather'd, posted, not a thought, emotion
, deed, left out,)
The whole or large or small summ'd, added up,
In its eidólon.
The old, old urge,
Based on ancient
pinnacles, lo, newer, higher pinnacle
From science and the modern still impell'd,
The old, old urge, eidólons.
The present now and here,America
's busy, teeming, intricate whirl,
Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing,
These with the past,
Of vanish'd lands, of all the reigns of king
s across the sea,
Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailor's voyages,
Densities, growth, façades,
Strata of mountains
, soils, rocks, giant trees,
Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave,
Exaltè, rapt, ecstatic,
The visible but their womb
Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape,
The mighty earth-eidólon.
All space, all time,
(The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns,
, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,)
Fill'd with eidólons only.
The noiseless myriads,
oceans where the rivers empty,
The separate countless free
identities, like eyesight,
The true realities, eidólons.
Not this the world,
Nor these the universes, they the universe
Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life,
Beyond they lectures learn'd professor,
Beyond they telescope
, beyond all mathematics
Beyond the doctor's surgery
, anatomy, beyond the chemist with his chemistry
The entities of entities, eidólons.
Unfixed yet fix'd,
Ever shall be, ever have been and are,
Sweeping the present to the infinite future,
Eidólons, eidólons, eidólons.The prophet
and the bard,
Shall yet maintain themselves, in higher stages yet,
Shall mediate to the Modern
, to Democracy
, interpret yet to them,God
And thee my soul
Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations,
Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet,
Thy mates, eidólons.
Thy body permanent,
The body lurking there within thy body
The only purpost of the form thou art, the real I myself,
An image, an eidólon.
The very songs not in thy song
No special strains to sing, none for itself,
But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating
A round full-orb'd eidólon.