From
Leaves of Grass, by
Walt Whitman:
Roots and leaves themselves alone are these,
Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods and
pond-side,
Breast-
sorrel and pinks of love, fingers that wind around
tighter than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds hid in the foliage of trees as
the sun is risen,
Breezes of land and love set from living shores to you on the
living sea, to you O
sailors!
Frost-mellow'd berries and
Third-month twigs offer'd fresh
to
young persons wandering out in the fields when the
winter breaks up,
Love-buds put before you and within you whoever you
are,
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms,
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them they will open
and bring form, color,
perfume, to you,
If you become the
aliment and the wet they will become
flowers, fruits, tall branches and
trees.