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“Song of Myself”
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than
the journey – work of the stars
And the prismire is equally perfect and a grain
of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree -toad is a chef-d’oeuvre for the highest,
And the running black berry would adorn
the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts
to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depress’d head
surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger
sextillions of infidels.
-Walt Whitman