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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