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A poem by Walt Whitman |
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Voices |
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Title: Voices Author: Walt Whitman [More Titles by Whitman] 1. Now I make a leaf of Voices--for I have found nothing mightier than they are, And I have found that no word spoken but is beautiful in its place.
O what is it in me that makes me tremble so at voices? Surely, whoever speaks to me in the right voice, him or her I shall follow, As the water follows the moon, silently, with fluid steps anywhere around the globe.
Where is the practised and perfect organ? Where is the developed Soul? For I see every word uttered thence has deeper, sweeter, new sounds, impossible on less terms.
Until that comes which has the quality to strike and to unclose, Until that comes which has the quality to bring forth what lies slumbering, for ever ready, in all words. [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |