SMALL is the theme of the following Chant, yet the greatest--namely, <br /> One's-Self--that wondrous thing a simple, separate person. <br /> That, for the use of the New World, I sing. <br /> Man's physiology complete, from top to toe, I sing. Not physiognomy <br /> alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse;--I say the Form <br /> complete is worthier far. The female equal with the male, I <br /> sing, <br /> Nor cease at the theme of One's-Self. I speak the word of the modern, <br /> the word En-Masse: <br /> My Days I sing, and the Lands--with interstice I knew of hapless War. <br /> <br /> O friend whoe'er you are, at last arriving hither to commence, I feel <br /> through every leaf the pressure of your hand, which I return. <br /> And thus upon our journey link'd together let us go.<br /><br />Walt Whitman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/inscription/
