THE business man, the acquirer vast, <br /> After assiduous years, surveying results, preparing for departure, <br /> Devises houses and lands to his children--bequeaths stocks, goods-- <br /> funds for a school or hospital, <br /> Leaves money to certain companions to buy tokens, souvenirs of gems <br /> and gold; <br /> Parceling out with care--And then, to prevent all cavil, <br /> His name to his testament formally signs. <br /> <br /> But I, my life surveying, <br /> With nothing to show, to devise, from its idle years, <br /> Nor houses, nor lands--nor tokens of gems or gold for my friends, <br /> Only these Souvenirs of Democracy--In them--in all my songs--behind <br /> me leaving, 10 <br /> To You, who ever you are, (bathing, leavening this leaf especially <br /> with my breath--pressing on it a moment with my own hands; <br /> --Here! feel how the pulse beats in my wrists!--how my heart's-blood <br /> is swelling, contracting!) <br /> I will You, in all, Myself, with promise to never desert you, <br /> To which I sign my name.<br /><br />Walt Whitman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/souvenirs-of-democracy/
