Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.
157. Weave in, Weave in, My Hardy Life
W
Weave yet a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come;
Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight weave in!
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, incessant weave! tire not!
(We know not what the use, O life! nor know the aim, the end—nor really aught we know;
But know the work, the need goes on, and shall go on—the death-envelop’d march of peace as well as war goes on;)
For great campaigns of peace the same, the wiry threads to weave;
We know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave.