Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.

23. We Two—How Long We were Fool’d

WE two—how long we were fool’d!

Now transmuted, we swiftly escape, as Nature escapes;

We are Nature—long have we been absent, but now we return;

We become plants, leaves, foliage, roots, bark;

We are bedded in the ground—we are rocks;

We are oaks—we grow in the openings side by side;

We browse—we are two among the wild herds, spontaneous as any;

We are two fishes swimming in the sea together;

We are what the locust blossoms are—we drop scent around the lanes, mornings and evenings;

We are also the coarse smut of beasts, vegetables, minerals;

We are two predatory hawks—we soar above, and look down;

We are two resplendent suns—we it is who balance ourselves, orbic and stellar—we are as two comets;

We prowl fang’d and four-footed in the woods—we spring on prey;

We are two clouds, forenoons and afternoons, driving overhead;

We are seas mingling—we are two of those cheerful waves, rolling over each other, and interwetting each other;

We are what the atmosphere is, transparent, receptive, pervious, impervious:

We are snow, rain, cold, darkness—we are each product and influence of the globe;

We have circled and circled till we have arrived home again—we two have;

We have voided all but freedom, and all but our own joy.