Leaves of Grass (1867)

contents | previous | next

QUICKSAND years that whirl me I know not whither,

Your schemes, politics, fail—lines give way—substan-
ces mock and elude me;

Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess'd
soul, eludes not;

One's-self, must never give way—that is the final sub-
stance—that out of all is sure;

Out of politics, triumphs, battles, death—what at last
finally remains?

When shows break up, what but One's-Self is sure?

contents | previous | next

The Walt Whitman Archive