Shut Not Your Doors

SHUT not your doors to me, proud libraries,  

For that which was lacking on all your well-fill’d shelves, yet needed most, I bring;  

Forth from the army, the war emerging – a book I have made,  

The words of my book nothing – the drift of it everything;

A book separate, not link’d with the rest, nor felt by the intellect,

But you, ye untold latencies, will thrill to every page;  

Through Space and Time fused in a chant, and the flowing, eternal Identity,  

To Nature, encompassing these, encompassing God – to the joyous, electric All,  

To the sense of Death – and accepting, exulting in Death, in its turn, the same as life,  

The entrance of Man I sing.


Posted without comment, save one:

Nice.

(Note: Need to read more Whitman, more often.)