Walt Whitman - May 9, Sunday Fun & Fun with Chairs

I always appreciate Whitman’s connection of the body to the mind to the soul.

Song of the Universal

I

Come said the Muse,

Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted,

Sing me the universal.

In this broad earth of ours,

Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,

Enclosed and safe within its central heart,

Nestles the seed perfection.

By every life a share or more or less,

None born but it is born, conceaFd or unconceal'd the

seed is waiting.