the glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings,
the life, love, sight, hearing of others.
Others will see the islands large and small.
what is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?
It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall,
The dark threw its patches down upon me also,
I laid in my stores in advance,
I considered long and seriously of you before you were born.
We receive you at last.
We plant you permanently within us.
We fathom you not. We love you.
These are Walt Whitman's words