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.
A hundred years hence, others will see them.
what is it then between us?
what is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me
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 understand then do we not?
Live, old life!
Play the old role!
Receive the summer sky, you water, and faithfully hold it
Till all downcast eyes have time to take it from you.
You have waited, you always wait.
We receive you at last.
We plant you permanently within us.
We fathom you not. We love you.
These are Walt Whitman's words
