One should not try to read Camus on a school night… and that is all I have to say about that. Walt Whitman on the other hand can be quite like flight.

“Songs of the Universal”



1



Come said the Muse,

Sing me a song no poet has yet chanted,

Sing me the Universal.



In this broad earth of ours,

Amid the measureless grossness and 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, conceal’d or unconceal’d


the seed is waiting.



Walt Whitman