Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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MY spirit to yours dear brother,

Do not mind because many sounding your name do not under-
stand you,

I do not sound your name, but I understand you,

I specify you with joy O my comrade to salute you, and to salute
those who are with you, before and since, and those to
come also,

That we all labor together transmitting the same charge and suc-
cession,

We few equals indifferent of lands, indifferent of times,

We, enclosers of all continents, all castes, allowers of all theologies,

Compassionaters, perceivers, rapport of men,

We walk silent among disputes and assertions, but reject not the
disputers nor any thing that is asserted,

We hear the bawling and din, we are reach'd at by divisions, jeal-
ousies, recriminations on every side,

They close peremptorily upon us to surround us, my comrade,

Yet we walk unheld, free, the whole earth over, journeying up and
down till we make our ineffaceable mark upon time and the
diverse eras,

Till we saturate time and eras, that the men and women of races,
ages to come, may prove brethren and lovers as we are.

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