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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
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QUICKSAND YEARS.
| QUICKSAND years that whirl me I know not whither, |
Your schemes, politics, fail, lines give way, substances mock and
elude me,
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Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess'd soul, eludes
not,
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One's-self must never give way—that is the final substance—
that out of all is sure,
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| Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life, what at last finally remains? |
| When shows break up what but One's-Self is sure? |
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