Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman

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WHEN the full-grown poet came,

Out spake pleased Nature (the round impassive globe, with all
its shows of day and night,) saying, He is mine;

But out spake too the Soul of man, proud, jealous and unrec-
onciled, Nay, he is mine alone;

—Then the full-grown poet stood between the two, and took
each by the hand;

And to-day and ever so stands, as blender, uniter, tightly hold-
ing hands,

Which he will never release until he reconciles the two,

And wholly and joyously blends them.

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