Leaves of Grass

The flush of the known universe is in him,

The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sundown after work, The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance, The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;

And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.)

eidolons.

some daring rebel;

And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd universe,

do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is. I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am tou

Eidolons

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)