I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me

as good belongs to you.



I loafe and invite my soul,

I lean and loafe at my ease observing

a spear of summer grass.



My tongue, every atom of my blood,

form’d from this soil, this air,

Born here of parents born here

from parents the same, and their parents the same,



I, now thirty-seven years old

in perfect health begin,

Hoping to cease not till death.



Creeds and schools in abeyance,

Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are,

but never forgotten,

I harbor for good or bad,

I permit to speak at every hazard,

Nature without check

with original energy.



⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠠⠤⢀⡀⠀⢀⠠⠤⠴⠆⢄
⠀⢀⡰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡵⢏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡀
⠀⣘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠁⠈⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳
⠀⢭⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣄⣀⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡖
⠀⠈⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠴⢶⣶⣶⣿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⢻⣇
⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡹⢿⠀⠀⠙
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠒⣄⡀⠀⡠⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠋
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠛⠛⠠⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠴⠐⠉
⠤⠄⠴⠐⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠐⠒⠰⠄⠤⠄⠤⠄⠴⠐⠒⠘⠉