O Living Always, Always Dying
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O living always, always dying!
O the burials of me past and present,
O me while I stride ahead, material, visible, imperious as ever;
O me, what I was for years, now dead, (I lament not, I am content;)
O to disengage myself from those corpses of me, which I turn and
look at where I cast them,
To pass on, (O living! always living!) and leave the corpses behind.
| from Leaves of Grass: BOOK XXX. WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH by Walt Whitman | |
| A Noiseless Patient Spider | To One Shortly to Die 
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