When the Full-Grown Poet Came
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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 unreconciled,
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 holding hands,
Which he will never release until he reconciles the two,
And wholly and joyously blends them.
| from Leaves of Grass: BOOKXXXV: GOOD-BYE MY FANCY by Walt Whitman | |
| A Twilight Song (LoG) | Osceola 
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